I took the E train today. First time in my life. As a regular of the 4, 5, 6, I rarely venture out to try any other numbers, let alone letters. 90% of my footrpint is accessible on the Lexington line. But I am also lazy and I avoid being underground at all costs. Except for efficiency and cost. The bus I prefer but the rabbit in me gets frustrated with the turtle speed. For the most part, I consider myself to be a cost-conscious city commuter unless I am going to the airport, it's late at night or I have no idea where Mott and Livingston intersect. I leave those situations for a turban wrapped head in a yellow car that could easily be retired to the junk yard. But the adventurer in me decided today that spending $60 on a cab ride to JFK was worse than the $500 shoes I have in my closet. I needed the shoes, people. Today I needed to get to the airport. Today I was going to take the reliable and safe public transportation of New York City. Today I was going to be green and save some green.
I had packed only the necessities in my rolly bag to allow for the journey, leaving my walk to 53rd street an ad for T. Anthony. Escalators deposited me miles underground to wait. During those ten minutes, I was checking out and being checked out by my fellow passengers. A commuter in a suit and square-toed loafers, a family who was speaking in dramatic tones of Spanish, a man whose unfocused red eyes kept people at a distance and some others whose stories I began to write in my head. We all shuffled through the open doors when E arrived and claimed our territory on the blue plastic benches. Forty minutes of Gator's Dance Playlist later, we arrived in Jamaica. Jamaica, Queens. I followed the signs for the Airtrain, passing three police men on the platform surrounding a homeless man. An ambulance's sirens approached from the distance. I kept going, wheeling my belongings ahead until I reached the glass lobby of the Airtrain. The structure was impeccably clean and beautifully decorated with sunshine. The machine took my Metrocard and I walked a little further to wait just three minutes, working on my tan through the glass. The ride to each terminal was pleasant and scenic. I was surprised at the horizon out the window, the sun dancing its rays along the river with Manhattan watching in the distance. I looked below at the traffic that angrily moved by the inch. I looked at my watch. Thankfully my terminal was next. I briskly walked down the sterile and spotless, sunny white ramp. Luckily, moving walkways helped pick up my pace but it was a nice way to stretch my legs. About five minutes later, I was cutting the security line as they announced my flight's final boarding call. I threw every ounce of laundry, liquid and makeup on the moving belt, told the TSA guard that I swore I was an upstanding citizen as the beep went off above and ran to the gate. Ms. JetBlue was closing the doors as I threw my boarding pass at her. I found my way to 23F, politely bumping most knees on the way and opening every overhead compartment to coats falling on me. Finally I found a space for my rolly bag to the amusement of every passenger. I was the in-flight entertainment on the ground. My red cheeks and I climbed over Mr. 23D and Ms. 23E and I buckled my seat belt with my bag, coat and pillow on my lap. Florida.
Despite my terrible time allocation, I totally recommend taking the Airtrain. Just leave more time than I did. It's reliable, especially on a Friday afternoon, pleasant and easy. I will definitely take it again. So long as everything I need to pack fits in to Mr. Rolling T. Anthony. I mean, who can beat $5? Gotta go...I have some shoe shopping to do.
