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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Comedy / Humor
- Published: 08/10/2015
A Trip to New York City
Born 1945, M, from Rego Park, NY, United StatesThe other day, I decided to take a trip from my suburban middle-class neighborhood to New York City, because I kept hearing that's where things are at. I couldn't drive, because the price of gasoline was exorbitant. So I took the subway. Anyway, I heard that that's what everybody does now, and I didn't want to stand out as some kind of jerk.
Accordingly, I made my ten-block way to the nearest subway station. As I descended the steps into the dark cavern, the pungent smell of urine attacked my nostrils. I stepped carefully, to avoid the bodies prostrated here and there, and giving off alcoholic and strong (cheesy) fumes. In the cavern, a surly-looking man stood inside a small booth. A sign read: "Tokens $1.15." I pushed two dollar bills through the window.
"How many ya want?"
"One, please."
He snatched the bills and thrust a token back at me; then began counting a pile of bills, taking no further notice of me. Feeling it scarcely worth the trouble to fight over the change, I abandoned the cause and entered the turnstiles, hoping that in my impoverished state I would not desperately need the change later on. The subway platform was overrun with people, though it was 11:00 in the morning--well past the "rush hour."
I stood with the horde, neck craning, peering down the track into the empty darkness. No sign of a train. The crowd on the platform kept growing. There were continual sighs and muttered curses; people pacing, children crying. The air was steamy and black with soot. I kept straining into the blackness for the longed-for two pin-points of light. Nothing. An express train roared by on the center track, shaking the whole foundation. A couple of minutes later, another one. But no local for us. Now there remained not even one square inch of empty space left on the platform. Men were pulling their hair out in despair. Women were weeping and mopping their destroyed faces with tissues.
At last, just as I began to feel that the concrete platform would cave in from the load, or we'd all die from exhaustion and carbon monoxide poisoning, two beams of light appeared far down the track. The sighs of relief nearly blew us all away and I nearly fainted from the noxious aroma. After this interminable wait, what should come rolling into the station but a train composed of the oldest, most dilapidated cars in the system--and only four of them, at that! (We needed at least sixteen to accommodate the crowd!) The door opened and a mad rush ensued for each one of them. I'm sure several people were knocked down and stomped to death in the struggle. (At the time, I was aware of several heartrending shrieks.)
At length, the conductor closed the doors, trapping many and leaving the rest clamoring on the platform. he had to reopen the doors several times before all hands, feet, pocketbooks and briefcases were safely inside the train. Then the train gave a tremendous lurch forward, causing the whole mass of solidly packed passengers to lunge toward the front of the car. The next instant, the motorman suddenly slowed the train, sending us all staggering toward the back of the car. Several passengers slammed against the back door. It slid open and two fell out. What their fate was, I can't say, but the train roared on.
At the first stop, though I braced myself as firmly as I could against a pole, the crowd that came hurtling through the door sent us all sideways and I fell against a female of uncertain years. This creature uttered a loud exclamation of rage and gave ne the sourest look I'd ever (born). While I was apologizing as humbly as I was able, two friendly fellows close by (actually everyone was close by), struck up a rather intimate conversation.
"You push me once more," yelled one, "and I'll punch you in the jaw!"
"Aw, shut up!" responded the other.
"I mean it!" There was fire in his eye.
"You just try it and see!"
"Oh yeah?"
Whatever might have ensued, didn't--for the simple reason that the lights in the car went out, leaving us in utter darkness. Then what fidgeting, muttering and groaning I heard! To top it off, the train ground to a halt, and there we all stood, invisible to each other in the steaming subway car. Suddenly, a loud blast sounded over the P.A. system, causing a great tremor to run through the mass.
"Attention passengers! I believe the train is stalled. Hope to be moving shortly." And that was all.
Exactly one half hour later, the lights went on and at the same moment, the train started with a jerk. And, believe it or not, we finally did arrive in New York City, and I was still alive and breathing, though badly shaken and disheveled.
I ascended out of the dungeon into the pure light of mid-town manhattan--the great Big Apple. Pure daylight, plus a haze of exhaust fumes and incinerator smoke. Blinded and choked, I approached the corner. The traffic light was green. I stepped off the curb, then leaped back at least a foot into the air, to reland on the curb. And my leap was just in time, too! A broken-down yellow taxicab was careening around the corner on one wheel, doing at least 60 m.p.h. I soon saw that I was not the only one affected. A fellow on a bicycle had been forced to do a somersault in the air (while on the bicycle), and had landed several feet ahead, flat on the sidewalk (both he and the bicycle). A stout woman on the opposite corner, loaded down with several shopping bags, let the bags go and sat down on the curb with a thump. The taxi disappeared, leaving a swirl of newspapers and several furious people in its wake.
Somewhat unnerved and cursing to myself, I continued along the sidewalk, gingerly wading through the litter, and avoiding the slick oil stains and tar. The odors of rotting food wafted from restaurant ventilators and garbage cans on the curb, brimming with garbage, spilling debris over onto the sidewalk.
More and more people were appearing on the sidewalk. It was the noon rush. Hordes came out of the skyscraper office buildings and descended on the neighborhood restaurants and coffee shops. I found it increasingly difficult to move forward, but nevertheless valiantly forged my way through the masses, knocking the smaller people aside, and being knocked aside, in turn, by the larger ones. Stationed among the inward edge of the sidewalk, were groups of solicitors: tall bearded men in jeans and t-shirts, peddling jewelry, spread out on velvet cloths; salesmen in business suits, demonstrating home appliances. Tiny slit-eyed Koreans, dapperly attired, scribbled words, such as, "God," "Fall of Man," and, "New Messiah" on blackboards, while their compatriots shouted unintelligibly in English. I caught something about a dragon and something about a tree.
Further along the way, a youthful (troop) of pink-robed men and women with shiny heads (yes, the women, too!) danced and leaped in place, shaking tambourines and chanting, oblivious to crowds and honking traffic. Their faces contorted into the most-difficult-to-achieve anatomical positions, and I wondered whether they were experiencing the heights of ecstacy or excruciating pain. But no time to wonder. The milling throngs pushed me on and I came alongside a young woman who was slipping flyers into the hands of anyone who would let her.
"Vote for Smith!" she hollered, tossing her long brunette strands. "Let's end inflation! Let's bring peace to the world! Let's end corruption now! Smith for president! Cast your vote on the side of right!"
Soon I was on Forty Second Street, surrounded by unusual persons and events. Fierce-eyed characters in leather pants, wearing earrings and nose rings, stepped furtively out of doorways and opened their palms, displaying watches or diamond rings.
"Yuh wanna buy a watch cheap?" they whispered hoarsely.
Others did not show their wares:
"Yuh wanna smoke?"
A raggedy young man with dirty whiskers and torn sneakers slapped a leaflet on his thigh, then held it under my nose.
"Beautiful girls upstairs. Check it out, man!"
A tall, tired-looking man with platinum hair and painted face walked across the sidewalk, paused to glance around with narrowed eyes, then entered a dark doorway in front of me. I noted his unusual attire. He wore a huge brass nose ring that stretched his nose several inches longer than it would have been naturally. A shiny gold earring dangled from one ear. He wore a cowboy hat and skin-tight leather pants, one leg shorter than the other. On one foot he wore a blue and yellow high heeled wooden shoe and on the other, a red and purple one. He was sockless.
Starved, I began to look for a place in which to eat--not a fancy one--just a place where I could get a wholesome bite to eat. I looked doubtfully at a couple of counter joints, still jammed with customers, though it was almost 2 p.m. White-outfitted waiters and waitresses scurried up and down the aisles and dived through kitchen doors. At last, I entered a coffee shop that appealed to me. It looked pretty enough: sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling; the walls were imitation wood-paneling--a rich dark color. I sat down at the counter and observed the activities of the staff. Everything was hustle bustle. Waiters and waitresses raced to and fro, bumping into each other, tripping each other up. Plates tilted, food slopped to the floor. Soda fizzed up to the ceiling in minor explosions. Occasionally, a whole tray smashed to the floor and groups of busboys rushed to scoop up the remains, while the manager shouted violently and threatened salary deductions to all offenders. I watched a waiter drop a spoon, step on it, pick it up, wipe it with his filthy apron, and toss it back into the clean silverware tray. Another waiter came up and pushed a stack of dirty dishes in front of me, blocking my view--and only removed it when I objected strenuously.
"Yes, honey," he said patronizingly to a hard-faced blond, who whined dismally for her check.
A thump at my feet called my attention to a roll, dropped by a passing waitress. She snatched it, took a chew out of it, and returned it to the breadbasket she was carrying. Starved waiters dipped their fingers into ice cream bins, licked them off, and dug for more.
A cry of fright sounded behind me. I turned to see that it came from a man in a nearby booth. A stout, nervous waitress was steadying her tray, which had just collided with the man's head. She had paused to see if he was still alive. Noticing, no doubt, his heaving chest, she decided in the affirmative and rushed on her way, barely skimming many more heads en route.
These exciting events made me momentarily forget my hunger, but I soon recalled it. My first step consisted of trying to make eye contact with various of the help. These efforts being ignored, I tried hand signals. Finally, in desperation, I called out. But my voice was lost in the hubbub. Disgusted and repelled by the rising odor from the spoiled food on the dirty dishes still near me, I sought a booth. At least there the table was neatly set and free of the leavings of others. Now to try once again for service. To get any attention at all, I had to resort to pinching a waitress (on the arm of course!) She behaved as if asking her to wait on me were an affront to her dignity and flitted from table to counter and counter to table, carrying the menu. Trying to get it from her was like trying to pull meat from the jaws of a tiger. "I'm coming, sir," she called each time I turned beseeching eyes upon her. But each time she discovered emergencies at other tables. I almost got up to search for another menu, but she finally gave me the menu and actually took my order!
However, when my food arrived, I got fried instead of broiled, boiled instead of baked, canned instead of fresh, cold instead of hot, etc. But since I was ready to slide under the table in a hunger swoon, I ate it all with gusto, just as though everything were perfect--afraid one of the hungry-looking busboys would snatch and devour my plateful.
By the time I had finished, the restaurant was almost empty. My friend, the waitress, being unoccupied, had the check ready. She dumped it on my greasy plate, without a word, and sailed into the kitchen. I lifted the oily mess and swore that she'd not get a penny in tip from me. (Sucker, I gave her 15%!)
Still burping, I wandered down the street. The lunch crowds were thinning. I approached an intersection, and there, in the center of the street, stood (or rather, jumped and danced) a middle-aged man in a business suit. He was violently waving his arms. A fit, I thought. No, he was attempting to direct traffic. A noble volunteer! The problems were: he was not directing in a logical pattern and no one was paying attention to him, except to avoid running him down (difficult, since he blocked the way). As I drew close, I saw that his face was very red and sweat poured down his chin and neck. I also heard him yelling from the top of his lungs:
"C'mon! C'mon! Damn you!"
He succeeded in confusing drivers enough to cause several near collisions. As cars continued to ignore him, he became more and more enraged, clenching his fist and waving it at the drivers, while screaming abuses. More than once, a car grazed him, and he responded by striking it with clenched fist, then howling in pain as he nursed his injured part.
I soon had enough of such nonsense and moved on, approaching what one might call a residential neighborhood, by virtue of the fact that people resided in it. Between the stores were darkened halls, where stairways led to second floor dwellings, attested to by curtains blowing in the windows. Children scampered over the sidewalk, laughing and shouting, aiming water guns at each other. I paused before the shooting jets, waiting for a lull. When I thought I could make my way safely through the combat zone, I marched confidently forward. However, as luck would have it, the youngsters, intent on their warfare and paying no heed to passersby, a blast hit the corner of my right eye and trickled down my cheek. Outraged, I had am impulse to go up, collar one of the youngsters, and strangle him. Instead, I walked on, muttering in indignation.
And soon I discovered another sight to fascinate me. Some boys were throwing a ball back and forth across the street. They showed no respect for the steady stream of passing cars. One boy would throw the ball between cars. Another would toss it back over the next car. Another would catch it, bend down, and roll it under the next car. Their actions were not particularly pleasing to the drivers (who were already in quite a state, honking horns and screaming curses at each other). To add to the general melee, the boys periodically ran out into the street in front of a car, and waved cheerily to the fuming driver. How they remained alive I'll never know!
I came to a park. Many were out, enjoying the sunshine. Weary of walking and worn from the stresses of my struggles through the city, I sat down on a bench, between two other persons. In no time, a man came along and sat on the vacant bench opposite--a strange looking man with a continual wink of the eye and fidget of the foot. After a few minutes, he began to talk. His talking got louder and soon he was yelling. It appeared he had just lost a job and, strangely enough, he had lost it due to his honesty.
"You can't be honest! You all know it!" he shouted at us. Much of what came from his lips was incoherent, but I caught these snatches: "I was working on the island, on the assembly line...noticed...part...was imperfect...a leak...so's I pulled the switch...stopped the whole operation...told the boss. Yes, I was honest. You all know it, you bastards! Thieves and robbers!" He paused for breath, snorting and foaming. Several of his unwilling listeners looked extremely embarrassed and were now coughing and clearing their throats.
He continued at a great rate:
"Boss...what did he say? Good job? Well done? No! You know it, you creeps! Said he lost a lot of money. said I was through--pick up my check. Yes!" He surveyed us all with the most bitter hatred in his eyes. "Yes, you're all the same! I know you! All liars and cheats!" He shook his finger at us. "Don't pretend you don't know, you liars!" Several of the bench-sitters were clicking their tongues in remonstrance. Others, with red faces, stared at the pavement, as if they would like to disappear beneath it.
No longer entertained, I followed the example of another fellow, and continued on my way, ignoring the scurrilous abuses and accusations that came hurtling in my afterwake.
In the area I now approached, bargain shops lined the street--second-hand clothing, housewares, hardware, radios, stereos, audiovisual equipment, etc., etc. Shop windows overflowed with specials. Street vendors stood along the curb, shouting their wares--items ranging from imported jewelry to wind-up toys. Ubiquitous blue-uniformed security guards stood outside and inside the doorways, casting suspicious eyes on all who stopped to loiter and examine the merchandise. Occasionally, they hustled out a troublesome customer or detained a would-be shoplifter. On the pavement, two burly young men were slugging it out, while across the street, two officers of the law chatted amiably. The store guard ordered the combatants to "break it up and move along." They obligingly crossed the street to continue the fight under the cops' noses.
I wandered into a large discount store. A wide variety of merchandise lay across the counters. A good deal had spilled over onto the floor. Greedy crowds roamed the narrow aisles, treading over the fallen items and dragging more with them.
"Here is a good chance," I told myself, noting many daily necessities at prices substantially below those out in the suburbs, "Here is a chance to pick up some items I need at a bargain."
Before I could proceed, my attention was attracted to a little scenario in progress a few yards away. Two youths, partially hidden behind a stack of cartons, were sweeping jewelry off a glass counter, into a shopping bag. As I watched, they sauntered down the aisle, past a security guard, greeting him cordially on the way. I followed and he stopped me.
"What's that in your hand?"
"A pair of gloves, which I intend to pay for at the counter. Some guard you are! People steal right under your nose, and then you stop an honest person!"
He blinked in puzzlement and I moved on. Now my problem was to find a salesperson. Surely there must be at least one in this great throng of people. A man unloading shirts from a carton seemed a likely prospect.
"Do you work here?" I inquired,
"Hell no!" he replied and continued his activity.
Not believing him, I decided I'd have to fend for myself. Wading through the scattered apparel, and grumbling at the sloppy, destructive shoppers and destroyed merchandise, I found what I could and eventually made my way to the cash register. To my chagrin, there were at least twenty persons in the line, and it was the only register in the store. The line didn't move at all. After a few minutes, people began to push and gripe.
"Them girls isn't doin' nothin' up there!" shouted a man.
"Why, she's just standing there!" exclaimed an old woman indignantly. "I don't know what they're paying them for."
And indeed, the girl was just standing there--though apparently waiting for some kind of aid, for her mouth was wide open and the word "manager" kept issuing forth from it at quite a high volume.
"Hey miss!" called one of my fellow waiters. "We'd like to get home some time, you know. We have families waitin', and all that stuff."
"Hold your horses!" returned the girl.
"Fresh, isn't she?"
"Help is all bad nowadays--not what it used to be."
Though I said nothing, my feet were sore and I was very tired of this business.
Suddenly the girl left the counter.
"This counter is closed!" she shouted, and walked to the back of the store and disappeared inside a door. There were many shouts after her. I'm sure more than one customer would have bolted with unpaid merchandise, if it hadn't been for those fierce-looking guards.
Losing all patience, I dropped everything on a nearby counter and left, ignoring the staring guard at the door.
Tired and frustrated, I began to think about leaving this wonderful city. Walking to the corner, I encountered a black man, dressed in filthy rags. He came along, lugging a large carton and chattering angrily. At the corner, he dropped the carton and began an animated conversation with an invisible companion. It seemed to be some sort of a quarrel. His animation increased, but I could not distinguish any of the words. Soon he was hopping around, waving his fists and spitting. Other passersby paid scarcely any attention to his antics. He kneeled, pulled a handful of orange peels out of the carton, and began to toss them with great violence, one by one, into the gutter, continuing to dance and spit and quarrel. After a few minutes of this, he shouldered the carton and crossed to the opposite corner, where he began the same procedure. He did the same at the third, then at the fourth corner. I wondered much that he could have such an inexhaustible supply of orange peels in that carton!
My mind was reeling from all these spectacular experiences, and I determined to escape the city while I still had some vestige of sanity. To find a subway! I spied an entrance to one in the distance. Thank goodness! I hurried toward it. And then I saw her--a woman with blue hair. No, wait a minute--you say, "So what? Blue hair is perfectly normal." O.K., but this was not just blue hair. A young woman was walking up Fifth Avenue. She had straight platinum bangs, with a large patch of deep blue on the crown. "So," you say, "maybe that is a bit unusual." Not in New York City. not a bit. I have proof: I scanned the pedestrians passing by. Not one batted an eye. Maybe I'm too green for New York. I tumbled into the subway entrance, exhausted. At last! But not everything in life is so easy. The lights were extremely dim and I stumbled over a drunk or two. Beggars fell against me. The stench made me feel woozy. I heard a sound similar to that of a waterfall.
My God! The place is flooding, I thought, preparing for a quick retreat back to the surface. Then I saw what it was. A man was urinating against the wall--right out in the open.
I rushed onward, finding I was not alone. It was 5:00 and suddenly hordes of people came pouring into the station, seemingly out of nowhere. Too late, I realized my mistake in staying in the city so long. Almost overcome with my fatigue, I let myself be swept along with the current. "At least we're all going in the same direction," I reassured myself. I was hardly aware of what was happening, but I got on the train and it was moving.
The next thing I knew, there was a jerk and I awoke with a start. I looked at my watch. 12:00! I looked again. 12:00. I looked upside down. Still 12:00.
"What time is it?" I asked someone.
"Midnight," he replied.
"B-but I got on this train at 5:00."
"So did we all. We've been stuck in the tunnel for five hours. There was a big fire and we all almost lost our lives."
"Wh-what?"
"Yes," said another. "And those two thugs robbed almost everyone on the train. They forgot about you, because you were asleep--and then the cop came into the car..."
"And the flood..."
I closed my eyes in a swoon and awoke just as we were approaching my station. And some people actually say New York isn't exciting!
A Trip to New York City(Godfrey Green)
The other day, I decided to take a trip from my suburban middle-class neighborhood to New York City, because I kept hearing that's where things are at. I couldn't drive, because the price of gasoline was exorbitant. So I took the subway. Anyway, I heard that that's what everybody does now, and I didn't want to stand out as some kind of jerk.
Accordingly, I made my ten-block way to the nearest subway station. As I descended the steps into the dark cavern, the pungent smell of urine attacked my nostrils. I stepped carefully, to avoid the bodies prostrated here and there, and giving off alcoholic and strong (cheesy) fumes. In the cavern, a surly-looking man stood inside a small booth. A sign read: "Tokens $1.15." I pushed two dollar bills through the window.
"How many ya want?"
"One, please."
He snatched the bills and thrust a token back at me; then began counting a pile of bills, taking no further notice of me. Feeling it scarcely worth the trouble to fight over the change, I abandoned the cause and entered the turnstiles, hoping that in my impoverished state I would not desperately need the change later on. The subway platform was overrun with people, though it was 11:00 in the morning--well past the "rush hour."
I stood with the horde, neck craning, peering down the track into the empty darkness. No sign of a train. The crowd on the platform kept growing. There were continual sighs and muttered curses; people pacing, children crying. The air was steamy and black with soot. I kept straining into the blackness for the longed-for two pin-points of light. Nothing. An express train roared by on the center track, shaking the whole foundation. A couple of minutes later, another one. But no local for us. Now there remained not even one square inch of empty space left on the platform. Men were pulling their hair out in despair. Women were weeping and mopping their destroyed faces with tissues.
At last, just as I began to feel that the concrete platform would cave in from the load, or we'd all die from exhaustion and carbon monoxide poisoning, two beams of light appeared far down the track. The sighs of relief nearly blew us all away and I nearly fainted from the noxious aroma. After this interminable wait, what should come rolling into the station but a train composed of the oldest, most dilapidated cars in the system--and only four of them, at that! (We needed at least sixteen to accommodate the crowd!) The door opened and a mad rush ensued for each one of them. I'm sure several people were knocked down and stomped to death in the struggle. (At the time, I was aware of several heartrending shrieks.)
At length, the conductor closed the doors, trapping many and leaving the rest clamoring on the platform. he had to reopen the doors several times before all hands, feet, pocketbooks and briefcases were safely inside the train. Then the train gave a tremendous lurch forward, causing the whole mass of solidly packed passengers to lunge toward the front of the car. The next instant, the motorman suddenly slowed the train, sending us all staggering toward the back of the car. Several passengers slammed against the back door. It slid open and two fell out. What their fate was, I can't say, but the train roared on.
At the first stop, though I braced myself as firmly as I could against a pole, the crowd that came hurtling through the door sent us all sideways and I fell against a female of uncertain years. This creature uttered a loud exclamation of rage and gave ne the sourest look I'd ever (born). While I was apologizing as humbly as I was able, two friendly fellows close by (actually everyone was close by), struck up a rather intimate conversation.
"You push me once more," yelled one, "and I'll punch you in the jaw!"
"Aw, shut up!" responded the other.
"I mean it!" There was fire in his eye.
"You just try it and see!"
"Oh yeah?"
Whatever might have ensued, didn't--for the simple reason that the lights in the car went out, leaving us in utter darkness. Then what fidgeting, muttering and groaning I heard! To top it off, the train ground to a halt, and there we all stood, invisible to each other in the steaming subway car. Suddenly, a loud blast sounded over the P.A. system, causing a great tremor to run through the mass.
"Attention passengers! I believe the train is stalled. Hope to be moving shortly." And that was all.
Exactly one half hour later, the lights went on and at the same moment, the train started with a jerk. And, believe it or not, we finally did arrive in New York City, and I was still alive and breathing, though badly shaken and disheveled.
I ascended out of the dungeon into the pure light of mid-town manhattan--the great Big Apple. Pure daylight, plus a haze of exhaust fumes and incinerator smoke. Blinded and choked, I approached the corner. The traffic light was green. I stepped off the curb, then leaped back at least a foot into the air, to reland on the curb. And my leap was just in time, too! A broken-down yellow taxicab was careening around the corner on one wheel, doing at least 60 m.p.h. I soon saw that I was not the only one affected. A fellow on a bicycle had been forced to do a somersault in the air (while on the bicycle), and had landed several feet ahead, flat on the sidewalk (both he and the bicycle). A stout woman on the opposite corner, loaded down with several shopping bags, let the bags go and sat down on the curb with a thump. The taxi disappeared, leaving a swirl of newspapers and several furious people in its wake.
Somewhat unnerved and cursing to myself, I continued along the sidewalk, gingerly wading through the litter, and avoiding the slick oil stains and tar. The odors of rotting food wafted from restaurant ventilators and garbage cans on the curb, brimming with garbage, spilling debris over onto the sidewalk.
More and more people were appearing on the sidewalk. It was the noon rush. Hordes came out of the skyscraper office buildings and descended on the neighborhood restaurants and coffee shops. I found it increasingly difficult to move forward, but nevertheless valiantly forged my way through the masses, knocking the smaller people aside, and being knocked aside, in turn, by the larger ones. Stationed among the inward edge of the sidewalk, were groups of solicitors: tall bearded men in jeans and t-shirts, peddling jewelry, spread out on velvet cloths; salesmen in business suits, demonstrating home appliances. Tiny slit-eyed Koreans, dapperly attired, scribbled words, such as, "God," "Fall of Man," and, "New Messiah" on blackboards, while their compatriots shouted unintelligibly in English. I caught something about a dragon and something about a tree.
Further along the way, a youthful (troop) of pink-robed men and women with shiny heads (yes, the women, too!) danced and leaped in place, shaking tambourines and chanting, oblivious to crowds and honking traffic. Their faces contorted into the most-difficult-to-achieve anatomical positions, and I wondered whether they were experiencing the heights of ecstacy or excruciating pain. But no time to wonder. The milling throngs pushed me on and I came alongside a young woman who was slipping flyers into the hands of anyone who would let her.
"Vote for Smith!" she hollered, tossing her long brunette strands. "Let's end inflation! Let's bring peace to the world! Let's end corruption now! Smith for president! Cast your vote on the side of right!"
Soon I was on Forty Second Street, surrounded by unusual persons and events. Fierce-eyed characters in leather pants, wearing earrings and nose rings, stepped furtively out of doorways and opened their palms, displaying watches or diamond rings.
"Yuh wanna buy a watch cheap?" they whispered hoarsely.
Others did not show their wares:
"Yuh wanna smoke?"
A raggedy young man with dirty whiskers and torn sneakers slapped a leaflet on his thigh, then held it under my nose.
"Beautiful girls upstairs. Check it out, man!"
A tall, tired-looking man with platinum hair and painted face walked across the sidewalk, paused to glance around with narrowed eyes, then entered a dark doorway in front of me. I noted his unusual attire. He wore a huge brass nose ring that stretched his nose several inches longer than it would have been naturally. A shiny gold earring dangled from one ear. He wore a cowboy hat and skin-tight leather pants, one leg shorter than the other. On one foot he wore a blue and yellow high heeled wooden shoe and on the other, a red and purple one. He was sockless.
Starved, I began to look for a place in which to eat--not a fancy one--just a place where I could get a wholesome bite to eat. I looked doubtfully at a couple of counter joints, still jammed with customers, though it was almost 2 p.m. White-outfitted waiters and waitresses scurried up and down the aisles and dived through kitchen doors. At last, I entered a coffee shop that appealed to me. It looked pretty enough: sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling; the walls were imitation wood-paneling--a rich dark color. I sat down at the counter and observed the activities of the staff. Everything was hustle bustle. Waiters and waitresses raced to and fro, bumping into each other, tripping each other up. Plates tilted, food slopped to the floor. Soda fizzed up to the ceiling in minor explosions. Occasionally, a whole tray smashed to the floor and groups of busboys rushed to scoop up the remains, while the manager shouted violently and threatened salary deductions to all offenders. I watched a waiter drop a spoon, step on it, pick it up, wipe it with his filthy apron, and toss it back into the clean silverware tray. Another waiter came up and pushed a stack of dirty dishes in front of me, blocking my view--and only removed it when I objected strenuously.
"Yes, honey," he said patronizingly to a hard-faced blond, who whined dismally for her check.
A thump at my feet called my attention to a roll, dropped by a passing waitress. She snatched it, took a chew out of it, and returned it to the breadbasket she was carrying. Starved waiters dipped their fingers into ice cream bins, licked them off, and dug for more.
A cry of fright sounded behind me. I turned to see that it came from a man in a nearby booth. A stout, nervous waitress was steadying her tray, which had just collided with the man's head. She had paused to see if he was still alive. Noticing, no doubt, his heaving chest, she decided in the affirmative and rushed on her way, barely skimming many more heads en route.
These exciting events made me momentarily forget my hunger, but I soon recalled it. My first step consisted of trying to make eye contact with various of the help. These efforts being ignored, I tried hand signals. Finally, in desperation, I called out. But my voice was lost in the hubbub. Disgusted and repelled by the rising odor from the spoiled food on the dirty dishes still near me, I sought a booth. At least there the table was neatly set and free of the leavings of others. Now to try once again for service. To get any attention at all, I had to resort to pinching a waitress (on the arm of course!) She behaved as if asking her to wait on me were an affront to her dignity and flitted from table to counter and counter to table, carrying the menu. Trying to get it from her was like trying to pull meat from the jaws of a tiger. "I'm coming, sir," she called each time I turned beseeching eyes upon her. But each time she discovered emergencies at other tables. I almost got up to search for another menu, but she finally gave me the menu and actually took my order!
However, when my food arrived, I got fried instead of broiled, boiled instead of baked, canned instead of fresh, cold instead of hot, etc. But since I was ready to slide under the table in a hunger swoon, I ate it all with gusto, just as though everything were perfect--afraid one of the hungry-looking busboys would snatch and devour my plateful.
By the time I had finished, the restaurant was almost empty. My friend, the waitress, being unoccupied, had the check ready. She dumped it on my greasy plate, without a word, and sailed into the kitchen. I lifted the oily mess and swore that she'd not get a penny in tip from me. (Sucker, I gave her 15%!)
Still burping, I wandered down the street. The lunch crowds were thinning. I approached an intersection, and there, in the center of the street, stood (or rather, jumped and danced) a middle-aged man in a business suit. He was violently waving his arms. A fit, I thought. No, he was attempting to direct traffic. A noble volunteer! The problems were: he was not directing in a logical pattern and no one was paying attention to him, except to avoid running him down (difficult, since he blocked the way). As I drew close, I saw that his face was very red and sweat poured down his chin and neck. I also heard him yelling from the top of his lungs:
"C'mon! C'mon! Damn you!"
He succeeded in confusing drivers enough to cause several near collisions. As cars continued to ignore him, he became more and more enraged, clenching his fist and waving it at the drivers, while screaming abuses. More than once, a car grazed him, and he responded by striking it with clenched fist, then howling in pain as he nursed his injured part.
I soon had enough of such nonsense and moved on, approaching what one might call a residential neighborhood, by virtue of the fact that people resided in it. Between the stores were darkened halls, where stairways led to second floor dwellings, attested to by curtains blowing in the windows. Children scampered over the sidewalk, laughing and shouting, aiming water guns at each other. I paused before the shooting jets, waiting for a lull. When I thought I could make my way safely through the combat zone, I marched confidently forward. However, as luck would have it, the youngsters, intent on their warfare and paying no heed to passersby, a blast hit the corner of my right eye and trickled down my cheek. Outraged, I had am impulse to go up, collar one of the youngsters, and strangle him. Instead, I walked on, muttering in indignation.
And soon I discovered another sight to fascinate me. Some boys were throwing a ball back and forth across the street. They showed no respect for the steady stream of passing cars. One boy would throw the ball between cars. Another would toss it back over the next car. Another would catch it, bend down, and roll it under the next car. Their actions were not particularly pleasing to the drivers (who were already in quite a state, honking horns and screaming curses at each other). To add to the general melee, the boys periodically ran out into the street in front of a car, and waved cheerily to the fuming driver. How they remained alive I'll never know!
I came to a park. Many were out, enjoying the sunshine. Weary of walking and worn from the stresses of my struggles through the city, I sat down on a bench, between two other persons. In no time, a man came along and sat on the vacant bench opposite--a strange looking man with a continual wink of the eye and fidget of the foot. After a few minutes, he began to talk. His talking got louder and soon he was yelling. It appeared he had just lost a job and, strangely enough, he had lost it due to his honesty.
"You can't be honest! You all know it!" he shouted at us. Much of what came from his lips was incoherent, but I caught these snatches: "I was working on the island, on the assembly line...noticed...part...was imperfect...a leak...so's I pulled the switch...stopped the whole operation...told the boss. Yes, I was honest. You all know it, you bastards! Thieves and robbers!" He paused for breath, snorting and foaming. Several of his unwilling listeners looked extremely embarrassed and were now coughing and clearing their throats.
He continued at a great rate:
"Boss...what did he say? Good job? Well done? No! You know it, you creeps! Said he lost a lot of money. said I was through--pick up my check. Yes!" He surveyed us all with the most bitter hatred in his eyes. "Yes, you're all the same! I know you! All liars and cheats!" He shook his finger at us. "Don't pretend you don't know, you liars!" Several of the bench-sitters were clicking their tongues in remonstrance. Others, with red faces, stared at the pavement, as if they would like to disappear beneath it.
No longer entertained, I followed the example of another fellow, and continued on my way, ignoring the scurrilous abuses and accusations that came hurtling in my afterwake.
In the area I now approached, bargain shops lined the street--second-hand clothing, housewares, hardware, radios, stereos, audiovisual equipment, etc., etc. Shop windows overflowed with specials. Street vendors stood along the curb, shouting their wares--items ranging from imported jewelry to wind-up toys. Ubiquitous blue-uniformed security guards stood outside and inside the doorways, casting suspicious eyes on all who stopped to loiter and examine the merchandise. Occasionally, they hustled out a troublesome customer or detained a would-be shoplifter. On the pavement, two burly young men were slugging it out, while across the street, two officers of the law chatted amiably. The store guard ordered the combatants to "break it up and move along." They obligingly crossed the street to continue the fight under the cops' noses.
I wandered into a large discount store. A wide variety of merchandise lay across the counters. A good deal had spilled over onto the floor. Greedy crowds roamed the narrow aisles, treading over the fallen items and dragging more with them.
"Here is a good chance," I told myself, noting many daily necessities at prices substantially below those out in the suburbs, "Here is a chance to pick up some items I need at a bargain."
Before I could proceed, my attention was attracted to a little scenario in progress a few yards away. Two youths, partially hidden behind a stack of cartons, were sweeping jewelry off a glass counter, into a shopping bag. As I watched, they sauntered down the aisle, past a security guard, greeting him cordially on the way. I followed and he stopped me.
"What's that in your hand?"
"A pair of gloves, which I intend to pay for at the counter. Some guard you are! People steal right under your nose, and then you stop an honest person!"
He blinked in puzzlement and I moved on. Now my problem was to find a salesperson. Surely there must be at least one in this great throng of people. A man unloading shirts from a carton seemed a likely prospect.
"Do you work here?" I inquired,
"Hell no!" he replied and continued his activity.
Not believing him, I decided I'd have to fend for myself. Wading through the scattered apparel, and grumbling at the sloppy, destructive shoppers and destroyed merchandise, I found what I could and eventually made my way to the cash register. To my chagrin, there were at least twenty persons in the line, and it was the only register in the store. The line didn't move at all. After a few minutes, people began to push and gripe.
"Them girls isn't doin' nothin' up there!" shouted a man.
"Why, she's just standing there!" exclaimed an old woman indignantly. "I don't know what they're paying them for."
And indeed, the girl was just standing there--though apparently waiting for some kind of aid, for her mouth was wide open and the word "manager" kept issuing forth from it at quite a high volume.
"Hey miss!" called one of my fellow waiters. "We'd like to get home some time, you know. We have families waitin', and all that stuff."
"Hold your horses!" returned the girl.
"Fresh, isn't she?"
"Help is all bad nowadays--not what it used to be."
Though I said nothing, my feet were sore and I was very tired of this business.
Suddenly the girl left the counter.
"This counter is closed!" she shouted, and walked to the back of the store and disappeared inside a door. There were many shouts after her. I'm sure more than one customer would have bolted with unpaid merchandise, if it hadn't been for those fierce-looking guards.
Losing all patience, I dropped everything on a nearby counter and left, ignoring the staring guard at the door.
Tired and frustrated, I began to think about leaving this wonderful city. Walking to the corner, I encountered a black man, dressed in filthy rags. He came along, lugging a large carton and chattering angrily. At the corner, he dropped the carton and began an animated conversation with an invisible companion. It seemed to be some sort of a quarrel. His animation increased, but I could not distinguish any of the words. Soon he was hopping around, waving his fists and spitting. Other passersby paid scarcely any attention to his antics. He kneeled, pulled a handful of orange peels out of the carton, and began to toss them with great violence, one by one, into the gutter, continuing to dance and spit and quarrel. After a few minutes of this, he shouldered the carton and crossed to the opposite corner, where he began the same procedure. He did the same at the third, then at the fourth corner. I wondered much that he could have such an inexhaustible supply of orange peels in that carton!
My mind was reeling from all these spectacular experiences, and I determined to escape the city while I still had some vestige of sanity. To find a subway! I spied an entrance to one in the distance. Thank goodness! I hurried toward it. And then I saw her--a woman with blue hair. No, wait a minute--you say, "So what? Blue hair is perfectly normal." O.K., but this was not just blue hair. A young woman was walking up Fifth Avenue. She had straight platinum bangs, with a large patch of deep blue on the crown. "So," you say, "maybe that is a bit unusual." Not in New York City. not a bit. I have proof: I scanned the pedestrians passing by. Not one batted an eye. Maybe I'm too green for New York. I tumbled into the subway entrance, exhausted. At last! But not everything in life is so easy. The lights were extremely dim and I stumbled over a drunk or two. Beggars fell against me. The stench made me feel woozy. I heard a sound similar to that of a waterfall.
My God! The place is flooding, I thought, preparing for a quick retreat back to the surface. Then I saw what it was. A man was urinating against the wall--right out in the open.
I rushed onward, finding I was not alone. It was 5:00 and suddenly hordes of people came pouring into the station, seemingly out of nowhere. Too late, I realized my mistake in staying in the city so long. Almost overcome with my fatigue, I let myself be swept along with the current. "At least we're all going in the same direction," I reassured myself. I was hardly aware of what was happening, but I got on the train and it was moving.
The next thing I knew, there was a jerk and I awoke with a start. I looked at my watch. 12:00! I looked again. 12:00. I looked upside down. Still 12:00.
"What time is it?" I asked someone.
"Midnight," he replied.
"B-but I got on this train at 5:00."
"So did we all. We've been stuck in the tunnel for five hours. There was a big fire and we all almost lost our lives."
"Wh-what?"
"Yes," said another. "And those two thugs robbed almost everyone on the train. They forgot about you, because you were asleep--and then the cop came into the car..."
"And the flood..."
I closed my eyes in a swoon and awoke just as we were approaching my station. And some people actually say New York isn't exciting!
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