This week’s video clip shows people somehow navigating automobiles on subway tracks somewhere in what seems to be Germany.

The best part is the WTF? reactions from the people waiting for trains.

The German hiphop is pretty, er, superfresh as well.

Rode last night’s 6:16 pm New Jersey Transit train westbound in the svelte new double-decker. It took a bit longer than usual for commuters to board–extra caution needed for some folks, negotiating the three steps on each car, as people filtered through the cars looking for empty seats.

Once aloft in the balcony section, I was treated to a snug but comfortable ride, feeling a bit more giddy than usual. I let my geek-flag fly proudly, as I hung my backpack on the small plastic hook in front of me.

The train was indeed packed–it was a a semi-express–hitting some of the more populated commuter towns on the line.

As we sliced smoothly through the Meadowlands I figured on my usual quiet evening ride–not much talking, perhaps the soft purr of Blackberrys scrolling in the hands of Wall Street scions floating back to Chatham.

This was sadly not to be, as some chatty college kids shared with each other (and the entire upper deck) their seemingly witty comments at full volume, of whatever Broadway play they wanted us to know they attended that day.

In my first unofficial survey, the double-decker’s low ceiling and plastic seats make the sound carry much further through the compartment.  I usually read on the evening ride, and enjoy a short travel nap like a toddler. But with the thespian pundits across the aisle, I busted out my iPod an melted into a superior “Dark Star” from Roosevelt Stadium 8/1/73.

The latest issue of Metro-North mouthpiece Mileposts addresses, in light-hearted language, the matter of people taking their shoes off on the train. Mileposts‘ “Courtesy Corner” always admonishes, in a jokey way, its riders to be more considerate of fellow passengers. The July installment mentions how “foot troubles” did not exist in Biblical times, when people opted to walk around barefoot.

But alas, those days are long gone. “And that means you should keep your shoes on, and keep your feet off the seats when traveling on our trains….It’s the courteous thing to do, freeing up another seat for a fellow commuter and keeping our trains from smelling like a 2,000 year old locker room at the Coliseum.”

In other Mileposts news, the Harlem line continues to hurtle toward world domination, winning the May On-Time race with a 98.6% rate (”On-time” is of course defined as arriving within six minutes of the scheduled time–about as much time as is required to make one quite late.)

Perhaps the bigger story is the race for second. The dreaded New Haven line, home of the hapless catenary wires, pulled ahead of one-time Metro-North darlign Hudson, 98.3% to 97.4%.

I had the express pleasure of being seated next to an actual CEO on the 8:16 this morning. He boarded in White Plains and took the window seat next to my aisle seat. In true CEO fashion, he booted up a laptop and tweaked a spread sheet showing half-year results, elbowing me in the ribs every time he typed an A, S, D, F, E or C. (I saw that snappy CEO title as he fired off a few emails.)

Also in true CEO fashion, this would-be master of the universe talked business–quite loudly, in fact–into his cell from Tuckahoe to the Grand Central tunnel.

The gentleman’s firm, which I won’t name out of decency and fear of litigation, is a management consulting firm that, according to its Website, helps global corporations with “decision making.” (Turkey or roast beef for lunch? Roast beef! Sprite or Sunkist? Er, let’s do a focus group.)

A few chief executive nuggets that the rest of the car were treated to this morning:

The Full-Time Advisory Consultant

“It’s one of those things we alluded to…we do not have a 100% full time advisory consultant sales guy…there’s no doubt that that’s a glaring weakness…Clearly I’m not able…I can’t be everywhere.”

The Rainmaker

“Getting a rainmaker in the advisory services business is the hardest thing to get. The opportunity to get business over the transom is there, but you never know.

“Jeff”

“Jeff is actually pretty innovative, and at times even effective. But his strength is selling solutions out.”

A Brooklyn-based writer by the name of Philip Recchia has launched the subway blog “YoTransitMan.com,” which dubs itself as “the leading source of erroneous transit news.”

TransitMan offers a weekly dose of NYC subway-related Q and A’s. To wit:

Q: So far this year I’ve been flashed three times on the subway. What’s a girl to do?

A: Next time some deviant opens his raincoat . . . [EDITOR’S NOTE: For legal reasons, all references to the following terms have been removed from this response: “pipe clamps,” “ice tongs,” “melon scoops” and “ball pein hammers”] . . . until he hollers “Uncle!”

A quick Google of Mr. Recchia shows him to be a former NY Post reporter and the programming director of an outfit called BlogTalkRadio.com.

Today’s offering of Great Commuting Moments comes from the odd British children’s series known as “Mr. Men.” This installment follows the foibles of one Mr. Tickle, a long-armed, amoeba-like chap who takes great delight in using his prodigious reach to tickle unsuspecting folks.

(By the way, the Journal News has reported that Mr. Tickle has been questioned by Greenburgh police as they search for the missing “Jim” in that creepy backyard sex romp.)

At the railway station the guard was about to wave his flag for the train to leave.

As he lifted his arm in the air, Mr Tickle tickled him.

And every time he tried to wave his flag Mr Tickle tickled him until the train was ten minutes late leaving the station and all the passengers were furious.

Rightfully so, I might add.

ELEVADER /ELL eh VAYD urr/ noun: A witless dolt who invades a full elevator as the doors close, then typically selects a floor that’s lower than yours to further delay your arrival at work.

Usage: I was all set to be on time for my morning meeting, but this elevader sprinted through the lobby and jammed his foot in the doors, forcing them to reopen. I stared at the back of his head until I’d successfully singed his hair.

NY Times “NYC” columnist Clyde Haberman is once again wagging a wrinkly finger at the hoi polloi who ride the subway, and litter on and around it too.

When it comes to creating trash, however, New Yorkers are nothing if not catholic in their tastes. They’ll throw anything to the ground, leaving it to some poor hard-working devil making minimum wage or close to it to pick up their mess.

There are so many of these self-centered louts that our immediate reaction to the transit agency’s campaign might be rendered in Internet-speak as LOL. We don’t mean Laughing Out Loud. The anti-trash effort is commendable. This LOL stands for Lots of Luck.

Not unlike LIRR madman John Clifford, Haberman wishes every last subway rider sat stock-still, arms crossed, iPod turned up only to 2, and took up no more space than that a one-inch buffer zone around the perimeter of his being.

Here, Haberman chastises riders who don’t fold their NY Times properly.

Here, he ponders life with cellphones on public transportation, same as he did here…and here…and here…

And, of course, here.

Geez, this guy’s even more uptight than TJ. He’s actually got some decent points about what is sometimes a lack of human decency out there–too bad he comes across as such as schoolmarm when he presents his case.

The 20-somethings on the 5:46 out of Grand Central Friday evening.

There were two of you, one about 20 and the other a little older. You got on in White Plains. You were dressed in baggy shorts and white t-shirts. You ate from bags of chips and drank from bottles of iced tea.

It had been a long week. We were tired.

You both took window seats on opposite sides of the aisle. That’s cool, I thought, you want to nap, you want to read, you want zone out. Perhaps the two of you have been together all day and have nothing left to talk about. We know the feeling. We’re married. [NOTE TO THE MISSUS: A JOKE! A JOKE!!!]

But no. The two of you chose to converse across opposite ends of the car! You were both on a window, as far apart as the width of the M7 train would allow. But that did not prevent you from talking…shouting…across the width of the car.

“THAT [expletive deleted so as to avoid protests outside Trainjotting headquarters] GOT FOUR MONTHS IN JAIL!” the younger one yelled.

“NO SHIT,” replied the other.

“HE WAS WORKING AT AN ACURA DEALERSHIP WHEN HE GOT KNOCKED!”

“NO SHIT!” replied the other.

“YEAH, THE LAW PASSED THE NEXT DAY, BUT HE WAS TOO LATE. HE GOTTA DO A BULLET ON THE ISLAND.”

And on your conversation went, our own little live performance of The Wire: White Plains, on the 5:46.

Next time, can you at least have the decency to share a three-seater?

Painstakingly,

Trainjotting

Some people ride trains only because it gets them to and from their place of work.

Others ride trains because they really, truly just freakin’ love trains.

Like this guy.

I must say, Little G would never, ever get off this thing–not even for a giant tub of Dibs.