"Ok, so what does it do again?"
"It's awesome, it tracked my entire jog around the city. The route. Where I ran. Where I stopped. Where I walked. The altitude "
"Really?" I said with a bit of disinterest. "What use does knowing the altitude serve?"
"Yeah, my phone can track anything," he said enthusiastically failing to acknowledge my quesiton. "Do you like Thai?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"I can find any Thai restaurant in a 10 mile radius."
"Can it tuck you in bed at night and read a bedtime story to you?" I said sarcastically.
"Ummm . . ."
"Well?"
"YES!"
This little exchange may have seemed meaningless at the time. Buddy (his blog given name) was revealing his geeky techie side which he tries to hide from most people. I'll admit it though, the phone's capabilities seemed limitless, but that's not my point. The most seemingly menial conversations show their worth later on.
Later, we went out and had a few drinks with some of his friends at bar in the Lower East Side (saying we had a "few" is a gross an understatement.) Time passed, drinks flowed, and I decided to cut back earlier than most of the people I was with. It was now a quarter to 2 am and nearly everyone I was with couldn't stand straight (one man went missing).
"Buddy, do you think you can help me get back to the R train?"
"Ha ha ha ha, what?"
"I need to get to the R train. I have to be up for work tomorrow."
"What?" he was all smiles, I started to get the feeling this was going to be tougher than it seemed.
"The R train, you know, so I can get back to Brooklyn. Buddy?"
"Hey man," he begins to fight with his balance, "ask this guy right here, he knows more than I do." He points over at a co-worker of his who's in worse shape than him.
"He's more drunk than you!"
"Oh yeah!" laughter erupts. Trying to talk to drunk people was beginning to be a chore. I can see why some people appear to be more humorous or charming than they actually are when your audience is inebriated.
"Listen, can you use your phone to find the subway for me?"
"What?"
"Your phone, you know, the one that can do EVERYTHING."
"OK, OK, let me see." He messes with the phone and says, "The F train is nearby."
"No, I need R, W, Q, or N." (It's crazy, but this would've been gibberish to me a couple of months ago.)
"OK . . . um . . . well . . . " he continues to mess with the phone. I've never seen him so lost.
"I got it! Head down here until you come to Chrystie, make a left, and you'll be at the N train."
"Are you sure? Can you double check for me?"
"Yeah, wait, go this way," he points in the opposite direction, "You'll go past a park, then make a left at Chrystie."
"HEY! You can't keep changing your mind!"
"No, I'm sure." At this point I grabbed his roommate and had him double check, it seemed right to him, but remember, I'm dealing with drunk people here.
"Ok, then I'm off. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Be safe." He hugs me (a man who rarely hugs) and tells me how much of a good friend I am ("I love you Ray, you're the best, dude. Seriously, etc. etc. etc.). I never quite pinned him as being a drunk lush, but I guess endless beers will do that to someone (we were celebrating his birthday, he was never without a beer the whole night).
I started walking on the path he directed me to. I cross by Delancey, then Broome St., everything thus far has seemed very typical: busy streets littered with drunk bar patrons, 24 hour delis, and countless ethnic slop houses lay before my eyes. Typical. I can't stress that enough.
Eventually I came to Grand St. Suddenly I was the only person walking down the road. Computer shops and coffee shops had Mandarin writing underneath or above the English written on the signs. I was in Chinatown. Everything was quiet. No drunk people, no slop houses, no lights . . .
I make it to another street and it's Hester. I figured in a little while I'll reach civilization and things will be back in order. Once again, another block of silence, solitude.
Strange.
Finally I hear some chattering. It looks like drunk people smoking cigarettes outside a bar (a typical scene since NY has a smoking ban in bars and restaurants).
I reach the corner, look up at the street sign, it's Canal St. It's not the street name that told me I was in trouble, it was the fact that I was at a dead end. Ludlow ends here. I pull out my cell phone and call Buddy (stupid me!)
"Hey!"
"Dude, I'm having a great fucking time, fuck I'm so wasted . . . "
"I'm at Canal Street."
"What the fuck are you doing there? You must've missed Chrystie."
"This is where I ended up after taking the directions you told me. There wasn't a Chrystie in sight. The road ends here. Can you help me out?"
"Dude, just take a cab or something, I'll pay for it." I thought about this for a second. I could pay for it so money wasn't a problem, but looking around the area, it was obvious this section of town was asleep. Asking a cab driver to take you to Brooklyn at bar closing hours was going to create some hurdles I think would be tough to cross, if I was lucky to find one.
"I'll figure it out, don't worry."
"Wait . . . " I hung it up before he could continue. I saw a man sitting in front of the bar. He was too small to be a bouncer and dressed conservatively.
"Can you tell me where the subway is?" He points to his left and says it's right down street. I might be OK, after all.
I sign above the subway entry stairs had a giant F (which I took for "FUCKED")
I took a look at the subway map to see if I can get back to the right set of tracks before I swipe my card and spend my balance. It seems that it does cross over to the R at the 4th Ave-9th St stop. No biggie, I suppose.
Click!
My MetroCard registers and I go in. A couple of women are walking out. The weary look of their faces told me they'd seen death in eyes. I went down the stairs to wait for the next train. There wasn't a sound. It was really odd. There wasn't a single sound being omitted from anywhere. I was in the subway alone.
Was I really in New York CIty, the city that never sleeps?
I couldn't believe it. Here I am, in the city that never sleeps and I was alone at the subway station. I had such a hard time believing it that I took a picture with my camera phone to make sure I wasn't going crazy. It was 2:25 am and I had been waiting for 10 minutes. Ten minutes alone in a subway seemed like an eternity, especially considering the city I was in.
I paced around the waiting area and saw a sign for a 24 hour booth. A black woman with a very stoic, emotionless face responded to my questions with the same emotions her face showed. I was reassured they were all still running and somehow I felt as though I pestered this lonely woman, in a desolate subway station, from finishing her work . . .
I spent another ten minutes pacing, waiting for the train to Brooklyn, hoping for some kind of human interaction. Eventually I heard some voices. Sounded like drunk girls. They came in from the other side of the station. I slowly crept up to get a glimpse and perhaps eavesdrop. It was three women overdressed in black, with candy apple red lipstick, and laughing about random things. I decided to keep my distance. I didn't want them to think I was stalking them (well . . . )
A couple minutes roll by and I heard the train coming in. I didn't see an F in front of it. Wait. Is it? No way. A garbage train? It had one passenger cab in the front and the rest were loads of garbage. The one man in the passenger cab opens the door and looks around. I'm thinking, Do I get on train with garbage freight?
I decided to ask him, "Is the train to Brooklyn coming through here?" At this point, the girls all turned their head in sync. They just realized I was lurking in the station near them at that point.
"It outta be through here at any time." He seemed distant and continued doing what was he was doing and eventually the train took off.
I walked away and a train to Queens sped by on the other side. The girls boarded it and disappeared as fast as they came.
I was alone, waiting for train I wasn't sure was going to come.
To Be Continued . . .
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