One of which is the best public transportation system in the country.
Yeah, I'm biased.
But I lived in the heart of the city and the PTS opened up the entire tri-state area to my young eyes. I can't tell you how many times I was supposed to come back from school early and just decided to take a little trip down 42nd street or hit up my favorite family diner on the corner of East 76th and York (they made the best milkshakes I have ever had in my life, bar NONE) or give myself a toothache at Dylan's!!!!
Yes, Lord. The excellent subway and busing system of NYC made all of that possible.
Compared to SomeTown, USA? NYC is looking a little slice of heaven. People of all economic stations take the bus in NYC but SomeTown is full of crazies. I can honestly say that I feel very very fragile sometimes when I go out. I am imminently aware that while I am bigger than many girls I know, height can't get me very far. I can fight some people off but not all. I have already told you guys all about some of my bus adventures here. Honestly, a sorrier bunch of people couldn't be found taking the bus. This is not a generalization of bus-takers (well, duh, I'm not including myself!!!!) because there are some of us who are fab and car-less. But heavens above -
you know sh!t is critical when you find yourself wondering
why you have yet to purchase a handgun
every single time you step unto the bus. This is my first thought every time I hop up on these buses out here. I even reach into my purse and look around like I'm strapped, a standard 'Don't mess with me! I'll kill you!' look that may or may not have would-be attackers running. I find that if you keep your hand in your purse, people are more likely to regard you as the dangerous one. This works for me. And -
you know sh!t is critical when you also find yourself wondering
why you haven't spoken to a lawyer about writing a will
every single time you take a seat. I find myself fingering my cellphone to call my Dad up and get him to connect with his lawyers. I would do it if it wouldn't mean my Dad would kick down my door and point out that this is exactly why I should move back home. [ o v e r m y d e a d b o d y ]
My bus adventures are necessary. If I didn't take the bus, I couldn't get to work. If I didn't take the bus, I'd grow lazy and complacent in my search for a car of my own. And that won't happen when I am mortally terrorized at least once a week by some fiend on the bus.
This week was a new low.
I work nights. And that is a wretched time for a female traveling alone. I decided that I'd brave the bus from the east side of town all the way to the west side. A single transfer, a forty minute wait - I thought 'Eh, what the heck? It'll save me 26bucks in cab fare that I can use on Sunday when I need it!'. HAH. LITTLE DID I KNOW THAT THE FREAKS CRAWL OUT AT NIGHT.
I got on the first bus and was surprised to see that it was full! Who knew the bus ever got full enough for people to be standing! I nearly face-planted (hello? trademark, much? duh) as usual when the bus driver decided not to wait for me to sit. There was something wet and sticky all over the floor that I didn't spend too much time thinking about before I avoided it altogether. There was also a strange smell that I decided to ignore.
Okay. Standard bus-fare.
The bus was still relatively full for the next fifteen minutes as it headed into the seedy downtown area where one of the city's major bus depots was. I thought that everyone would be getting off at the bus depot too.
And stood corrected when maybe three other people alighted with me. This should have been my-
First red flag.
The bus depot isn't all that big. Well, I guess it is pretty big but I rarely think about it. It's about nine thirty five or so at night and downtown's night life is sort of active. But the bus depot isn't in the middle of all this active night life. It is off to the side. Which really means that something could happen and few people would be aware of it.
Second red flag.
I look around once I reach the general area where the bus I'm waiting for will pick up. I count the people in the bus station, a habit of mine I picked up in childhood and never dropped. There are ten people. I look closer and realize that they all look male. I count again. There are ten people. There are also ten men. Which means...everyone here is...male?
Third red flag.
Okay. Okay. So there are a lot of men of varying ages here. I don't let this scare me. There must be a female - oooh, look there's a girl right-
Wait.
Tight dress. Cigarette. Bright make-up. And a come-hither look on her face. Oh dear. This is a lady of the night.
Fourth red flag.
With this realization that I am the single flame of respectable femininity in the immediate area, I begin to really legit worry. How the hell do I find myself in these situations? And why is time going by so quickly? Wasn't it nine thirty a few minutes ago? Why is it suddenly frickin' ten?! And because it's ten, I think of that commercial that comes on before the nightly news... "It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?" ...
Maybe my worry shows on my face. Maybe some men can scent fear. All I know is that where I was sort of managing to blend in before (Dianna Ross hair, be DAMNED) I am being stared at by the men that do look rather dangerous. Like 'Whooooaaaaa lemme cross this damn street to get away from you!' dangerous or 'hmm, he might sell crack' dangerous or 'aye, isn't that that one serial killer who decimated the L.A. population a few years back?' dangerous.
Fifth red flag.
I whip out my phone and pretend start a conversation. Yes. When in doubt, if you can't hit buttons fast enough, PRETEND. I am talking like the person on the other end is a close friend, an ally, someone who knows where I am. I'm thinking that this will deter even the most detemined men.
Clearly, I don't know men.
Two of them are eyeing me and one approaches me and asks me for something. I talk louder in an effort to make it clear that I'm totally not available to talk. That's how you get into trouble. I breathe a sigh of relief when he wanders away. But another one is eyeing me like a piece of meat that needs to be bought from market. An acting troupe would be frickin' impressed by my skills right now.
Sadly, one brave dangerous soul is not at all deterred. This is where I really really legit got scared. This man walked right up to me like he didn't notice - or care - at all that I was talking on the phone. Maybe he knew I was pretending. He got me right in the lull of my ghost conversation (I mean hey, you have to pause to make it realistic, ne?) and asked me what my name was.
The question is harmless.
THE KNIFE HE IS TWIRLING IN HIS LEFT HAND IS NOT.
For a minute there, I'm pretty sure that my eyes simply centered on the knife and my ears blocked out what he was saying.
Thank God for my childhood in NYC. All I can say is that I was floored for about four seconds before I got my sh!t together and scrambled up with something mundane and serviceable that fobbed him off in under a minute.
The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back.
God can't even tell y'all how quickly I moved to whip out my cellphone to go through my phonebook and call a ride. Thankfully, a friend was down to come get me - it would just take her another fifteen minutes. and call my beloved Bethany because I knew she'd be either at home getting ready to go out or at home...cuddling with her cat. In either case, she was going to pick up the phone. AND THAT"S WHAT MATTERED. I needed to make it look like someone on God's green earth would care if I was attacked. She answers and her voice is like a baby's bare bottom - soft and welcome. [Okay, that has tones of pedophelia that I hope you ignore.] My point is that I was ecstatic to hear her voice as I power walked to a new area of the depot and made sure to keep Mr. Knife Player in my sights at all times.
When my friend arrived fifteen minutes later, I can tell you without hesitation that I moved like the wind to get to her car and nearly cried when I closed the passenger door behind me.
Why don't normal people take the bus here?
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