Tuesday, August 15, 2006

New York Subway

I was just in New York for work this past weekend -- first time in the city in about 4 years -- and I had the joy of riding the subway downtown. I grabbed the 7 at 50th and Broadway and climbed aboard a very crowded train Sunday early afternoon. I found a seat next to two kids -- hey, I guess NY really has safened up as they were riding alone -- and immediately sat down.

Oops, I'm wet. I sat in wet. Not good. It happens. I maintained my dignity, as best I could, and sorta half got up and slid my butt over to the next seat over...which was also wet! And, that's when one of the kids turned to me and said, I shit you not, "That seat's got water on it too." Yeah, no shit, kid. Maybe speak up next time before I sit down the first time...or at least the second time. And, I'm thinking and singing, "I love New York..."

So, now, back of shorts drenched, I stand. I've got blocks to go, stations to pass, before I get off. I'm just hoping that somehow I'll dry off before I hit the Village. Well, no matter how hot it is --and it is August in NY-- you can't just go from soaking wet to dry in 5 stations...but I was in luck.

The car stopped at 14th and somebody who speaks absolutely no discernible language gets on the PA to rattle on about something. I duitifully ignore. The car does not move for about five minutes and then....and then...it starts heading back up town. Wait, I think. This is not right. This, I don't think, is the direction we were going a minute ago. Nope. It's the opposite.

Drat! Still wet. I get off at 18th and, though I know I'm a mere 10 blocks or so from the village, I want to confirm it before I start to walk, as I'm meeting Andrew for brunch. So, I slide next to the ticketbooth lady and politely ask her how long of a walk is it to the Village. After 30 seconds of eye rolling, she deigns to lean forward to press her talk button and says exasperatingly, "What dear?" I repeat my question with a big smile, she pauses for another 30 seconds of concentrated eye rolling, presses said button again and says, "Yeah."

And then, signifying the end of the conversation, she theatrically releases the talk button. She is done.

And after ten minutes walking in the blazing sun and stiff breeze, I met Andrew and still looked like I was June Allyson on a bad day.

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