This happened the last time I was in New York City. I entered the car of an A train at Broadway Junction. My destination was Hoyt–Schermerhorn. The time was nearing 8 a.m.. The car was packed with people heading to jobs in Manhattan. At some point, a black middle-aged woman stood up from her seat and, with a very strong Jamaican accent, began preaching. She went on and on about how Jesus died on the cross, died for our sins, rose from the dead, went up to Heaven, and rules the whole world. He is the King of Kings, he is the Lord of Lords, and if we believe in Him, he will give us everlasting life. The preaching woman was very loud. She wanted everyone to hear every word coming out of her big, Caribbean mouth.

As the train approached Utica Avenue, I realized that I lacked a piece of important social/mental technology that all of the New Yorkers in the car clearly possessed. The words of the preacher were for them no different than the noise made by the wheels of the train. The screeching and rattling blended with the praises and prophesies. The New Yorkers had mastered the art of shutting this kind of nonsense out of their minds. They were reading newspapers, playing games on smartphones, catching some shut-eye before the day's work began. I, a bumpkin from a city that has a primitive public transportation system, had no defenses. What was missing in my life was time spent in a city that demanded the development of this important social/mental technology. Every damn word of the sermon entered my defenseless head with all of its force.

As the train pulled out of Utica Avenue, a fear gripped my chest. This preacher had walked into her church and not bothered to see if anyone was sitting in the pews. She was so used to them being empty. No one was ever there to hear her. But this morning there was a person in the pews. It was me. The man from Seattle. The one whose mind was wide open to her the standard rubbish about God's wisdom, heavenly love, and eternal power. Her eyes were still looking at something in the distance (Jerusalem? Bethlehem? castle in the clouds?), but it was only a matter of time (minutes) before they caught something moving right in front of her. And if her eyes fell on me, discovered me (the sole soul in the car), there would be entanglement. This is what I feared.

This is when the doors opened at Nostrand Avenue. I jumped out of the Caribbean's blasted church and bolted to the next car. Its doors closed behind me. My head was my head again. Fear left my chest. I reached my appointment a little shaken but on time.