I had one of those city weekends where at one point I’m doing cool New York stuff like taking my kids to the peaceful, calming glass garden at NYU Medical Center (Thank you Mommy Poppins for the idea) where my girls discover tropical birds, plants and a koi pond.
And then at another point, 4 year-old Dylan and I are stuck endlessly underground waiting for our subway, the L train, amongst the chaotic, less than calming crowds.
Those subway stations could really use a koi pond.
After 25 minutes it occurs to me that hey, maybe the L train isn’t actually running. So Dylan and I make our way back upstairs.
We, of course, pass about 421 signs clearly explaining that the L train is indeed not running from Union Square to 8th Ave. I am convinced that all those signs were JUST put up. Or very cleverly hidden. Or I’m just not that smart.
Then I ask the friendly Metropolitan Transportation Authority folks for a full $2 refund. So we can put it towards a nice, dependable cab ride.
I mean, we waited for a LONG time. And we still need to get home. And don’t even get me riled up about those invisible signs.
“I want my two dollars!”
They hand me a bus pass.
Oh, and that quote was “Better Off Dead.” John Cusack. 1985. You’re welcome.
Anyway, Dylan is ecstatic over this new public transportation opportunity. So we board the bus.
And as the bus labors slowly across town, I notice the woman in front of me eating an enormous hunk of cheese. I will never understand how people can enjoy eating anything on mass transit.
It must go something like this…. I’m so looking forward to this delicious, gorgeous wedge of cheese but first I’m going to get on the bus so I can eat it while some guy’s arse is in my face and another woman is shoving her purse into my side and the guy to the right of me has his legs spread so wide that I can hardly fit on my own seat.
And then during my fromage pondering, I smell some one’s Chinese food.
Oh gross. For gosh sakes, does someone really need to be eating their moo goo gai pan on their way to 8th ave? It just stinks up the whole bus.
So incredibly self-centered. You can’t wait 15 minutes until you’re home? Well, this is the crosstown bus. So maybe 30 minutes. But still. How about a little respect for your fellow New Yorkers?
And then I realize I’m just smelling Thai food, leftover from lunch, in my own bag.
Scratch that previous tirade.