Number 1 Train Number One in Name Only

Last night, my buddy A-rob and I were coming uptown from the Tower Records near the Lincoln Center, where we had recently acquired a copy of American Psycho so that we may view it in preperation for our banking internships this summer. We took the 1 uptown, as anyone would if they desired to get to Columbia, but, in retrospect, we should have simply walked the 50 blocks back to campus.

You see, half-way through the journey, right after we departed from 96th, the conductor announced over the PA in a barely audible whisper that the train, for whatever reason, would not stop at 103rd, 110th, 116th, 125th, or 137th, but would go express to 145th street.

Great. I always wanted to know what REAL Harlem looked like at 11 oclock at night.



This pissed me off, but, as one who has lived in New York for a while, I wasn't surprised by the inadequacy of the MTA. What really pissed me off about this whole endeavour was that the conductor only told us we were captive as soon as the doors closed. Maybe he could have mentioned this three seconds prior...when the doors were still open and we could have gotten out and hailed a cab or walked and saved time. I considered the possibility that he only became aware of the problem three seconds after the doors closed, but, in retrospect, I am able to dismiss this as my Korean math friend informs me that the probability of that being the case is approximately NOT AT ALL.

Not all was lost, though. Seeing as how A-rob is from Beantown, he's naturally even more wary than necessary of going to sketchy parts of town after dark, on the subway no less. Because of this, he was in a greater state of alertness than all the adderall/coke-fiends at school combined.

The first thing he noticed was the residentially-challenged man sleeping in the handicapped seats. What he noticed, in particular, was the pungent odor of sulfur and methane escaping from his general direction.

"Dude," A-rob asked me, "did that homeless guy just shit his pants?"

Obviously I don't know the answer to this question, but, for fun, we'll assume that the answer was "twice."

We finally reached 145th after passing the site where Taco Bell used to stand (RIP dawg). A-rob and I decided to hail a cab as we didn't want to risk getting screwed with by the subway again, when all of a sudden we saw a crew of four urban youths descending upon us. A-rob has been mugged a few times in his life, so automatically he assumes that he's about to have an unpleasant experience. Now, if this was a Warren G song, I'd just pull out my strap and make some bodies turn cold, but, as this was not a Warren G song, we ran across the street to the downtown platform, paid another $4 (ridiculous!) and headed back to Columbo after waiting way too long for a train that the conductor promised us was waiting for us.

Moral of the story? The Number 1 didn't earn the distinction of being number one...it must have been arbitrarily assigned.