I Have Lived In NYC For 13 Months And I Got On The Wrong Train Going Deeply, Deeply In The Wrong Direction This Morning

It’s hectic as I race (walk) down the street poised to take a right into my subway entrance. It’s not hectic for any particular reason other than the fact that our setting is New York City. You know how Tom Coughlin said if you’re not 5 minutes early, you’re late? Well in New York if you’re not sprinting around town you’re crawling. You’ll get run over. Demolished. Crushed by a human stampede like you suddenly transported to Pamplona for the Running of the Bulls.

Anyway, I’m walking down the street en route to the subway this morning. I take my normal right, get shouldered by 3 or 4 people, shuffle through my pockets for the MTA card that I must swipe in the same way they did when the subway first opened in 1904 I believe, and enter the station. I buzz past my normal train — the 2 — in search of the A train. I am bound for 30 Rock for some golfer interviews.

Never taken the A before. Rut roh.

It’s loud as I follow signs towards my platform. You can hear, not too far off, a train arriving and people shuffling in and out. The tunnel from which these rushed noises originate bears “A” train logos. Love it.

I rush through, see the “A” doors are still open, scoot my sneaky-quick ass in there, and sigh as the doors close.

We made it.

I’ve got my headphones on playing the famous Zero Blog Thirty podcast which you can download, subscribe and rate 5-stars on iTunes here and am listening to Uncle Chaps handsomely describe how you teach dogs based on tangible shit like narcotics’ primary smells and whatnot. Quite fascinating. Chaps knows his stuff.

A few stops go buy before that dreaded empty “well I most certainly fucked up and am, to some degree, traveling in the wrong direction” feeling hits like a damn camera guy at a halftime show.

I panic. Not going the correct direction and also do not have service. Bad combination. I’m lost. Stuck. Helpless.

Much to my chagrin, the realization I’m on an express train (expressing in the wrong direction) materializes as I sadly peer at stop by stop through the weathered train windows. Nothing worse than flying by stops when you really just need any stop. Any stop at all.

Finally the train halts. I’m balls deep in Brooklyn. This is unfortunate, for I began in lower Manhattan with a final destination of midtown Manhattan. Below is a diagram.

Sad. I rush off the train, up the stairs, outside, across the street, and back down the stairs only to realize I’m back at the same spot.

Two entrances across the street leading to the same place. Classic.

The rest of the story is less eventful. I got back on track, bit the bullet, transferred at 4th street to the “B” train, and arrived at 30 Rock.

We interviewed. We took pics. It was nice. Sup SNL.

I left my apartment at 7:15 with a 25-minute estimated travel time. I arrived at 8:30.

Honestly, the NYC subway system is very manageable. They make it simple. But if you lose focus, for just an instant, for just a split second, it REALLY makes you pay. It’s like a challenging, well-designed golf course in that respect.

New York City, the most punishing, disgusting, trash-filled golf course on earth.

PS — Comment something nice below if you’ve had a similar experience!