Transit Fail

Hi! I'm back from Providence, and what a wonderful weekend it was! I'll refer you over to Shannon's blog for a recap of our trip: www.catsinchicago.blogspot.com

So, today can be characterized by my complete failure to use the MTA system, or perhaps by that system's complete failure for me. I left my apartment a little early this morning, hoping to catch the increasingly elusive B67 bus which always seems to be pulling away from the stop just when I walk up thinking I'm a minute early. Today, I decided that I didn't really want to get sweaty walking to the subway (since I'd get sweaty on the subway anyway), so I would trick the bus into picking me up by being extra early. Wouldn't you know, the damn thing was still pulling out when I walked up! Clearly even with a college education my ability to understand the bus schedule is compromised.

So I walked. It's only 2/3 of a mile, but it was already 78 degrees and probably 90% humidity at a little after 9:00am. Suffice it to say I was sweating like the proverbial pig when I arrived at the 7th Ave station. And wouldn't you know, an F train was just pulling up! How wonderful. Or so I thought....

I, all unsuspecting, got on this train, assuming it would whisk me off to my transfer and I would be at work a little early. I put in my headphones and pull out my book of crossword puzzles. But I was deceived! Today, for no particular reason, this particular F train decided that it would pretend to be a G train. The G train goes to Queens. I go to Manhattan. But! I managed to discern in the crackling gobbledegook of subway announcements that I should get off a stop early for the A train....just as the doors were closing. Panicking, I dash to the map, only to be relieved in seeing that the A train can also be caught at the next station, on the G line. So I moved to the door, assumed a no-nonsense expression, and geared myself to dash across the platform. However, in my zeal, I neglected to consider that the train would no longer be heading in the general direction of Manhattan, and thus any A train across the platform heading in the same direction as my pseudo-F train would also not be heading into Manhattan. No, I gladly hopped aboard the A train that pulled up, and sat down, pleased with myself that a crisis had been averted. Sadly, dear readers, our hero was once again, deceived. This A train went deep into the heart of Brooklyn. As an express. Meaning that I passed stop after stop, speeding further and further away from my objective.

Thus it was, at Utica Avenue (wherever the hell that is), 15 minutes after getting on this ill-fated train, that I, metaphorical tail between my legs, crossed to an A train heading in the proper direction. I now had another 15 minutes to go before I was back into territory I recognized, and I was already late for work.

This got my whole day started off on the wrong foot, so to speak, and I was already looking forward to my dinner with my long-lost roommate, Immanuel, later on. Facing perhaps the longest and slowest day yet at the Atlantic, the clock moved at a glacial speed to 6:00. However, we had a great dinner (at Tello's, as he wanted Italian - and paid! It was like a man-date), as well as dessert at Ronnybrook Dairy in the Chelsea Market. Great to see him, and I look forward to hanging out with him more this summer, and his roommate Kaushik, another old friend from New House 3 way back in 05-06.

I got back on the subway, determined to make up for my abysmal failure this morning. I got on the A, and rode without incident to Jay St./Borough Hall (by now you should be able to make the commute as well as I can), where I found, to my chagrin, an F train sitting at the station, empty, with a huge crowd (a trainload, in fact) of people waiting outside it, and MTA employees running around frantically inside. Either they were having a playdate, or it was broken. Either way, it took at least 10 minutes for them to finally haul that train out of the way, and and a further 10 minutes for a replacement to come trundling along, moving so slow that you'd think it was being propelled by snail. I was, by this point, thoroughly put out, and stood grumbling in the middle of the car, jostled by the throng. And finally, to ad insult to injury, that damned B67 pulled away from the 7th Ave stop just as I was coming out of the station. It's like my Moby Dick. If my chest had been a cannon, I *would* have shot my heart at the damned thing.

That is my sad tale. But the MTA will not have the last laugh!