BECOMING THE 1 TRAIN
I am the subway, and the subway is me.
This morning was the commute from hell. I'm sure mine isn't the only story out there, but it's my story, and my blog, and to paraphrase Sarah, my house...my rules.
First day at a new part-time job, so I allow extra time...over an hour for a trip that should take about 25 minutes. Leave comfortable dryness of apartment for much moister outside atmosphere. Slosh through 1.5 blocks to subway.
Descend into subway and become part of gi-normous throng of p.o.'d New Yorkers. Find out subways are not running between 42nd and 96th Streets...my new job's north of 96th...so I trudge through soaked streets to 96th.
Descend into subway and become part of gi-normous throng of p.o.'d and now completely saturated New Yorkers. Wade through ankle-high warm water. Feels (and smells) like I'm frolicking in one giant toilet. (I probably am.) Find out that no trains are running, in either direction, below 103rd Street.
Walk to 103rd, descend into subway, yada yada yada. You know the rest of the story.
Completely soaked, take cover from the apparently imminent flood at a local java stop (those green signs are everywhere, signaling hot caffeine and shelter). Sit for two hours, write fairly funny sketch, and wait for rain to cease and subway service to resume. Run into friend Andy and agree to split a gypsy cab with only one working backseat seat belt. I finally make it to my new assignment. My shoes remain soaked until 4:30 pm. Slipping them off at some point, I note that the entire sole and back of my foot has been dyed goth black.
Take three different trains to see Amy Sohn at Barnes and Noble. Feet still black.
Go home, shower, scrub feet. Once. Twice. Three times a pumice. Feet still black. Do not wish to clamber into bed with black feet. Anti-bacterial soap's next, because whatever that black stuff is, it's gotta be bacteria. Lather, rinse, repeat. As needed.
What's it gonna take? Turpentine? Ajax? Sandpaper? A blast of messianic air, containing fire, brimstone and Dow's magic scrubbing bubbles?
The residue on my feet may outlive me. I am now the subway. And I'll just have to accept that.
Or maybe I could have my feet amputated.