Remember that time I wrote a blog about how great the MTA was and how brave its workers are and how grateful I was at their quick response? That seems like a long time ago.
Last night, I came home from a lovely dinner. I washed and dried my hair so I could have an easy morning. I slept a luxurious night’s sleep and gave myself plenty of time to get ready. I decided to reward my punctuality with a latte for my train ride. As I walked in, I realized I’d forgotten my sweater. No big deal; instead of getting Starbucks, I’d just go back for my sweater. I was now a little less relaxed, but not overly concerned.
As I power-raced down the subway steps, I was hit with a wall of inexplicably angry people. One woman started screaming at me, “There’s no motherfucking downtown subway at this stop! Fuck!” I don’t know what my face looked like, but my heart felt like a sad, shriveled raisin, so I can only imagine that was reflected externally. Defensively, the lady said, “I’m just trying to help you. Fuck.” To which I said “Thank you,” and meant it, because there is nothing as irritating as swiping your metro card, walking all the way down, and realizing there is no train coming.
So the lady and I walked about a block together, bitching, but not really saying much. I felt like the Sancho Panza to her profane Don Quixote. I had to abandon her on our journey as she could not keep up, though on parting we did agree that the MTA was full of bastards and that we didn’t even get to ride for free so how could they treat us this way. I wasn’t aware until today that people literally felt they should get a “free ride”, but now I know and agree.
After sweatily sprinting down to the next stop and missing the 1 train by hairs of a second, I learned that the next train wouldn’t be coming for eleven minutes. This was too far. I hopped in a cab and crawled off towards the office slower than I believed any car could drive without coming to a complete stop. The traffic was so horrendous that I probably should have just waited for that stupid train.
So MTA thank you for the reminder. Like most New Yorkers, you and I will remain enemies. No matter how many times you pull through for me, I need to remember that like Kelly Taylor’s dad, Bill Taylor, you will stand me up at my birthday party just when I believe things have really turned around for us, causing me to do drugs in the back of a limo until I am finally numb to the pain, which is the worst way to start a rainy Tuesday.