Why I hate NYC (part 1)

Journal Abm0raz's Journal: Why I hate NYC (part 1) 4

Journal by Abm0raz on Wednesday June 09, 2004 @01:25PM

This is a two-part entry that culminated with a trip to NYC on Mon/Tue. Part 1 is background information on the last time I went to New York City. Sorry for the length as I know I'm not the best writer nor do I have a captivating style.

Dateline last week of May, 1998.

At the time, I had a girlfriend who was more than I thought I could ever ask for. She was attractive, long hair, skinny where she should be and had curves where it counted (really big, perky curves). She was a triple major (English, Spanish, and Primary Education) at Duquesne University (a private catholic college in downtown Pittsburgh). She was very active in the college drama club (Red Masquers) and was a choir singer as well.
We had started dating the previous December and had spent about a month together (including a week living at her place in Florida over Christmas break) before I saw her to the plane.
She was studying abroad in Spain for the Spring semestere and I wouldn't get to see her again until this day. She was flying into JFK airport in New York City and had a 7 hour layover. NYC is only 3.5-4hrs away so I decided to see her at the airport because I was n0t yet allowed to return to work.
You see, I had had complete reconstructive surgery on my right knee 5 days earlier. According to my doctor, I was just supposed to be starting to use crutches, but I was already walking around with just the robo-brace on my leg. Walking was supposed to be a chore, and driving should've been out of the question, but, as many of you have figured out, I'm a moron that abuses my body and pushes it's limits as often as I can.
So I set out at 7am to be there for when her flight arrives at 11:30am. She had to go through customs, and assuming the flight was on time (which it miraculously was) she'd be at the gates around noon. I picked up some flowers at the airport and waited. She came off the flight and we hugged and kissed and all that stuff that really isn't necessary to do in public, but when your college kids you do it half for the reactions of the older people around you.
She did not want to leave the terminal in case we got stuck in traffic or were late geteting back, because she had a connecting flight to Florida, where she lived in the summer with her parents. We wandered the terminal a bit. Bought a crossword puzzle book and sat a resteraunt booth eating dinner, talking and doing the puzzles together until boarding time (~5:30) when we hugged and kissed good-bye for another few weeks when I'd see her in Pittsburgh again.
Now, I'm assuming by this point that anyone that is still reading this would be wondering why I hate New York City? It's coming. Remember, this is just background information.
After seeing her to her flight, I called up a friend of mine from Peterboro, ON, Canada. He works as a contractor in the UN. He had been in the UN building in NYC for about 8 months and was supposed to ship out to Kuwait at the end of the month (Jun '98) to set up the basics for satellite linked internet. I called John from the airport and he gave me a spot to meet him that I still remember to this day: Come out of Grand Central Station in Manhattan, look across the street. There is a sign with a strawberry on it. Right there.
We met and he took me on a light walking tour of Times Square (remember my knee surgery). As it got dark, we stopped at a bar and sat for a drink and a late night snack. My knee was killing me from all the walking/standing. John was a great guy and wouldn't let me pay for anything. His excuse was, "You're a poor college student. I'm a Canadian making American money, tax-free cause I have diplomat status and I live with relatives in Brooklyn for free. I have more money than I know what to do with!"
We left the bar, walked some more when out of the blue, 3-5 guys come flying out of an alley and tackle to black men walking about 25 feet in front of us. It took us a few seconds to recognize the "POLICE" on the back of their jackets. We stood there dumbfounded at first, like, "Is this really happening?" Then John turns to me and says, "Dude ... Cops LIVE!" (The TV show Cops was just starting then and on prometime).
We walk a bit more and he looks down at his watch and says, "Shit! It's almost 1am. I gotta catch the train back to Brooklyn. I have to be at work at 7:30am." This being my very first time in NYC, I was like, "How do I get back to JFK airport where I parked my car? I have to drive back to Pennsylvania tonight."
We mosey on back to the subway station and he gives me a token and says, "I have to catch this train, you just wait over there for the "E" train going THAT direction. That will take you all the way to JFK from here. If you hop on it the other way, it'll take you to the World Trade Center, then turn around and take you to JFK." This will henceforth be known as the last time I ever (want) to talk to John.
I hop on the train and am riding away. It's approaching 2am and I'm not seing an JFK airport stop. I'm riding the train and eventually the conductor comes over the loudspeaker and says, "LAST STOP. Everyone off. This train is out of service till tomorrow morning." This is when I start to freak out. I leave the train, and ask a few other passengers (of which there were about 5, none looking like the most approachable of people). I ask about the Airport and one nice black lade was like, "Oh honey, you on the wrong E train. There are 2. There is the JFK "E" train and the "Far Rockaway" E train. You need to walk over the tracks here and go to the other side, but it's after 2, so the trains only run every half hour or so now."
So, I'm stuck in Upper Queens, in an outside train station, lost, it tears from the throbbing in my leg (there were no benches to sit on) and stuck waiting for a train that I didn't know when it was coming. I hadn't had a smoke all day (my Ex despised my smoking, so I never smoked around her). I was in an outside station and there were no "No Smoking" signs around, so I leaned against a pole and lit one up.
I should mention at this point, that the entire station is empty save one really scummy looking guy. The platforms are about 60 yards long. I'm standing at one end, and he's at the other. I have to flex my leg regularly to try and keep the pain down so my brace is quite visible. Slowly he starts walking up the platform. At about 25 yards, I back away from the edge and he adjusts his slow walk to still be coming right at me. By now, I'm starting to get scared shitless.
The man was about 5'11", 170#. Not too big. Messed light brown hair with ha dirty face. he had on dark sweatpants and a dark hoody sweatshirt. He had his hands in the hoody's pocket.
The man came right up to me and said, "Excuse me, caan you put out the cigarette, please." The first thing that ran through my mind is, "How the HELL was my smoke bothering you when we're outside and you are 180 FEET away from me!" but I said, "Sure. Sorry if it was bothering you. I've had a hell of a night and just want to go home."
I started to twist the smoke in my hand to flick it when he reached into his shirt. If I haadn't taken a dump just before I got on the subway, I would've shat myself. I thought he was reaching for a gun or a knife. In my condition, I was no way capable of running, more or less defending myself. It was the slowest 3 seconds of my life.
He slowly pulled his hand out and it was grasping a badge. The bastard was an undercover cop. I quickly caught myself from throwing the cig. I flicked the cherry out with my other hand and put it back in my pack. I needed a littering fine like I needed a hole in the head.
The officer took my ID and I asked, "May I ask why you're IDing me?" He said, "It's illegal to smoke on city owned property." I answered with, "But it's out doors. Look up! Stars, Sky, fresh (sic) air! There's not even any 'No Smoking' signs." My ID at the time still had my Pittsburgh address. He commented that I was a long way from home and I repeated this entire journal entry to him about the days events, why I was in NYC, that it was my first time, and that I was lost and just trying to get home (which, by this point, wouldn't be till 8am at the earliest).
He nodded and had me sign the ticket ($50). I asked him what are my options. He told me, "1. You can pay the ticket, which I recommend. 2. You can call the number on the back, tell them you didn't know the law. They will laugh at you and you can pay the ticket. or 3. You can not pay the ticket, a warrant will be issued after 90 days and if you ever come back to NYC, you will be arrested and taken to jail." I thanked the officer (who then gave me slightly more detailed directions on getting to JFK) and he left.
My train showed up shortly after that and I got back to the airport, took a shuttle to my car. Hit the Delta terminal to get cash from an ATM to pay for parking and tolls. As I was driving home accross northern PA on I80. I started falling asleep. So I pulled into some little no name town, got a room (but checkout was 10am, but since I didn't check in till 6am, they extended it to noon for me). I still had to pay full price for a non-reservation ($95 for a frickin 1 and a half star hotel in the middle of BFE).
When I got up the next day, I drove home, chose option #3 for the ticket and vowed never to goto NYC again. I got 2-3 threatening letters from the city of NY to pay in the next 6 months, but hadden heard from them since.
I had therepy on my leg that afternoon. I barely got back into town for it in time. When I showed up, the therepist commented on how swollen everything was, so I told him the story. He decided that locking my leg in a new brace was a better option since it all but prevented walking. Que Sera Sera.

And that is the reason I hate NYC, part 1. Later today, or tomorrow, I'll get to part 2, which fast-forwards until this past Monday ... when I hada to go back ....

-Ab

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