Cheapskates

One of the amusing characters observable in a New York commute is the newspaper scavenger. This is not a garbage-digging homeless person (usually), but someone who picks up the discarded periodicals left behind by previous mass transit passengers. Almost every morning I see a small handful of people from my train walking through the aisles picking up bits of New York Times, Financial Times, and Wall Street Journals left by others.

I understand frugality, but it strikes me as unwise to pick up half a New York Post from the disease infested floor of a train in order to save fifty cents. People who commute from Connecticut or Westchester County are paying a few hundred dollars per month just for a train pass; you’d think that a couple quarters to procure phlegm-free reading material wouldn’t be too financially disruptive. I can’t help but chuckle when the guy with four hundred dollar shoes looks carefully in each row of seats for that missing page from the Journal’s C section.

This morning I observed a new low in newspaper scavenging. Trains were on a holiday schedule and I went in a little later than usual. There were a few familiar faces (hello coffee breath guy; good morning loud French-speaking cell phone talker) but I didn’t recognize most of the people. I was slower to leave the train than usual, waiting for the crowds to thin a little before pushing into the stairwell with Emma who joined me for the day. While we waited, one of the commuters I didn’t recognize made his way through the train in the familiar hunting pattern of a newspaper scavenger. Apparently unsatisfied with his findings, he went to newspaper recycling bin on the train platform. These are large metal mesh containers designed to prevent removal of their contents, but people often leave papers on the top in much the same way that charitable old women put out a bowl of seeds for chipmunks. My new friend did not find what he wanted there either.

This scavenger was middle-aged, dressed casually as befitted the nature of professional work on the first day of a new year, and nothing about him gave the appearance of frequent dumpster diving. However, he must have been desperate for a specific bit of reading material as he tentatively poked at the top layer of refuse in the garbage can next to the recycling bin. Although the platform was mostly clear and Emma was getting antsy to leave, I couldn’t move until I learned what he was after. Maybe I should be reading the same thing if it held such interest for him.

I was more than a little surprised when he pulled a crumpled paper from the trash and walked off triumphant. What treasure compelled this man to search a Metro North train, peer into a recycling container, and finally dig through trash? The Metro*.

Observing this reminded me of an even greater experience with foolish cheapskatedness. I’ll share that story soon.

* If you don’t live in an urban area, The Metro is given away free all over cities. You can’t walk five blocks – especially near transit centers – without being accosted by several people trying to hand you one.