Travels Without Choppy: The Big Apple Edition (or, Sarah Manages Not to Die While Riding the Subway)

After having spent nearly every moment of this year with Choppy, Wednesday marked a strange day for me: I dropped her off at her kennel for the long weekend while I go to New York City.

I was in New York for a conference, but I took time before the conference to enjoy some of what New York has to offer in the way of sports (and you thought I was going to say culture. Or, as this is me we’re talking about, shopping).

Specifically, on Thursday, I did the baseball double header – the afternoon game at Citi Field to watch the Mets, and Yankee Stadium in the evening for the Yankess game. This being New York, I don’t have a car, which is rather limiting to me (the woman who once drove approximately 300 feet to visit a friends’ apartment in my law school apartment complex. And yes, it took me longer to drive than it would have taken to walk). And, as I am trying not to spend all my money, taking a cab to the games (which would have been my preferred method of travel), was not going to happen.

Apparently, you can get a steak at Yankee Stadium, where I took this picture. Considering beers were something like $12, I don’t even want to think what a steak would have cost me.

And so, I braved the subway.

Now, those of you who regularly use public transportation are probably rolling your eyes, and my 20-year old self who rode the el and Chicago’s buses on a more or less daily basis totally agrees with that sentiment. However, 34-year old Sarah, with her stilettos and not-inexpensive handbags and sunglasses and a good memory of the el scene in Adventures in Babysitting lives in fear that she is going to get mugged/stabbed/killed the moment she steps on the subway (well, that, or urinated on, which is also not good). Even when, like last Thursday, it was cold and I was not wearing heels or a dress (for those of you who don’t know me, this is a rather rare day).

Mr. Met probably thinks I am a wimp for not wanting to take public transportation.

My trip out to Citi Field to see the Mets, though long, was uneventful. If anything, it was kind of pleasant, as the train to the field is elevated, and I got to watch the city roll past. I even managed to transfer trains without incident. And my trip from Citi Field to Yankees Stadium was equally uneventful, and even easier as more people got on the train and helped convince me that I was, in fact, not on the wrong train.

Great. I didn’t even consider that I might be pushed on to the track by a crazy person when considering the dangers of the NYC subway system. And yet it is apparently so common there are actual warning signs about it. And yes, I realize this is more about standing close to the trains, but I figure that’s probably because they just aren’t telling you the more sinister aspects of life below ground.

Getting back from Yankee Stadium to my hotel, though? Not as smooth.

Now, first, for those who know me, I feel it is necessary to clarify that I was not really drunk. Yes, I had had a beer over the course of the day (or 7. Which is only one in dog beers). But I still managed to get on the wrong train to start the trip. No matter – I just turned around and went back the other way once I had a chance to do so.

Unfortunately for me, I went back the way I wanted on an express train. That went nowhere near the stop I wanted to go.

So now, it’s late and I am looking at the subway map on a platform which was not where I wanted to go, attempting to figure out which way I needed to go.

Which is when I nearly got on a train going the wrong way, yet again, as I was on the completely wrong platform. After I realized this, I found where I was supposed to be (I hoped), after yet more perusing of the subway map.

Thankfully, at this point, the next train I got on was both (a) going the correct direction, and (b) not an express train (and therefore stopped at the station I needed). And, probably more amazing (based on the rest of the subway adventures), I managed to actually get off of the train where I was supposed to and get back to my hotel room without resorting to the use of a cab (which, at this point, would probably have been the best/smartest choice). In the end, though, as I wasn’t mugged and managed to figure out where I was going pretty quickly and easily (with only a couple missteps), I suppose it wasn’t too horrible.

Though, the next time you see me, you are welcome to refer to me as Sarah, the country bumpkin.