I wasn’t born with the calm, cool or collected gene. I never said I was unshakeable, unflappable, or unexcitable. So it doesn’t surprise me in the least that it has taken me 4 days to even recount our Sunday outing to Madame Tussauds wax museum in Manhattan to see the Wizard of Oz 4D experience via the NYC subway system.
I think it was my idea. Maybe it was my daughter, the one that had the coupons. At this point I am willing to take the blame, err... I mean credit for this wonderful summer day in the city. (Midtown. Times Square. 96 degrees…..just a few points to consider)
I didn’t sleep the night before. I had nightmare after nightmare but nothing related directly to our decision to take the train in. Nothing related to the fact that the weatherman was calling for hot sticky humid mid 90’s. And nothing related to the fact that the last time I was on a train was 7 years ago and 22 years before that. Seven years ago we ventured into the city for a friends 50th and proceeded to meander around the city via urine soaked subway cars and menacing dank train platforms. And while the birthday weekend was a huge success, it was then that I swore off subways, trains, railroads, railways and basically anything I needed a metro card for. (I did however score a really cool subway line t-shirt as a reward for my fortitude, or perhaps it was to shut me up.) This time there were eleven of us, including my four grandchildren and the birthday girl herself. This time no t-shirt in the world was gonna help.
With no sleep, I showered and ate breakfast like I was gonna walk the green mile. Not exactly a fitting way to start a fun-packed Sunday with the family. We agreed to leave at 10 and meet at the subway station…which would have been fine if my husband hadn’t insisted my son in law take a parking spot that was 2 blocks away. 90 degrees
We all met in front of the train station to buy our metro cards. Only the birthday girl had one already. Hmmmm?? Insert the bill, it comes out. Insert it again, nothing. Insert it upside down we get the screen to chose which card we would like to purchase. We chose, it can’t make enough change. We chose again and we finally have our metro card and the angry crowd building behind us is relieved. One by one we proceed to swine and enter. Swipe and enter. Swipe and….swipe and….swipe and nothing. Our metro card is not working and before my husband got locked up for defacing MTA property, birthday girl swiped her card and we entered. We opened the gate for the carriage setting off an ear-piercing yet unanswered alarm. So much for post 9/11 security. We climbed the stairs, which while still dank and foul smelling did not seem so menacing in the light of day. After a quick assessment of who had who’s hand and where each grandchild specifically stood, I took my first breath since the metro card purchase. And we waited for the train. When did they make the platforms so damn narrow? I think maybe, possibly someone said something to me, but I was vigilant at my post to protect my grandkids from becoming a horrible news headline….CHILD PULLED FROM TRACKS BY VIGILANT GRANDMA….. 91 degrees
It dawned on me that there was a possibility that the subway car would not be air conditioned but since standing on that platform any longer than necessary was not an option, no A/C and we were still getting on. Lucky us, air and seats. Not together, but do-able. My grandsons were further away from me than I would have liked when the entertainment entered the car. A homeless, drug addict magician who had metal rings that he attached himself to the poles with. Yay! Give the guy a buck and let him move on. My husband, who to this point was trying to look nonchalant with the whole experience (other than the metro card fiasco back in Brooklyn) was mesmerized by the digital map that counted off the stops we would be making. He stared up at it for most of the ride, announcing the stops much to the enjoyment of the other riders although it is doubtful that any of them spoke English. We were the only ’Americans’ and yet the only people who looked like tourists. Except maybe the birthday girl who remained just far enough away to feign anonymity. I blew her cover by taking her picture along with the grandkids, their parents and the magician. My husband announced our stop was next and I mentally prepared for the exodus and the hands that needed holding. Birthday girl was on her own. We made it up two flights of stairs, each one had exactly 13 steps. I counted. It kept me from screaming. The daylight and exhilaration of the 42nd street crowds made me smile. That and the fact that the museum was only a scant half block away. 93 degrees
For the price of the wax museum we could have gone to an all inclusive Punta Cana resort for the weekend, and that was with the coupons. The museum was packed with everyone from everywhere. Times Square is truly the crossroads of the world. Not a road I am too comfortable on, but I have bigger things to worry about…..like the trip home. Floor after floor we photographed the kids and ourselves hugging and yes at times grabbing our favorites. Birthday girl was disappointed that Rod Stewart had not made the waxing process yet and my husband admired Lady Di way too long. (if he told me once more about how he met her I was gonna shove him into her waxy figure) The 4D OZ experience was wonderful perhaps because I am a huge OZ fan or perhaps because we were sitting in air conditioning and for the first time in hours I wasn't dripping from any body parts.
All geared up for the gift shop and the kids didn’t want anything. I wondered why. I found out moments later. We were going to the Toys R Us in Times Square where there are floors of toys to chose from. I made a feeble attempt to buy a $10 bag from a vendor en route but the sweat dripping off my nose stopped me from even considering a transaction out here in the heat. We made it to the world’s biggest toy store, with the world’s biggest indoor ferris wheel and the world’s biggest crowds. As the kids picked their souveniers I once again strategized our trip back to the subway station. Armed with the metro card that didn’t previously work, I swiped, we entered. No one but me was impressed. Following the signs to our train, I held on perhaps a little too tight to my grandson’s hand (I hope he wasn’t planning on playing the piano any time soon) when we realized that my daughter had stopped to use the rest room. THE REST ROOM IN TIMES SQUARE! Had I taught her nothing?! Note to self: administer penicillin 94 degrees
The platform was so packed that people were actually standing within the yellow line. The one they painted so that people would know that they were inches away from being dismembered by a 200 ton speeding piece of metal. The one that my son in law thought would be a good place to walk with the carriage to circumvent the wall to wall people all set to get on the same train as me and my ten pack. The train ride home was as eventful or uneventful as the ride in. My husband playing conductor calling out stops, the birthday girl sitting as far away as possible, and the kids watching the entertainment which this time was a sad rendition of La Bamba. A woman started eating rice and bean out of a Styrofoam container completely oblivious to the reeking subway stench. I silently mocked her only to find my daughter, the one that would be getting the pencillin shot, eating out of a zip lock bag. A snack she had brought presumably for her daughter. 95 degrees
We arrived back at the Brooklyn train station, set off the same alarm, said goodbye to those who found a decent parking spot and made our way to the car with me sweating and swearing and planning our next outing.
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