Lost in Transportation: A Subway Story; or, how the L train ruined my day (almost)

A few days a week, I have to travel down to the financial district for work.  This is quite a trek from where I live.  In fact, I have to take three different trains to get there-- the 6 to the L to the 2.  On the bright side, I'm given a small stipend every week to purchase a weekly unlimited metro card.

If the title of this blog serves as any hint, you probably already know that I rarely use this stipend for it's intended purpose, and almost always shell out the $18+ for a cab.  I mean, three trains.  Come on.

However, every now and then, when the weather's not too hot or too cold, and when it's definitely not raining or snowing or humid out, I come to my senses and remember that it's absolutely insane to spend that much money on a cab, especially when a subway ride only costs $2.25, and it's generally the faster option.

I know that these moments of clarity are no great accomplishments, but I can't help but feel proud of myself when they occur.  I spend most of the day thinking about the benefits of making such a responsible decision.  Obviously, I benefit financially, and can use the money that I save on a more vital purchase ($18 will buy me two celebratory drinks later that night), but choosing to ride the subway comes with a few other feel-good perks.  It gives me the opportunity to finish last week's NYMag crossword puzzle, or outline a few sketch ideas, or catch up on some reading (though it's hard to get much reading done in public when you're reading Fifty Shades of Grey-- trust me on that one).  It's a decision that I know my mom and dad would be proud of me for making, and when you're a twenty-something art school graduate, those opportunities don't come along too often.

The other day, I had one of these moments.  I had dug out my metro card from the inside lining of my purse, slathered myself in hand sanitizer, and had Joni Mitchell cued up and ready for the journey.  I left my apartment at just the right time.  The 6 train was ready and waiting for me when I arrived at the station.  I sat in the car that I knew would drop me off right at the stairs that would take me to the L train.  I knew that if I put just the slightest skip in my step, I would catch the L train just as it pulled up.  Nothing could bring me down.

Nothing, except for the only train that has an entire website dedicated to how often it screws people over.

istheltrainfucked.com

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the L train was fucked.

My mouth dropped open as the bright, LCD-red words DELAY 15 MIN flashed in front of me.  They stared me down harder than an MTA bus driver's gaze after I've successively inserted my metro card incorrectly six or seven times.  All of my good intentions had been completely thwarted by the L train, and my heart sunk to the pit of my stomach.

I had to make a decision, and fast.  I knew waiting for the L train wasn't an option-- I had to be at work in 15 minutes.  I tried to figure out if any of the other trains at the station I was at could serve as an alternative, but my limited subway knowledge and poor map reading skills all pointed to no.  I was left with only two choices-- run the four or five avenues over to the 2 train, or take a cab.

I knew what I had to do.

I ran.

I turned around, and bolted up the stair case, around the corner, and out the turnstiles.  Not only was I experiencing the high of my excellent decisions, but I was about to throw a runners high on top of it.  I was beaming. I can only imagine how foolish I must have looked running through the train station with a big, goofy smile on my face.  And I've been trying desperately for the last few days not to imagine how much more foolish I must have looked when I tripped on the last step coming out of the train station, landing right on my face.

Oh man.  I bit it hard.

With bruised knees and ego in tow, I limped over to the curb and hailed a cab.

Perhaps this comes across like a story about giving up.  It certainly felt like I was giving up at the time, sitting in the back of the cab that I had tried so desperately to avoid.  But reflecting on it now, I see that this really is a story about perseverance.  Sure, it didn't work out exactly the way I had wanted it to, but in life, things rarely work out exactly the way we want them to, anyways.  We get knocked down-- sometimes literally-- and it's ok to admit defeat every now and then.  It doesn't mean we've completely lost the war.  Just means we have to be better prepared for the next battle.

Though I was disheartened by the turn of events, I enjoyed my cab ride downtown.  My cab driver was a nice man from Trinidad.  I told him the story about how I went to a leadership camp one summer, and my Trinidadian roommate stayed up with me all night one night, trying to teach me how to do her accent.  When I did it for the cab driver, he laughed, and told me it was "not bad, mama!"  Since I had already travelled part of the way by myself, the cab ride only cost me $10, so I still had enough money for one celebratory drink later that evening.  And I ended up getting to work early, leaving me enough time to spare on a deli trip for an Arnold Palmer.  By the time I got to work, aside from some sore knees, I had almost completely forgotten about the disastrous start to my day.

I have to go downtown for work today.  I'm taking the subway.  I'm going to check every website I can find to make sure that my trains are running on time.  I will make this work.

And I'm wearing my running shoes.  Just in case.