I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my day. Like, a lot.
It’s kind of just become part of who I am instead of lessons learned.
Oh, there’s that Courtney again, doing Courtney things and such.
Usually, I blame it on the alcohol, gather up my puddle of a life, pretend I have a bit of dignity left, and move on.
This time no alcohol was involved.
I have come to learn I really am just plain stupid…. or maybe just so desperate to get home after a week in New York that I would have jumped onto a moving bus just to hitch a ride.
Let’s start from the beginning.
A week ago, I left to go visit two of my soror sisters in NYC.
After much planning, we decided I would take a bus from JFK to Grand Central Station and then cab it over to the financial district where they live.
We calculated I would pay $15 for the bus and $10 for the cab, saving my cheap ass approximately $30 in cab+tip fees.
Got off the plane with my carry on and immediately found the bus. Win.
Bus takes an hour and a half to get to GC. Fail.
Wait for cab for another 30 minutes putting me smack dab in the middle of rush hour. Fail.
Cab sits in traffic and racks up $25 before I finally get there. Fail.
Still saves about $20, but took about an hour and a half longer. Half win. Half lose. Are you glass empty, or glass full?
My, what a boring way to start off the post. You must have faith I will bring a tasty little morsel to the table as soon as I get done blabbing about the woes of my bank account and how I can HARDLY afford to jetset to NYC for a week. I mean, I had to take a BUS. #whitegirlproblems
So anyway, I finally arrive and we drink wine and eat cheese and all is right with the world.
We decided I would take the subway to the air tram on the way back because “It’s totally easy.”
After I lug my bag through the mist and arrive at the subway station, we have determined I need to take the A train toward Rockaway.
What luck! The train conveniently pulled up right as I was dragging my suitcase down the nasty stairs and across the platform with my strapping guns made of pipecleaners.
I half hugged my friend as I ran through the half closing doors. “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS PLEASE!”
Suck it, announcer man, I have a plane to catch!
The train ride was supposed to last about 40 minutes.
I took this time to dive into my turkey and provolone on wheat and begin The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest.
30 minutes later, I closed my book and checked my Maps App, aka my savior and sole survival tool.
You know those three things you would take to a desert island? I would pick the Maps App. I swear, you could type in “coconuts and firewood” and it would be all “Walk 50 feet and take a right at the palm tree, continue on palm tree path until you see some tall grass. Take a left at the tall grass and stay right at the fork in the road. There, you will find a lovely hut. Steal the firewood and RUN!” Maps is the smartest little tool I know.
I digress. I checked the little blue dot but it didn’t look like I was on track for my route. As I begin to slightly panick, the conductor stops the train, calls last stop, and tells us to vamoose.
Well, fuck me twice and hang me out to dry.
Of course, I didn’t want to SHOW any weakness so I confidently grimace along with the rest of the crowd and head towards the only exit, stairs toward the street.
I saw my saving grace, the Q10 bus toward JFK!
Oh thank you, thank you, big city gods.
……Is what I would have said had I ever found the damn bus stop.
And THIS is where I began to panick.
I am in effing Queens, bus-less, train-less, lost, and with a flight to catch in an hour and fifteen minutes.
“Taxi, miss? Taxi?”
It took me a minute to realize it was indeed a real live ethnic man and not an oasis in the desert.
The desert of pavement that is…. in the rain.
“How much to JFK?”
“$20”
I still don’t know why I even asked. What the hell did I think I was going to do?
I’ll take it. The cabbie grabs my bag and begins walking, talking some mumbo jumbo about how the bus would take me a long time anyway and trying to sell me on a cab ride I had already agreed to. We stopped as he popped the trunk of his “taxi”……
His ’97 Altima. THIS IS NOT A CAB!
Apparently sensing my unease, he tells me Queens is pretty residential and a lot of them do this.
Knowing I will miss my flight if I don’t get to the airport soon, I jump in.
I casually shoot the breeze with said cabbie with 911 dialed and ready on my phone.
After a quick moment of panic in which I think I left my wallet on the subway seat, yes, I am quite panicked by this point, I realize I have no cash.
Shit.
“Um, I should probably tell you now I will have to run into the ATM once we get to the airport”
“Oh, I can stop. Do you want to just stop at this gas station?”
The fuck I don’t, sir! No way in hell I am leaving my bag in a car while I get out to get cash in a deserted neighborhood. You will take me where I demand first!
Turns out the guy was totally legit and did wait, while I trusted him with my bag, as I ripped through the terminal like a mad woman in search of an ATM. I threw $24 at him and ran inside. I had arrived.
Hello, JFK.
After getting my bag searched at security, I made it to my gate where I bought a light snack of popcorn and bottled water. We boarded at promptly 4:10 pm for our 4:30 flight and I was chit chatting about my book with the lovliest couple from Palm Springs.
And that’s when they made the announcement. We had a maintenance delay and would be leaving 15 minutes late.
At 7:23 EST we finally left. That’s 2 hrs and 53 minutes sitting on a plane that we could not get off of, for the mathematically challeneged. Plus a 3 hours flight.
I rode the wrong bus across town to transfer to a semi-taxi with a strange man only to sit on a plane for 6 hours.
And this, folks, is just another day in the life of Courtney S Standerfer.