I offered to baby-sit in Garden City (it's in Long Island, I had to look it up too) and day of I realized that while I had been there once before, I was under the guidance of @Jvanner1 and an abundance of wine, and had no idea how to get there. A lot of my decisions are made before I remember that I can't just walk downstairs and get in my car and continue on with my life. I looked up on HopStop (greatest invention ever) how to get to Garden City at least 17 times before I left my apartment, and still had to interrupt @Jvanner1 at work and ask her to look up the trains to take and where to get off because when it's something important I have the memory of a goldfish. My uncanny ability to read and understand colored signs got me to Penn Station without a hitch. Once again, I put forth my best efforts to translate that Train 13-Nassau Boulevard meant that I look for a sign that says Train 13. Ah, yes. I hate when people aren't properly impressed when I do amazing things. I'm savoring my new self-worth until I start thinking about the last time I was on the train... and we paid for tickets. And a conductor came around and stamped them. I started getting uncomfortably hot as I gauged that I would not have enough time to go wander around Penn Station looking for a place to buy a ticket. And I had made it this far. Maybe this specific train didn't need tickets. Or he would be blind and I could pass off my MetroCard as a train ticket. The train pulled away and I began praying that Nassau Blvd would be the first stop, even though I knew it took 40 minutes. I saw the conductor and pulled my go-to move, fake being asleep. Probably would have been more believable if it weren't 4:30 pm.
"Ticket please m'am."
"Hm?" (Keep headphones in, sleepy eyes.)
"Your train ticket."
"Oh, umm... let's see..." (Thank YOU giant purse)
"I'll just come back."
He put attached a reminder ticket to the seat in front of me which I promptly ripped off and and spent 10 minutes arranging it under my shoe so that it "must have gotten knocked off." Instead of initially admitting that I hadn't bought a ticket and pulling out the "Sir, I am sooooo sawry! I'm not from around here, I just came in from Atlanta. I didn't know I needed a ticket!" Noooo. Faking losing a ticket was the obvious choice. That scene was reinacted about 3 more times while I sweated and prayed everytime he left that we would reach my stop and I could escape a free woman and never ride the LIRR again. Finally I was issued a very formal I.O.U. to be paid to the Long Island Rail Road. Better than train jail I guess.
That Sunday I woke up after witnessing my first sequin blazer (want one), taking a cab home (7 blocks. Has to be some kind of record) to perform the ritual act of first making sure I have my purse and then taking inventory of all my things. (This happens when you have a severe tendency to lose EVERYTHING.) SO far *knock on wood* I've been good about keeping track of my wallet, phone, purse, etc., but this particular night had taken claim of my debit card. Not too big of a deal, I used to lose so many cards that I strictly used temporary cards. I checked my bank account to see if I could track down the name of the bar (I mean restaurant) where I had last used it and noticed something odd. My most recent charge was for 12/4 (that day) at a Chuck E. Cheese in MAYS LANDING, NEW JERSEY. I called the bank to be sure, and it was confirmed that my card had been swiped at 10:18 am at a Chuck E. Cheese in Mays Landing, NJ. I didn't know what was more embarassing, this teller thinking that I woke up on a Sunday morning and went to Chuck E. Cheese or that I was in New Jersey. That is some true second rate parenting right there. Maybe if you werne't out partying on a Saturday night you could afford to take your kid to Chuck E. Cheese with your own money! Also, if you're reading this, I would like all your prizes. They're technically mine.
Sadly, that wasn't the most grotesque human act I encountered that day. A sweet gentleman named Wally (first sign) bought @Jvanner1 and I some very romantic post-bar, pre-cab pizza. I feel like I have lowered my dating standards here due to the fact that I really don't know anyone, but even I have to draw the line somewhere, especially after receiving this text:
Liz: Do you have a job?
Wally: Yes i work in a deli i make food 4 peapol lol in brokleen what kind of work do u do from home
I couldn't even respond for fear that he would cut himself after the scathing review of his complete and utter disregard for the English language. "Brokleen," you've got yourself a winner. I would appreciate it if you didn't let him loose on my island.
17 more days until my birthday! What have you gotten me? And the cutest little tree in the whole city!
No comments:
Post a Comment