New York Moment # 497
I heard the train pulling into my enormously long station yesterday morning and I knew what I had to do. After all, the G train is only 4 cars and stops in the middle of the platform. And who knows when it will come again?
You would think I was used to this: I almost do it on a daily basis.
I sighed, squared my shoulders, adjusted my multiple bags that made me resemble a pack horse, and took off.
But today wasn't every day. For one, I was wearing a skirt. And I was also wearing a pair of little kitten heels, which, while comfortable, are not meant for wind sprints.
But I ran. And I was pretty sure I could make it. That is, until one of my shoes decided not to cooperate and down I crashed. But this was not a little slip and fall: this was a wind knocked out of me, legs all over the place, skirt over my head kind of fall. It was dramatic enough that a woman running for the train behind me actually stopped to see if I was okay.
"Are you all right? That was an ugly fall," she said, panting while still jogging in place.
"I'm fine," I said. "There's no hope for me making the train, but you go. Run! Save yourself!"
And off she sprinted.
And I quickly brushed myself off as Jay-Z had taught me and tried to make the train. And surprisingly I did, limping to the finish line like I had just completed a triathlon.
The train conductor looked at me and smiled. "Good morning," he said. I couldn't figure out if he was just a happy guy, had seen me fall, or had actually viewed my underwear as my skirt had ridden so high. Frankly, any of these things could make for an entertaining morning.
"Is it?" I asked, as I shuffled onto the train and plopped down into the nearest seat. I may have made the train, but I felt like I lost the race. Of course, maybe that's because no one runs a race in heels.