Thanks to my fancy NBC friend, I checked out a screener of the new movie Pitch Perfect tonight. Afterward, I headed towards home but not first without stopping for a dozen eggs at a deli in Midtown. The movie ended before 9:00 P.M. so I had plenty of time to grab a few necessaries and still catch the express uptown.
However, without fail, if I am transporting a parcel in need of refrigeration I will come upon delays and climates of fire and brimstone.
Do you know about the Garbage Train, Reader? This enigma of the sub-terrain is usually something you see crossing your legs on the platform at 3:00 A.M. having the ill fate of selecting beer for your evening’s drink. It is a bad omen that the soft comforts of your bed are far far away from you.
Here’s a video so you can recognize your doom in the future:
If you’re waiting in the subway in New York and you see the Garbage Train, abandon all hope. I’m not even sure this train transports garbage, but it’s the evil twin convertible of the MTA subway system. Sucking the very soul from your lips, it is the Dementor of the underground.
With a dozen eggs in hand (no bag, because I’m a pious “green” asshole) I waited for a time, which felt like a scene out of a Samuel Beckett play.
I need only the “A” train to bring me home.
Yet, here’s the succession of trains that passed while I stood on the tiled steam room of the 59th St station stop:
Garbage Train (not even 9:15 P.M.! Hope remained intact)
D Express train
C Local train
A train! – Out of service
B Local train
D Express train
Another garbage train?!? (Hope abandoned)
Then, just when I considered biting the thirty dollar bullet and taking a cab, the A Express train arrived!
I boarded with the rest of the cattle and true to form ended up shoved against a questionable character flipping leisurely through a book of cancer photos. Cancer photos, Reader.
We wait. We wait idle at the platform until…
C Local train comes and goes.
B Local train comes and goes.
A Express train finally departs uptown!
Cue the PA system, “Ladies and gentleman, this train is making local stops to 125th St. All local stops.”
To those outside New York, the express A skips all seven stops of the pomp and circumstance of the Upper West Side making a bee-line straight to 125th St/Harlem and beyond.
I don’t need to explain that’s a lot of stops. And that five block jaunt from 81st St to 86th? Utter bullshit. At this point my eyes were seeping venom. Or tears of frustration, whatever you want to call it.
We inched farther and farther north and nearly ninety minutes later of what should have been a twenty-six minute ride, I arrived home having crushed the dozen eggs in my palm around 110th St.
So I guess what I’m getting at is, who wants to make me breakfast?