Oof. Living in New York is hard. Pop culture gives such high expectations of this place: that a weekly dose of Manolo Blahniks is both practical and necessary, that, at least if things are bad you have a ragtag group of friends to drink and moan with. And, of course, that the apocalypse will overtake you daily, bringing in hordes of aliens and monsters, both literal and figurative.*
But Tina Fey did it! And so can I! Down the hatch we go …
*Thanks, Sex and the City, Girls, every disaster movie ever written.
This is how we get on trains. I’ll take today as an example for me. Today I went to JFK to drop something off for one of C’s friend. It involves taking the L train through Brooklyn and then switching to the A (Outer Rockaways only—there are two that separate at a certain point) to catch the AirTrain (5 extra dollars!) to your terminal.
On the way there I barely missed both the L and the correct A—by which I mean I saw both of the trains close their doors and shove off while I was walking onto the platform. I then had to wait for two of the wrong A to pass for another correct A train, occupying myself by riding a few stops on the wrong A and then waiting for twenty minutes (even though a new [wrong] A came every five). But! The crowning glory came on my return L trip when I leapfrogged over a confused tourist and her suitcase and dove into a car just as the doors were closing. You may think this aggression is wasted and didn’t save time, but let me tell you: the trip to JFK took two hours. The trip where I dove on the L train took one hour, if not a little less. When making a connection that one minute can make a world of difference.
But I still love it better than driving because you can read or sleep as you go.