In our technological age, there is the constant worry about how and when automation shall leave people in its cruel wake. Go no further than into any New York City subway station to feel the resounding and implacable wail of human will. Technology is in places, but never when you need it, and never when you want it.
On many days there are reroutes, planned changes, decided by the subterranean overlords as a part of scheduled inconvenience. The standard maintenance of infrastructure rotting before our eyes. But instead of relying on tablet screens, smart TVs, or anything resembling Alexa or Siri, what you’ll find is something old-fashioned and quaint.
The sudden and confusing changes are hung on pillar after pillar. Each station has its own MTA Martin Luther, affixing these subway theses. They are printouts, pieces of flimsy paper, taped, tacked, or sometimes left in a pile on platform benches for all to see and none to decipher.
The only hint of technology is that they are not handwritten. Everything else about them and their placement says, “we are not going quietly.” Because confusion down there is by design.
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