Posthip

Quickly, falling in front of an oncoming train is joining “brain tumor” and “tornado” atop the list of ways I’m likely to die. If my problem while visiting New York was falling asleep while riding the subway, my problem while living in New York is falling asleep, standing up, while waiting for the train.

Several weeks ago, against even my own good judgement, I decided to take the train after a long night out. It was a longer walk to catch the B or the D from where I was than to catch the F, so I decided (as much as my addled brain could be said to have decided anything at that point) to take the F from 2nd Avenue and transfer to the B or D at 14th Street. Those savvy with the subway map will realize my error immediately– neither the B nor the D stop at 14th. Still, that’s where I waited, for God knows how long.

My memory is extremely fuzzy about everything after that. I woke up briefly while falling backwards from where I’d been standing, waiting, sleeping. I landed on my ass, sitting in the middle of the platform. I looked around, and there was only one guy who witnessed what was no doubt one of my proudest moments, and he seemed disinterested at best. It was as if he saw sloppy drunks falling all around him every minute of every day. Eventually I stood up again, realized that my train was never going to stop there, and boarded another F to another station. I made it home well after the sun was was up.

Then, a couple of Saturdays ago, I had game night at my apartment. Dianna, Kraig and I decided around midnight that it would be a really good idea to find a bar. This was not a really good idea.

Kraig was the first casualty, lost to regurgitation at the 59th Street station. We put him on an uptown train (where, apparently, his gastrointestinal feats were just beginning) and continued our doomed journey down. I don’t really know how or why, but eventually Dianna gave up. I got off the train and let her continue home, where she would later also find herself tossing what were almost certainly not cookies.

This is a little confusing, but stick with me. I was supposed to get on a different train, but instead, I just got on the next train, which was still heading to Brooklyn. Realizing my mistake, I got off at the first Brooklyn stop to catch the train back to Manhattan. Except that I fell asleep standing against a steel beam instead, only to be awakened by a cop who told me to go sit down before I fell onto the tracks 5 feet away. I did as the officer suggested, and when the next train came, I got on. The next train, unfortunately, was going the same way that the previous train was going, so I ended up heading even farther into Brooklyn. Having now gotten on and off the same wrong train twice, I gave up and began heading home. Remember when I said we decided to go out at midnight? I made it home at 5 am, never having come out of the tunnels.

And then last week I fell asleep on the train and ended up at the Jamaica stop, the end of the line, in the wreckage we call Queens. For those of you keeping track, thats 3 different end of the line stops I’ve woken up at, in 3 different boroughs. I am a ridiculous person.

(Originally posted December 10, 2006)