A Two-Hour Trip in Four
Yesterday I was leaving campus at about 5PM, headed for home (we get off on weekends). Usually it takes me no more than two hours to get home, by bus and two trains. Well, this time it took me four hours, and here’s why:
I had already taken the bus and first train, and was now on the platform waiting for the last train I’d have to take. I usually take this train only for one stop, which takes no longer than 10 minutes (including the time spent waiting for it to arrive). In other words, I am about 15 minutes away from being home (including the 5-minute walk after departing the train).
Normally when I go home, I take my Army bag with me–to carry my bathroom stuff and in case I decide to bring something back with me. This time, however, I decided to take my Da Kine bookbag instead, and I’m carrying it on my back.
The F train arrives, and I step in. Again, normally I walk right to the opposite-side doors, because those are the doors that open when the train arrives at my destination. This time, however, there were two Mexican guys standing there, so I just decided to stay where I am (right where I stepped in).
The doors close, and I decide to move forward a little bit. Oops, wait, I can’t! As I try to step forward, I’m being held back by something. I finally realize that the doors closed right on a piece of the Da Kine bag!
Of course, I stay calm to make sure nobody else notices and thus make me look like a fool. I just kept standing by the doors as if I wanted to stand there–yeah, right.
My plan was to wait until the train pulls up to a station where the platform is on the left side, thus the doors my bag is stuck in are the ones that will open, and not the other side. Then I will just exit the train casually and go take another train back, and nobody will know a thing.
Good idea, right? Well, my station comes by, and the opposite side doors open. At the next station, the platform is again on the right side of the train, so I’m still stuck. Station after station, all the platforms are on the right side of the train. I thought to myself, “Holy shit, when are we going to stop at a station with a god damned platform on the left side?!”
After about 30 minutes on the train–going completely the opposite direction from my home–I decide to make an effort to get my bag out of the doors. But still, I can’t make a fool out of myself. So, I just put both of my hands behind my back–as one might when leaning on something with his back–and start trying to pull the bag out. I finally manage to free the piece of my bag from the doors! Yes!!
Finally, the train pulls up to another station (again on the right side of the train), and I start walking towards the doors. Oops, I’m still stuck! GOD DAMN YOU! Again I put my hands behind my back to feel around and find out what the hell is holding me back. One of the damn straps got squeezed in too! You know, one of those straps on bookbags that seemingly have no use whats-so-ever? Well, apparently it does have a use; get caught in shit!
Unlike the piece of the bag, I couldn’t get this one out no matter how hard I pulled (all covertly, of course). At this point I was starting to wish I had taken my knife with me, because I could have just cut the strap and go on with my life. Now I really have no choice but to wait for a station where the doors open on my side.
One hour since I first stepped into that cursed train, it finally pulls up to a platform which is on its left ride. Praise the lord! I waited gleefully until the train stops completely and the doors open. They did! I stepped out and felt free once more! Free of that cruel hell-bound train! Now all there is to do is just take the opposite-bound train and get home.
I go to the correct platform, and wait for my train to freedom. After several minutes, a train arrives with the letter F on the front. I step in (this time all the way), sit down, and relax, because I know it’s a long ride home.
Some time later (who cares anymore? I was just glad to be going home), I realize that the stations we’re passing by are unfamiliar. That’s when I realize that it’s not the F train, but the E train (although it had an F on the front)! Go to hell, MTA!
At this point I’m totally steamed, because it’s already 8:30PM and I could have been home already, watching television doing homework. I get out at the first stop in Manhattan, and start walking back to the station where I initially got on the F train; about nine blocks away.
To calm down and pass time, I call up some of my friends and ask them if they want to chill tonight. All of them said they’re either busy or it’s too late already (8:30 on Friday night is too late? Go die!). But whatever, it managed to calm me down and make the walk easier.
I got to the station, paid the fare again (I didn’t even care about the money anymore), waited for the train (at this point, with my streak of luck, it was no surprise that my train left right when I got there), got in it all the way, and got off at the next [my] stop.
Phew, finally! I get out and start walking home (only a 5-minute walk). I thought I was home free, until BAM, I get hit by an 18-wheeler!
Just kidding. From that point I walked home with no more problems (other than dropping my cell-phone on the way there). I got home at about 9PM. My mom had already walked the dog for me, the food was already prepared, and my annoying sister wasn’t home. Aaaah, life, is, good.