Yesterday was one of those days that, if I had known what lay ahead, I would have thrown the covers over my head and not come out.
Well, except to pee. And eat. And write. Okay, okay! I lie. I would have gotten up, but I would not have gone into the city for my writing group critique.
Okay, okay! I would have gone into NYC for my writer’s critique group, but I have would have taken my mother’s car and paid for parking.
Yes, $100 worth of parking would have been worth sparing me an estimated 2.5 hours or more of traveling on buses and subway cars.
The Hempstead line to Brooklyn was busing passengers between each town on the line and Jamaica, where connecting trains to NYC could be caught. Because I did not want to be late to my 3pm writer’s critique group, I decided that it would be ludicrous to wait 40 minutes for the next express bus.
I dragged my husband (poor hubby) onto two local buses for a 45 minute ride through Queens into Jamaica Center. Once there, we hopped on a train into Penn Station and then got on an A train down to Chambers Street. After 1.75 hours of travel, I made it to my group 30 minutes late.
I seriously must be getting my period soon because I got into two fights with car drivers who blamed me for doing things that were their fault (blowing a red light, signaling but not turning while I am trying to cross a street).
While at the critique group, I was the only person who neither found the character engaging or the story construction interesting. I tried to tone it down by telling the writer to dump a great big pile of proverbial salt on my head since I was disagreeing with everyone else. I am not sure it worked, but she didn’t seem fazed.
After the group ended early, Mark and I walked up Greenwich Street to 8th Ave and West 4th Street to eat at The Place. We’ve eaten there before, but I could not remember what I had. However, I remembered the decor, the service, and the quality of the food and drinks. This time, we skipped appetizers so we could feast and share desserts. A wise choice, indeed.
We walked to the nearest stop on W. 14th Street and got on an E train.
In the wrong direction.
We got off at the World Trade Center and opted to get on an A train to Canal Street in order to get a connecting F train through Brooklyn to Jamaica Station. That was 1.5 hour ride only to find out the next bus to Floral Park was not for another 45 minutes.
We opted to get into a cab and was driven by the newest cabbie who was also quite possibly a brand new driver. He drove very slowly compared to most NYC cab drivers, and he had some trouble following our directions because of a slight language barrier and possible new driver fear. On the plus side, he got us home safe and sound about 30 minutes later.
Mark and I promptly got ready and went to sleep. At 9:30pm. We were so beat!
Total trip time: 1.75 hrs+1.5+.5=3.75 hours traveling to and from NYC from Floral Park, which is 22 miles away. 22. Miles. Away. One. Way.
Yesterday made me realize how easy getting around I had it when I lived in Cambridge, MA. For those who know the Boston area, I traveled the equivalent distance of going from Boston to Framingham, MA. Or Boston to Danvers. Or to Rockland. There and back on buses and subway cars.
On the plus side, I got to see neighborhoods that I have never seen before. I got to eat great food. I walked around the city on a bright, sunny day with my husband. Most of all, I was bedazzled by the variety of neighborhoods, sizes and types of buildings, and the sheer size of New York City. Truly jaw dropping.