I’m on the number 5 headed home when I hear, we’ll be moving shortly…there’s traffic up ahead.
Shortly turned into close to an hour forcing me to be patient, not an easy virtue when you’re underground, especially since the next stop was Grand Central, or terrorist central as it’s more commonly known. This is where you see the military with M-16s and canines called Sarge and Skipper.
What’s a thin girl to do when she has no say in the matter? Get out her trusty pad and ballpoint to observe her fellow passengers who weren’t taking the delay as well as she was.
A Latino woman with hoop earrings you could jump through said, “Ah jus’ hope noboda’ jumped in fronna’ the damned train ageen’.” An old black man shook his head in agreement while blowing his nose like a tuba. Yes, compassion, along with snot, ran high on the number 5.
A young girl in an orange bandanna took out a baguette with what smelled like ham deciding to have lunch, while three tourists consulted their maps as if there might be an alternate route they could take. Perhaps the car had a sunroof that opened so one could catch a bus, ya know, like at Epcot.
We’ll be moving shortly, said the Pinnochio of conductors since now even I was getting antsy. A panhandler deciding to make hay of the situation, tooled through the car requesting spare change. What he should have asked for was a belt, since his pants kept falling.
Finally we started to move only to stop again before proceeding like we were now riding a turtle. By the time it pulled into Grand Central we could have easily been in Chicago.
My paranoia inspiring me to get off that train, and rather than waiting for another, made my way up onto the street, where despite the cold climes, hoofed it safely home.