Walk This Way
It was raining hard when I got up Wednesday morning, as had been promised. It was cold, too. Worse, they were saying that winds were going to be upwards of 50 mph that afternoon. I don't get along well with the wind. Wind steals my hats, discombobulates me with my own hair, drives fecal dust underneath my contacts and, for reasons I've never fully understood, exhausts me.
Outside, things weren't so bad yet. Raining, sure, but rain itself never bothered me. Once down on the subway platform, though, I glanced at my watch. The hands were pointing at 11:55.
At first thinking I'd just slipped it on upside down that morning, I flipped it around and looked again. No, that still wasn't right, and upon closer inspection I noted that the second hand wasn't moving.
Well, damn, I thought. I tend to be a little too obsessed with time, and so the loss of a viable wristwatch, even for a couple of hours, can seriously unbalance me.
I did my best to remain calm, though. I'd get through the day, then stop at the snotty jewelry shop on the way home for a new battery. They were never terribly friendly in there if all you wanted was a watch battery, but they were convenient. Sometimes that's enough.
The train arrived, a bit more crowded than usual for 6 a.m., but still quiet. Apart from the watch, everything was about as normal as most any morning.
Then at W. 4th, we were told that the train was going to shunt over to the A line because there was "congestion up ahead."
And in a way, that was true. There was indeed congestion up ahead. What we weren't told at the time was that the congestion had resulted from a derailed train. I guess they felt it wouldn't be in anyone's best interests to let us know that a train had just slid off the same set of tracks we were riding on at the time. That wouldn't be good for morale.
The idea of getting off the train on 8th Ave. instead of 6th in the rain and the dark didn't bother me much. That's fine, I thought, as the doors closed and the train pulled out of the station, I can do that.
I thought that for two reasons. First, because the same thing had happened two or three times before, and in each instance I was able to find my way to the office without too much hassle.
The second reason I thought everything was fine is because I am an idiot.
A few minutes later, we pulled into 23rd St., where I stepped off and followed the crowd to the turnstiles. Just before hitting the street, I lit a cigarette, got the cane out and hoped for the best. I knew roughly the direction I needed to head in, but was unfamiliar with the specifics of the terrain, so the cane was a necessity.
I took my bearings from the position of the subway entrance and what I remembered from the last time I did this, tapped to the corner, and turned onto 23rd. Twenty-third St. was wide and uncluttered, and once I got over to 7th Ave., I'd be back on familiar ground.
It was raining harder, but at least the wind wasn't an issue yet. As I tapped along, my mind wandered. Given the rain, though, it wouldn't be anything even close to light out for another hour or more. On the sidewalk, there was no foot traffic at all.
Then I came to a cross street. I wasn't expecting that; I shouldn't have hit anything until I got to 7th, but what the hell? It wasn't unheard of, a weird little cross street like that. I shrugged and continued on my way.
Reading street signs was out of the question, so instead (this is one of many old tricks that very rarely works) I strained at those dim lights I could see, the storefronts and whatnot, looking for something I might recognize, something with a little character. And as I did so, I kept walking.
Then I crossed another street, and lights I briefly thought I might've recognized turned out to be something completely different. I lit another cigarette and kept walking and tapping, and the rain kept falling harder.
I don't know how many streets I'd crossed before it finally began to dawn on me that something was most definitely amiss. I clearly hadn't been walking east on 23rd, as I suspected. But given that my initial bearings were wrong, I could've been walking in any damn direction.
However much I hated the idea, it was time to ask for help.
Problem was, there was nobody around to ask. Plenty of cars and trucks, but I hadn't passed anyone in the last 15 minutes. I positioned myself near a corner and listened for footsteps or voices beneath the sounds of the passing traffic and the rain.
This sort of thing had happened before, and there was no cause for panic. All I needed were a few accurate bearings and a point in the right direction, and I'd be set.
Finally, I heard damp steps getting closer.
"Excuse me?" I began, before they had a chance to zip away. "But I seem to be lost, and I was-"
But the steps zipped away anyway. A few moments later a second pair of steps approached. This time I made sure the damn cane was visible, then began in with the same spiel. But by the time I hit the word "lost" they were gone, too.
Then a third person walked on by.
I know it was a cold, rainy, crappy morning, but Jesus Christ-it should've been pretty obvious that I wasn't asking for change.
I was preparing to use the cane to impale whoever might walk by next, when a nearby door opened, and a Middle Eastern fellow stepped out.
"You need some help?" he asked.
"Uhhh?" I said in my relief, "Yeah, umm?where am I?"
He told me that I was at the corner of 8th Ave. and 30th St., which, considering how bad things might've been had I been walking west or south instead, wasn't so bad.
"Which way to 7th?" I asked, holding both arms out, scarecrow-like.
"No," he said, "it's 8th."
"I know that-but I'm trying to get to 7th. Which direction should I go? This way or this way?" I pointed in a grand fashion to make things as clear as possible.
"Oh!" he said. "I will take you!"
"That's really not necessary," I told him, taking a step back. People-either they don't do anything at all, or they try to do too much. "Just point me in the right direction, and I'll be fine."
"You come with me," he said, and started walking back across 30th. I took his damp sleeve and followed along. At the opposite corner he stopped and prepared to cross the avenue.
"This is the way to 7th?" I asked. "Because if it is, I'll be fine from here." He still hadn't given me an answer to that simple question.
"No," he said, sounding mildly frustrated. "This is 8th."
I began to worry again just a little as we crossed the street that this whole thing could actually become uglier. But once we reached the opposite corner, he said, "Okay, you go to 7th now. Straight ahead. And I'll go to 39th."
It sounded like a plan to me. "Okay then," I told him. "Thank you very much."
Then he blessed me, and I blessed him in return. Then I went to work.