Saturdays did not used to be such a mess. One time I ended up walking from the Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall station but that was no problem. Today everything was a mess. The N only went as far as Queensboro Plaza, so I thought I’d be smartypants and take the R from Steinway. Alas, the R decided to run on the F line and some certainly-important announcmenets from the conductor were completely indistinguishable. She could have been announcing the apocalypse and none would be the wiser. I ended up following the always-bad advice of transferring from 63rd Street/Lexington to the 4 or 5 by walking to 60th Street “AND USING YOUR METROCARD.” The one other time I tried this the free transfer did not work. That’s when I had a cash card. This time I had a 7-day unlimited so the transfer was no problem but I have always doubted the “free transfer” promise with respect to the 63rd Street/Lexington station and 59th Street/Lexington. Today this transfer was a mistake for other reasons. I think it was 4 sets of slowpoke crowded escalators that got as far as the token booth (why we still call it that?) and then it was a longass flight of stairs up to the street. That’s, seriously, the last time I fall for the canard of walking from 63rd Street to transfer to the 4/5/6 at 59th. I should have just taken the low road and done the N to Queensboro, then the 7 to GCT, and the 4/5 from there. But three trains sounded like it created more room for error… that feels like poor logic now. So I got here at 8:15, which feels desperately late, being only 45 minutes early. Oh and to make matters head-explodingly annoying a dude steps on to the 6 local train about 7:30 absolutely blasting music. I don’t even know what genre it was it was just fucking loud. Who the fuck does that? It’s obviously a provocation, someone looking for conflict or a fight.
Phew. I’m tired from all the running around. My bag is extra heavy today because I packed weekend extras. I’m supposed to meet up with a woman tonight, from one of the dating apps. So I brought the small vodka bottle in case she has no booze, and an extra umbrella in case she forgets hers. It might rain. I don’t know where that random bit of chivalry came from but there it is, weighing down my already have shoulder bag. I barely know anything about her. 50, she contacted me initially, which typically makes me suspicious it’s a crypto-creep. But she sounds real. If not I’ll take my vodka and go home. We’re supposed to meet at the Brooklyn Bridge.
Today’s ponderous and laborious commute might merit another 1/2 mg of the panic pill, same as yesterday.