Friday, October 28
Okay, so here's how it happened:
I was on my way home from work, standing at the Harborside Financial light rail platform with about 90 other people, all waiting for a train. If you've ever been on the light rail, you know the maximum capacity is somewhere near 91, maybe 92 people per car, and there's only two cars per train. With that many people waiting for a train at one station, you just gotta know there's a problem with the service. I'm done with work for the day, and I'm pretty much just happy to be going home. I decide to wait. Fuck it - I'm game, right?
...
So twenty minutes later, the platform is packed. PACKED. Sardines and all. Any train that comes along is going to be difficult to squeeze into, and the light rail usually comes by every three minutes during rush hour, and this kind of wait is unfuckingprecedented. This - without a doubt - is bad news. The good news is that the Exchange Place PATH station is a tenth of a mile away, and since it's really cold and starting to rain, I decide to not be a lazy bastard. I can't read my book in the rain, and the Ipod is dead. I start walking.
As I'm coming up on Exchange Place, I see a light rail train coming my way. Exchange Place has a PATH station, but it also has a light rail platform. I can get to the platform, as long as I do the Charlie Hustle thing. I have about thirty seconds (as I figure it) to run to the platform, get on the train, and totally scoop all of those fools who are waiting for the train at Harborside. Maybe I'll even get a seat!
What would you do? Me, I sprint. And I'm like L.T. here. Pedestrians, cars, everybody watch the fuck out! I'm juking left, shoulders down, sidestepping mailboxes, and leaping tall buildings. I may have done a spin move at some point. If there was a scout watching me, I would be in the NFL right now. I can't believe how quick I am, even at 30 years old. I can't figure out why I'm not famous for my speed and balance. Man alive, the kid is quick! Moving like a cross between an antelope and a snake, I get to the home stretch. Maybe 20 yards separate me and the platform, and I know I'm going to make it to the end zone even before the train stops. You know what? Fuck it, I ain't slowing down! Let's do this thing in style! When I get on the train, I'm planning on spiking my cellphone, signing it, and handing it to a commuter.
Breakneck speeds here. That's what we're talking about. Cheetahs would just watch and shake their furry heads. "I thought I was fast until I saw that dude," they'd say.
Maybe 20 feet from the platform, I stopped. I had no say in this. I didn't tell my body to stop running. As far as I knew, my legs were supposed to be pumping, but here I was, leaning on a fire hydrant for some reason. And the train is pulling up to the platform. I can't quite figure out why I'm not moving anymore.
So I look down, and I have about a nanosecond for my brain to process the fact that my right ankle is almost completely sideways, and this might hurt. You ever been in that place where you bang your shin on a table or nail your funny bone on a doorway or something and you get that serenely rational chance to estimate the pain before it hits you? It was one of those.
As I'm wondering why my body decided to override my directions, and I'm coming to the conclusion that there's a problem with my foot, something hits me. It's an incredibly bright light, and it might have been red or it might have been white, but all I know is that it was really, really bright. The light is followed by a pain that absolutely paralyzes me. I can't squinch my eyes tight enough to make the pain go away.
Did I just get hit by the train? When is this electricity in my ankle going to let up? Is that you, Grandma? Stay away from the light, Carol Anne! No, run to the light, Carol Anne! Mommy is waiting for you in the light!
Eventually, I get a grip on myself. I open my eyes just in time to see the train blow past the platform. Even through eyes squinty with pain and disappointment, I can clearly see that it says "Out of Service."
I was on my way home from work, standing at the Harborside Financial light rail platform with about 90 other people, all waiting for a train. If you've ever been on the light rail, you know the maximum capacity is somewhere near 91, maybe 92 people per car, and there's only two cars per train. With that many people waiting for a train at one station, you just gotta know there's a problem with the service. I'm done with work for the day, and I'm pretty much just happy to be going home. I decide to wait. Fuck it - I'm game, right?
...
So twenty minutes later, the platform is packed. PACKED. Sardines and all. Any train that comes along is going to be difficult to squeeze into, and the light rail usually comes by every three minutes during rush hour, and this kind of wait is unfuckingprecedented. This - without a doubt - is bad news. The good news is that the Exchange Place PATH station is a tenth of a mile away, and since it's really cold and starting to rain, I decide to not be a lazy bastard. I can't read my book in the rain, and the Ipod is dead. I start walking.
As I'm coming up on Exchange Place, I see a light rail train coming my way. Exchange Place has a PATH station, but it also has a light rail platform. I can get to the platform, as long as I do the Charlie Hustle thing. I have about thirty seconds (as I figure it) to run to the platform, get on the train, and totally scoop all of those fools who are waiting for the train at Harborside. Maybe I'll even get a seat!
What would you do? Me, I sprint. And I'm like L.T. here. Pedestrians, cars, everybody watch the fuck out! I'm juking left, shoulders down, sidestepping mailboxes, and leaping tall buildings. I may have done a spin move at some point. If there was a scout watching me, I would be in the NFL right now. I can't believe how quick I am, even at 30 years old. I can't figure out why I'm not famous for my speed and balance. Man alive, the kid is quick! Moving like a cross between an antelope and a snake, I get to the home stretch. Maybe 20 yards separate me and the platform, and I know I'm going to make it to the end zone even before the train stops. You know what? Fuck it, I ain't slowing down! Let's do this thing in style! When I get on the train, I'm planning on spiking my cellphone, signing it, and handing it to a commuter.
Breakneck speeds here. That's what we're talking about. Cheetahs would just watch and shake their furry heads. "I thought I was fast until I saw that dude," they'd say.
Maybe 20 feet from the platform, I stopped. I had no say in this. I didn't tell my body to stop running. As far as I knew, my legs were supposed to be pumping, but here I was, leaning on a fire hydrant for some reason. And the train is pulling up to the platform. I can't quite figure out why I'm not moving anymore.
So I look down, and I have about a nanosecond for my brain to process the fact that my right ankle is almost completely sideways, and this might hurt. You ever been in that place where you bang your shin on a table or nail your funny bone on a doorway or something and you get that serenely rational chance to estimate the pain before it hits you? It was one of those.
As I'm wondering why my body decided to override my directions, and I'm coming to the conclusion that there's a problem with my foot, something hits me. It's an incredibly bright light, and it might have been red or it might have been white, but all I know is that it was really, really bright. The light is followed by a pain that absolutely paralyzes me. I can't squinch my eyes tight enough to make the pain go away.
Did I just get hit by the train? When is this electricity in my ankle going to let up? Is that you, Grandma? Stay away from the light, Carol Anne! No, run to the light, Carol Anne! Mommy is waiting for you in the light!
Eventually, I get a grip on myself. I open my eyes just in time to see the train blow past the platform. Even through eyes squinty with pain and disappointment, I can clearly see that it says "Out of Service."
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