Some people take The Van instead of the subway. I wish I’d known that when I worked downtown. I used to work on Fulton Street, and when I did, my less-than-six-mile commute from 86th Street often took somewhere between forty-five minutes and an hour. And that was on the train claiming to be an express.

My friend Kristin takes The Van home. An express bus to work, and The Van home. Her husband Joe, like me, has never taken The Van. But we both heard about it last night over dinner, sometime between the end of the entree and the emptying of the last glass of wine.

Kristin used to work in midtown. She didn’t know about The Van; then again, she didn’t need to. But a little while ago, she got a job near Wall Street. And at first, she took the subway.

There is only one subway line serving the Upper East Side, so anyone needing to commute by train must cram into a set of tunnels below Lexington Avenue. So many people need to be moved that—in the morning at least—there is a danger of the platforms overflowing and people getting pushed onto the tracks. This danger seems most acute on the downtown platform of the 77th Street station at about 8:20 in the morning, or whenever some sort of routine calamity brings the trains to a standstill.

The MTA adopted the cost-effective solution of running more trains in the morning to clear the platforms. But this poses one problem: like roads, tracks can only hold so much traffic at a time. On a highway, the closer the vehicle in front of you, the slower you have to go. Well, the same holds for train tracks. So, they run more trains and the platforms get cleared, but the trains inch through the tunnels at an excruciatingly slow pace, especially if you’re a caffeine addict and you haven’t had your morning coffee.

After a few numbing weeks riding the subway, a co-worker told Kristin about The Van. It waits right outside her office building after work. (To be precise, there are many vans ferrying people from that building all throughout rush-hour. And you can find similar vans on just about any downtown block. But to Kristin—and anyone else leaving work at a particular time—there is only The Van.)

At only twice the price of the subway, The Van is damn good deal, considering the comfort and the speed. For four bucks, you ride in groups of no more than thirteen—well, fourteen, counting the driver—skirting the East River as you go up or down the FDR. Door to door, it rarely takes more than a half-hour. It isn’t crowded. It doesn’t smell. You don’t have to stand. And if traffic forces it to a halt, there is always the psychological solace of not being confined in a dark tunnel.

On the way home, you can get dropped off on any corner you want, assuming you live above 61st Street and you want to get off on First Avenue. The evening commute also treats you to one of my favorite views of Manhattan as the FDR curves westward between 20th and 40th Streets. The wide East River is right in front of you, a rough granite slab that reflects the lights of the 59th Street Bridge. Then you notice you’re creeping up on the midtown cluster of skyscrapers. Empire State, the Chrysler, Citicorp, it’s all there gleaming as it grows toward you.

If you do ride The Van, know this: there is a specific van etiquette, much like there is on an elevator. The Van is a little more bizarre, though, because you see the exact same people almost every day and you spend a hell of a lot more time with them. But you are not to talk to them.

One important Rule of The Van is calling your stop at the proper time. If you call your stop too late, the traffic conditions might not be favorable to a sudden pull-over. But if you do it too early, it may unnerve other passengers wishing to get off sooner. The proper way is to call your stop two blocks before you want to get off.

There are two ways to call out your stop. Two and only two. One doesn’t deviate from either phrasing. It just isn’t done.

To understand the correct way, an example: Kristin lives on 88th Street. So, when she wants to get off, she waits until 86th Street, and then she says, “88th Street, Please.” First you say the street number, then you add the word “please”, which indicates that you are a civil human being. The driver confirms the request by saying “Okay,” although I suspect that if the driver repeated the street number in his acknowledgement, some misunderstandings—however occasional—might be avoided.

There is another form of announcing your stop, but it is only used when a passenger planning to exit at a stop beyond yours calls out of turn. Let’s say someone preempts Kristin. Overanxious Passenger might say, “92nd Street, Please” when the van reaches 85th Street. Well, because the stop was called seven blocks before the desired destination, it’s premature. The rules clearly call for announcements to be made two blocks in advance. No more, no less.

In this case, Overanxious Passenger has committed a faux pas. Kristin should attempt to rectify the situation by saying, “88th Street first, please,” infusing the word first with enough disdain to sufficiently communicate her feelings about the unnecessary deviation from the proper procedure.

Aside from stop requests and CB traffic reports from other van drivers, The Van is silent. It’s supposed to be, anyway, so if you disrupt the silence with a cell phone call, you could be fast on your way to becoming the pariah of The Van.

Now, that’s not to say that people aren’t reasonable. Sometimes, you need to use the phone. We’ve all been there, and so have the other passengers on The Van. As long as you speak by delicately pushing air towards the mouthpiece with no more force than a whispering mouse, you will avoid the harsh judgment of your peers. Spouses and business associates of polite van riders may want to consider purchasing assistive listening devices for their telephones.

Kristin says the passenger seat is the most coveted of them all. If you’re not lucky enough to get that seat—Kristin has only gotten it twice—you have to sit in one of the back rows with the other twelve commuters. The benefit of the passenger seat is obvious. First, winning that seat guarantees that you won’t have to climb over or force out any passengers as you exit The Van. That’ll help keep you popular with the others. Plus, there’s never any danger of sitting with a stranger. You have the whole row to yourself, aside from the driver, of course; but even then, there’s a gap to buffer you from your fellow New Yorker.

Ideally, the passengers arrange themselves in such a way that nobody has to get out unnecessarily. Some people have figured that out, so when evaluating the rows, they try to coordinate exit strategies with their potential bench-sharers. The smarter ones sort themselves into the proper order before The Van even pulls away from the office building.

Weather is an important factor. Try not to force people out into bad weather. When it rains, for example, people tend to get wet. And when they’re wet, their seats get wet, too, which means you will be sitting in whatever puddles your neighbors create. If you’re already soaked yourself, it might not matter that much...but it certainly doesn’t help.

On The Van, nobody talks to each other, and nobody dare dart their eyes into anyone else’s airspace. (Elevator rules, remember?) So, Kristin doesn’t really know anything about the other people on The Van. There is one guy, though, who has an overbearing air of self-importance. We decided to call him Adam due to his throat’s prominent apple of the same name.

That’s all I can tell you. We’d been sitting there for a while, enjoying one of the first outside meals the spring would allow. But we could tell from the body language of the restaurant staff that we had been there long enough.

I’m not sure how I feel about The Van...I think I’d prefer the express bus instead.