On the Go

We had a purpose to our visit. We were on our way to surprise Shane's dad, now my dad, for a surprise 60th birthday party. In the meantime, we were to spend time with his mom, now my mom too. The product of divorce does become somewhat hectic, but what can you do? It's a no win situation, so we make the best of it.

It was 100pm and all the taxis refused to gives us a ride to Penn Station. We were shunned like lepers at a mysophobia convention. It was the strangest thing. The sun beat down -fiercely-, lashing our bodies with hotness. I was attractively special when the back of my legs dripped sweat. Ehck. We had succumbed to the fact that the taxis were not going to stop. Was it the luggage? Could it be the location? Was it because we weren't dressed in this seasons' uber urban chic attire? Did we look like a couple of stiffers? Either way Shane's anxiety attack erupted, like chicken little when he thought the sky was falling. We had 45 minutes to get to Penn. As we quickly made our way to the subway direction uptown, Shane enlightened me with his negative perspective, "We're going to miss the train. I can't believe it. We won't make the train. Shit!" His incessant moaning was as refreshing as needles in my pupils, "Stop being so negative, there's no need, we're on vacation, chill the -bleep- out!" We needed to be positive and focus.

Shellie's Proverb: Mirrors always tell the truth.


First, we got off on 42nd, because Shane overheard a pair of bubblehead's conversation, something about Penn and 42nd. As my eyes quickly browsed the map, we had gone one station to far. We quickly made the switch and got off on 34th, not free of my criticism on his etiquette on eavesdropping. Where the hell was Penn Station? Our train departs in 10 minutes and we had no sense of direction. We were ants at a picnic, scrambling around for the cherry pie. A street hood gave us the best pointer, "It's at the end of the block you'll see a big black woman." We jetted down the street in search for that big black woman, pushing and shoving against a strong current of people. There she stood the big black woman, but the "no walk" sign prevented us further. We were down to a mere five minutes! I understood why the taxis refused our fare, because midtown was a growling jungle of vehicles against a force of pedestrians.

The pedestrian sign lit and we sprinted our way down the stairs shoving and pushing anyone in our way. Our eyes scrambling for the Amtrak sign. Finally, we get to the electronic ticket machine which spits out our tickets. It is down to the minutes as a woman, probably lonely and bored, inquired with customer service, "hi my train doesn't leave till 3, but is there any way..." They were having a gentle conversation while our urgency dripped from our foreheads. I wanted to push this flimsy woman to the side and tell her she had two hours to decide so step the flip back, but we stood there fidgeting like our bladders were about to explode.

It was our turn. Ugh. We tried to be patient, but our hearts were in it. I didn't shove the smoker that stood in the middle of the sidewalk for nothing. "Yes, what gate do we go to for the 145?"
"Gate 5 right there, you'd better run before you miss it honey." She pointed to the gate. We jumped over benches and made way down the escalator only to see our train depart without us. "Bye," a smiling Amtrak attendant waved from the train.

Our hearts pounded so hard that I swear people could hear our struggle. Our clothing clung to us like paper mache. As my travel bag began to wear on my shoulders, there was no use being upset over a missed train, "Wanna get a slice?"
"Sure why not, it's not the end of the world anyway, right?" He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Right, the next train comes in an hour." I agreed full heartedly.

Lesson: Grasshopper, to go against the grain of the bamboo is to master the way of patience.