Journal, written 4-13-08
I think that Home Alone 2: Lost in New York went easy on the insanity of New York City. After a failed attempt at driving into the city last night and after burning $8.00 on the Lincoln Tunnel, after sitting in a car at stoplight after stoplight, feeling like a piece of chocolate in a sealed container swarmed by ants that are begging to break in, and after trying to cross the Ben Franklin bridge with just $7 and change, which led to an embarrassing episode in which I held up traffic at the toll booth while the attendant marked my license number down and gave me a bill for $12 – the toll plus a $2 fee – After all of that, I decided that today it would behoove me to try entering New York City via ferry, busses, and subways.
I wasn’t sure how the ferry worked, so I circled the ferry terminal on the New Jersey side of the bay, hoping to put together some information – how much it costs, when it leaves, when I can come back, etc.- before I finally got my ticket at the window.
Waiting for the ferry to arrive, I was able to snap some pictures of the skyline. The sky was grey. I had a slight fear that rain could be on its way, but the sun was still fighting its way through the thick clouds, like God was still waiting on the swing vote to come in to decide whether to make it a nice sunny day, or open up the faucet.
From the other side of the bay, I could see a small blue boat whizzing in an arc shape first, going parallel with the shore, then slowly turning to face the dock, where I stood with about twenty others. A young boy kept asking his mom, “is that the ferry? Is that it?” He must have been excited to go to New York. I wonder what it meant to him to go to New York, I mean I don’t know that I ever saw New York as exciting as a kid. I had Disneyland, and the Zoo, and water parks. Even now, at 24, I wasn’t quite sure what it meant to me to be going to New York. I boarded the ferry at last, and immediately went upstairs to the open air seats. Nobody followed me, and I quickly learned why. As the boat reversed, and throttled forward again across the bay in a zig-zag pattern (which I think was to give passengers on both sides of the boat a chance to take pictures), the cold air hit me. I was shivering but so refreshed. I snapped a few of those myspace pictures, you know where you hold the camera out and blindly snap a picture of yourself, hoping you don’t end up with just a forehead and sky.
As I looked out over the bay again, I began to realize that I had no idea where this ferry was taking me in New York, or where to go once I arrived on the other side. As the buildings that made up the famous skyline grew larger, I became worried. I remembered the hundreds of people from the night before. I thought, “I’m still the chocolate, but I don’t have the sealed container anymore.” I’m going to be robbed. I’m going to get my ass kicked. If I let on that I’m lost, I’m going to be killed! I tried to orient myself, “That’s Manhattan, so that must be Brooklyn. No, there’s The Statue of Liberty, so over there must be – wait, no. Oh, over there, that’s, that’s um – What the heck do I know about New York? Why am I trying to convince myself, I have no idea!”
The ferry landed and again I was left circling the terminal, looking for a map. I expected to walk off the ferry to see everyone circled around a big 10’ x 10’ map, you know like at Disneyland, with different colors for each of the lands, and cartoon-like images of the different rides. I expected a “You are here” bubble somewhere on the map. I pictured a not – to – scale drawing of Broadway, with little bubbles popping out of it that describe the different shows that are playing there, and a caricature of the Empire State Building. I thought it would clearly define “Manhattan-land” and “Queensland”, “Central Park”, “Times Square”, “Brooklyn”, and it would be cool if the jungle cruise was in there somewhere too.
Nothing. Everyone else rushes out the double glass doors to the street. I follow timidly as they all board busses and hop in taxis. Within a minute, the busses are zipping out, Taxis are chasing down the streets, and I am alone on the streets of New York. Suddenly I realize why it’s called “The Big Apple”. I go back into the ferry terminal, where I search for my imaginary map again, somehow convinced that it must exist. All I find are 10 different flyers for different bus routes. They don’t mean anything to me. Criss-crosses of black lines that look like nothing more than graph paper, with different coordinates marked with a red line, that makes some sort of polygon. None of the maps say “Brooklyn”, which is where I’m trying to get to. I guess this is why some people choose to plan out trips like this, you know, research? I, Andy Cashion, do not understand that concept. I grew up playing legos, not video games – I don’t need a plan, I just start sticking the things together and see what I get. I could be in the completely wrong place. This might be like taking the Tom Sawyer raft to pirate cove, when you want to get to Tomorrowland to see “Honey I Shrunk the Audience”. Right now, I don’t think I’m going to make it to church on time.
I try again, I walk through the double glass doors and head down the street, where busses are lined up one after the other, and Taxis wait in front of them for anyone who’s really desperate to blow a wad of dough (does that sound New Yorkish?). By each bus, a sign stands on an A-frame. I read them, “57th street”, “49th street”, “Lincoln Center”, “Madison Square Gardens”, etc. Ok, I get it- each bus goes somewhere different. So what do I do, play New York Bus Roulette and just get on one? For a second, I consider waiving for a taxi, that should be easy – just waive my hand in the air. I’ve seen it done a million times on Friends episodes. Then like 40 taxis will fight their way over to pick me up. As I lift my hand, it dawns on me that I could end up in another situation like the Ben Franklin bridge. I have cash this time, but who knows how much it will cost me? A taxi began to pull over for me, so embarrassed, I ducked back into the terminal.
I grab one of each of the bus route flyers, trying to decipher them. Maybe if I can get to a subway, I can find my way to Brooklyn. I take a deep breath, and as I blow it out, I pound back through the glass doors, this time with a certain manufactured confidence. One breath of the New York air and my confidence crumbles quicker than my gingerbread house from Christmas did when I put one too many peppermint candies on the chimney. I think I’m just going to forget about it all. I’m going to get back on the ferry – At least I can say I went to New York. Nobody will know the difference, I have pictures to prove it! I’m going to forget about the church I wanted to visit. I’m going to forget about New York… New York.
“New York, New York.” I hear him in my mind. His free flowing voice is ringing in my head, “Weee’ll Maaake uh time - of – it…” here he comes, “…In old New York.” Good ol’ Frankie has come to save the day. I hear the bursting, beating forte of the most important verse, “If I can (bum-bum) make it there, I’ll make it (bum-bum) anywhere, it’s up to you New York, Neeewww Yooooorrrk.”
A second rush of confidence. Adrenaline conquers fear. Excitement defeats intimidation. Possibility devours reluctance. I am a born-again tourist, and by now I have already attempted three alter calls, but this time – this time I am devout.
A security guard stands by for the next flock of people flooding off the ferry which arrives every 20 minutes. I need to get answers before they come, so I don’t miss the next bus or whatever. I ask him for help, “I need help, sir.” I said politely as possible (Though I like to imagine that I yelled it with confidence like a lion, ready to take over the plains as he looks over them from a cliff). He doesn’t really respond, just keeps looking down at his counter and I wonder if he heard me. He finally responds in a rough, New York accent with a hint of – I don’t know, maybe Serbian or something. “Where you need to go?” I hand him the address I’m looking for, but I don’t get a response I’m looking for. “I don’t know where that is.” He hands it back to me. I stand in shock. I don’t know what to do, he didn’t even try. I look at the address and as I get ready to walk away, I realize that he wasn’t saying, “I don’t know where that is, go away.” He was saying. “give me a second, I’ll look for it.” He turns to a map on the wall – still not a Disney map, but closer to what I’m looking for.
“Brooklyn?” His voice is softening I think.
“Yeah.”
“Lorimer street?”
“uh-huh”
“Take downtown loop to 14th, take the Subway – the L to Lorimer street. Here’s a flyer.”
“Oh, thank you I already have one of those. Thanks for the help.” I skitter off, so as to not embarrass myself anymore. I don’t bother asking any more questions. I mean, what would I ask - Where’s the Downtown loop bus? How much does it cost? Where do I buy a ticket? How do I find the subway? What is the L train?- Why would I ask any of those questions? I’m Andy Cashion - I’m an idiot! I walk down the line of busses and again I read, “57th street”, “49th street”, “Lincoln Center”, “Madison Square Gardens”, and at the end, I see “Downtown Loop.” Step 1 complete.
I walk past the bus and look in to see if there is a driver. Yes, there is. I turn around and pass the bus again. The door is closed, do I knock on the door? Do I wait here? I’ve never ridden a bus alone before – I’m a 24 year old man, and I feel like Forrest Gump, getting ready to board the bus to school for the first time. “Momma told me not to ride with strangers.”
I pass the bus for a third time when I hear a sound like a giant Dr Pepper can being opened. SSSHHHAAH – it was the door. The lady looked down at me kind of condescendingly, like Dolores did to Forrest, waiting for me to say something.
“Do I pay here, or do I need a ticket or something?” I ask
With a sarcastic laugh, she says, “yeah, you pay here.”
I pull out my wallet. “how much?”
Another laugh- more of a belly laugh this time. “ it’s – ha – it’s free.” Her voice speeds on so fast I don’t think Jeff Gordon could catch it. “look at you with your wallet, you thought you were going to pay, that’s so funny, get on, what the – I knew a kid like you once, walkin down the street alone one day…” seriously, is she saying sentences? “What are you, where are you from?”
“San D –“
“Oh, San Diego, I lived there for 10 years, Carlsbad – I drove busses in Oceanside, you know I don’t like that area, to many F* ing Mexicans.”
I really don’t know what to say. I guess that’s about right though, New Yorkers say what’s on their mind. A few more - worse - slurs were spit out before the bus filled with the next waive of passengers. She continues telling me about San Diego vs. New York, and how she’s going to move to Canada. She also continues to cut me off every time I try to talk. I didn’t know where I was going, but luckily another guy hit some magical button that told the bus to stop at 14th street. I didn’t know I was supposed to hit a button. I thank the driver and walk down the stairs. I look around – no signs for a subway, so I follow the other dude from the bus. We cross the street. I look back and see a stairway next to a building that goes down underground – a stairway to hell – I guess. Another one is Cattycorner from it, so I keep walking like I meant to go to this other subway entrance – Confidence. A sign has three circles, each with the individual numbers 1, 2, and 3 in them. Then on the other end of the sign, the letter “L” in a blue circle. Step 2 Complete.
This was the easy part. Down the stairs was a machine, like the machine we have in San Diego for the trolley. This one just charges $2 per ride no matter what, so it’s actually easier than our trolley. I buy a ticket, and proceed through a turnstile, down a few sets of stairs, all the while following the maze of tunnels and paths that have a blue circle with an “L” in the middle. I am now in a long corridor, passing homeless people playing music for money, college students with backpacks and i-pods, business people, and other tourists. I get to a station with tracks on either side of me. Finally, a well marked sign that says “L to Lorimer. All times.” How much easier could it get? There is another sign that counts down the minutes until the next train arrives. “5. 4. 3. 2. 1.” Then, whoosh, the train is here. I board and find a seat.
We move, and I see a timeline/map of the route above the windows on the opposite side of the train. As I wondered why they even have windows on the subway, which has no sights to see, we reach the first stop, and a voice announces the station. I am relieved. I will know when to get off. What I'll do then, I don’t know- but I will know when to get off. A man begins pacing up and down our car, and asks for everyone’s attention. He gives us a prepared speech about homelessness, how he was once homeless, and it can happen to anyone. We need to take care of the homeless, help them out. You will never know what it’s like until it’s you. He’d like donations of anything – a leftover sandwich, a jacket, money, anything. It was really a great speech actually.
People around me have headphones on, so I feel safe and pull out my Ipod. The soundtrack starts with Simon & Garfunkel, “The Only Living Boy in New York” from the Garden State Soundtrack. As the background voices sing “aaah, here I am” in a sort of Catholic choir sound, I am relaxed and calm. I’m in New York. I’m making it. It’s not so hectic anymore.
The man has finished his speech and is walking up and down with a can, for donations. The train comes to another stop, and as the doors open, I hear “Lorimer Street.” I get up and walk out. The stairs lead me to an average street, where I look at the closest address, determine that I must go right, and begin walking. It’s only 4 blocks when I walk past a run down building with writing on the wall that is worn and faded, but I can make out “Pete’s Candy Store.” On the wall, I see a sign:
REVOLUTION CHURCH
DON’T LET THE BASTARDS GET YOU DOWN.
I’m here. I made it. I conquered New York City!
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