2:04 p.m. - Mar. 06, 2002
Penn Station
Can I just say it again? I freakin love New York! My home away from home, the city that never sleeps, the madness, the frenzy, the seething energy of New York � I love all of it. New Yorkers are a rare and amazing breed � resilient, resourceful, and in constant motion. Who says that New Yorkers are rude? Man, I�ll take a New Yorker over any damn CRACKA, any day.
It�s been a long day, but I am so glad to be here. Staying at the Wyndham Hotel, Newark Airport tonight. Yes, the place that had a fatal shooting, in their parking lot (what, was it last night / this morning?) Ya know what I say to that? It could�ve happened anywhere. It happened to happen here.
I got into Newark airport around noon today. I journeyed down to the Airtrain terminal, to take the train into the city. Man, this is the cheapest, fastest, easiest way into Manhattan, from any damn airport in New York. Less than twelve bucks and thirty minutes later, I was at Penn Station. Hello, New York! While I was waiting to buy my ticket, I ran into a girl from the NYC Sales office. Believe it.
�Heather?�
Holy shit. Of all the people in New York, of all the times that I could�ve been buying a ticket for any one of a million trains into the city, here I was, running into Heather. We went through Initial Sales Training together, some five years ago. We rode together into the city, shared a cab from Penn Station to the office, and grabbed lunch at Au Bon Pain along the way. (She was interviewing for a Sales Manager position in New York � the interview happened to be at Newark Airport).
Anyway, I got into the office around 2 and spent the rest of the day with Chris. His phone never stopped ringing. We wrapped up around 5:30 or so. He gave me some really good directions for getting back to Penn Station, and how to take the train back to Newark airport. Still, it was confusing as shit. Penn Station is pure insanity at rush hour, let me tell you.
When I got out of the cab at Penn, there was a crazy fucking wasted woman, screaming at the top of her lungs. She was screaming at (what I discovered by eaves dropping) her husband. She would run up to him, scream something in jibberish at him, and then run off when he began to chase her. He threw his arms up in the air, screamed obscenities back at her, and then chased her into oncoming traffic. This went on, back and forth, for the entire time it took me to smoke a cigarette. She would challenge him, he would rise to the challenge, and then she would run off. It was quite entertaining.
Inside the madhouse of Penn Station, there were people rushing everywhere. I stood there, staring dumbly at the monitor, trying to figure out which train to take and where the hell to catch it, and I found myself mumbling out loud, �What the fuck?� I heard a sweet young voice ask, �Whatcha looking for?� There was a young man, sitting on the floor, at my feet. He offered to look at my ticket (which, by the way, had no information on it) and agreed that he also had no freaking idea as to what I should be doing. After staring at this damn monitor for about ten minutes, I noticed that I had JUST missed my train. The next one was leaving in about twenty-five minutes. This young man (never got his name) was on his way to Albany. His train wasn�t for another forty-five minutes. So, we shot the shit. He flattered me by asking how old I was. I always reply to young men that ask this question, by asking them, �How old do you think I am? He thought twenty-five, maybe twenty-eight. I nodded my head and smiled. I never lie about my age. He was sweet and acted surprised when I said, �Thirty-three.� He�s twenty. He was born in the country, in upstate somewhere or other; I didn�t quite catch it, but it was obviously somewhere near Albany. He grew up wrestling pigs and cows. I didn�t know that people wrestled cows. Man, you learn something every day. He is a mechanic, by trade. He got enough cash to buy a bus ticket to New York, to spend three days with some friends of his. Only, when he got here, they weren�t around. So, he spent the past three nights sleeping on the streets. He called his parents and they wired him enough money to buy a ticket home. Only, he lost the ticket. Yeah, ok. They told him he was out of luck. Somehow or another (maybe panhandling at Penn Station), he raised enough money to buy yet another ticket back home, which is where he was headed. We walked outside together, to smoke a cigarette. He told me how he opposed the whole cloning of humans, how he thought that the �brain scene� in Hannibal looked real, and how he met a girl from Argentina that spoke four languages. He had an enormous duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. �Man, you need wheels.� He excitedly replied, �Oh, I do. I do!� In a matter of minutes, I was to discover what he meant by this and why it excited him so. When we walked back inside, we had to go down a flight of stairs. He warned me, �Stand back,� as he sent his bag flying down some 50 steps. Man, his bag must�ve been going ten miles an hour! I held my breath, hoping that no little old ladies walked around the corner at this moment � it surely would�ve knocked them into a coma � and I would�ve been a witness. He laughed at his ingenuity and a couple of people said some THINGS to him. I have to admit it was kinda funny. �I�ve done this about ten times today, man it�s fun!�
I saw that my train was now listed on the board, showing which track it was departing from. We said goodbye and I walked off, laughing. Only in New York, man, only in New York.
Amazingly, I got on the right train, headed in the right direction. I was so proud of myself; I have no sense of direction. When the train pulled into Newark airport, I stood up and ATTEMPTED to get off of the train. But, some man (with his daughter and three bags) stood in my way. I could not, for the life of me, get past him. The door shut and the train was off again. I glared at him and anyone else that would make eye contact with me. We all three missed our stop. The conductor was sweet (after lecturing ME about not proceeding to the exit in a timely manner) and gave us all passes for the next train. Now we had to get off at the next stop, go down a million steps, cross the track, go up another million steps, and wait twenty minutes for the next train. But, this man was so sweet, and his daughter was so adorable, I just had to laugh.
While waiting for the train, there was some freaky man standing near the elevator, jumping all around like his legs were asleep, or on fire. I named him �Itchy Pants.� When I glanced over my shoulder at him, Itchy Pants had his back to me and was scratching himself like mad. Either that, or he was beating off, I couldn�t really be sure � but, man, was he getting after it!
Now that �Man Who Made Me Miss My Stop� and I had made peace, it ended up being a nice detour, a nice diversion. He apologized profusely and hoped that I wasn�t going to miss my flight. No worries, I was just going to the airport to catch a shuttle to my hotel. They were on their way to Africa, by way of London, on Virgin. We shared the same car on the train, and followed each other through the maze of the airport shuttles. My stop was Terminal E. I wished them a fun time and a safe journey. His daughter waved to me as the train pulled away.
I walked outside and the Wyndham shuttle was waiting for me, although I hadn�t stopped to call them. The driver said, �This is your lucky day. Tonight, you buy lottery ticket!�
