A January Commute
It is another liquid-cold night in Times Square. I have just turned the corner of Broadway and am heading north toward the 50th street IRT station when a guy hawking tonight’s comedy show at Caroline’s yells “Hey buddy, you look like you could use a laugh” as I walk by.
You don’t know the half of it, pal.
I keep my head down and keep walking. That’s not the funniest offer I’ve ever had from a guy trying to drum up business for a club, I thought. The funniest was on a warm summer night as the Mrs. and I walked east on Rue St. Catherine in Montreal. As we passed by one of the local performing arts centers, the hawker out front yells to us “Hey, c’mon in, we do couples too!” Alas we had dinner plans and did not take the fine gentleman up on his offer.
Later on I am sipping a Molson on the bottom deck of the ferry zoning out and staring into space. Across the aisle from me is a guy in one of those furry toques with ear flaps and strings. You know the ones. As a kid I called them “Russian hats” since Russian bad guys in spy movies wore them in the winter and I never saw them anywhere else. Anyway this guy is asleep laid out across four seats. Two rows in front of him is a woman in a sweatshirt and jeans who is reading and organizing papers in a folder. Is it homework? Is it office work? Don’t know.
As I sip and zone I notice her look over at me and shoot me the proverbial stink eye. You know, the one women give when they think they’re being stared at even when they’re not. Don’t worry baby, you’re not so hot that I’m staring at you like some stalker. Actually right now I’m staring over your head at the brightly illuminated tugboat passing us about 50 yards to port.
The sleeping guy in the toque just sat up. He’s got a stainless steel travel mug in one hand and a Blackberry in the other. Wonder if that’s coffee in the mug or something better. It is night time, after all. He’s scrolling through, checking his e-mail in case anything earth shattering has crossed his inbox in the last 15 minutes.
“Boat’s in”
‘BOAT’S IN!”
Damn, the deckhands are getting more aggressive these days. I realize I’ve got more than half a beer left so I do the old trick of walking to the back of the lower deck of the boat to cross the middle deck in its entirety to maximize time in the “safe drinking zone” of the ferry itself. Once you cross onto land if you’ve still got a beer in your hand it’s a ticket, even if the beer is in a bag. Can I say thanks once again to Rudy Giuliani for making this town a kindergarten? Times like this make we want to live in someplace fit for grown-ups like Louisiana.
The long walk affords me time to finish the rest of Canada’s finest and I head down to the train. It’s freezing by the tracks, and this has the unintended side effect of making the Metrocard readers not function so well. Or maybe it is intended since when they don’t function well you have to swipe 3 or 4 times and instead of registering the transfer from the subway the reader takes another two bucks off your card. Which is, naturally, what happens to me. I look over at the booth and I think about saying something, but instead I just eat it and shuffle onto the arctic platform. There are enough instances where the bus readers don’t work and I get a free ride to balance out times like these. Like most humans, I have to delude myself into believing that everything evens out in the end.
You don’t know the half of it, pal.
I keep my head down and keep walking. That’s not the funniest offer I’ve ever had from a guy trying to drum up business for a club, I thought. The funniest was on a warm summer night as the Mrs. and I walked east on Rue St. Catherine in Montreal. As we passed by one of the local performing arts centers, the hawker out front yells to us “Hey, c’mon in, we do couples too!” Alas we had dinner plans and did not take the fine gentleman up on his offer.
Later on I am sipping a Molson on the bottom deck of the ferry zoning out and staring into space. Across the aisle from me is a guy in one of those furry toques with ear flaps and strings. You know the ones. As a kid I called them “Russian hats” since Russian bad guys in spy movies wore them in the winter and I never saw them anywhere else. Anyway this guy is asleep laid out across four seats. Two rows in front of him is a woman in a sweatshirt and jeans who is reading and organizing papers in a folder. Is it homework? Is it office work? Don’t know.
As I sip and zone I notice her look over at me and shoot me the proverbial stink eye. You know, the one women give when they think they’re being stared at even when they’re not. Don’t worry baby, you’re not so hot that I’m staring at you like some stalker. Actually right now I’m staring over your head at the brightly illuminated tugboat passing us about 50 yards to port.
The sleeping guy in the toque just sat up. He’s got a stainless steel travel mug in one hand and a Blackberry in the other. Wonder if that’s coffee in the mug or something better. It is night time, after all. He’s scrolling through, checking his e-mail in case anything earth shattering has crossed his inbox in the last 15 minutes.
“Boat’s in”
‘BOAT’S IN!”
Damn, the deckhands are getting more aggressive these days. I realize I’ve got more than half a beer left so I do the old trick of walking to the back of the lower deck of the boat to cross the middle deck in its entirety to maximize time in the “safe drinking zone” of the ferry itself. Once you cross onto land if you’ve still got a beer in your hand it’s a ticket, even if the beer is in a bag. Can I say thanks once again to Rudy Giuliani for making this town a kindergarten? Times like this make we want to live in someplace fit for grown-ups like Louisiana.
The long walk affords me time to finish the rest of Canada’s finest and I head down to the train. It’s freezing by the tracks, and this has the unintended side effect of making the Metrocard readers not function so well. Or maybe it is intended since when they don’t function well you have to swipe 3 or 4 times and instead of registering the transfer from the subway the reader takes another two bucks off your card. Which is, naturally, what happens to me. I look over at the booth and I think about saying something, but instead I just eat it and shuffle onto the arctic platform. There are enough instances where the bus readers don’t work and I get a free ride to balance out times like these. Like most humans, I have to delude myself into believing that everything evens out in the end.
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