Paper A ride in New York City’s subway is one you will never forget, or at least I won’t. As I walk down the terminal looking for my track number, I see the homeless lounging. These less fortunate individuals are trying to stay warm and catch some sleep before they are interrupted by a police officer who kicks them out to return to the cold.
A Ride In Ny City Essay, Research Paper
A ride in New York City’s subway is one you will never forget, or at least I won’t. As I walk down the terminal looking for my track number, I see the homeless lounging. These less fortunate individuals are trying to stay warm and catch some sleep before they are interrupted by a police officer who kicks them out to return to the cold. I smell the scent of urine in the air from the guy who couldn’t wait for the restroom. The sound of talent is floating in the air by a group of young adults playing their violins, it feels like a concert hall. Many passengers including myself stop and listen in amazement as we await our departure. Almost everyone who passes by throws dollars into a violin case, causing it to fill up quite fast.
As I wait for my train to arrive, a clean-cut gentleman dressed in a suit passes me. He is holding a beer bottle and slurring a song that is too difficult to understand due to his intoxication. Trying to ignore this man, I look forward to boarding the train and arriving to Madison Square Garden to see the New York Rangers beat the New Jersey Devils. Seconds later, I hear a howl that sounds like a stampede of wild elephants’ let loose. I look down the tunnel to see the bright headlights of the D train light up the track. The train stops, the doors open, and the mad rush of passengers’ pour out like a broken dam. I enter the train and find a seat. I notice the drunk from the terminal stumbling around looking for a seat. There is one empty seat next to me. Hoping he is too drunk to realize this, I pray he continues to stumble around and sit somewhere else. Unfortunately, he notices it and plops into the seat almost sitting on me. The aroma coming off him smells like he broke into a liquor store and cleared all the shelves himself. This short fifteen-minute ride will feel like fifteen hours with him next to me.
Still trying to sing, but sounding like a fool, he stops and asks if I would like a drink. I say “No thanks.” He gives me a dirty look, like I just killed his dog, because I don’t want to join his party. I tell him I don’t want to drink anything now because I had a whole bottle of whiskey before boarding the train. Hoping he buys the story, I wait for his response. He says, “Why didn’t you tell me you were already wasted.” Relieved from anticipation of not knowing what this guy is going to do, I continue to hope this ride will come to a quick end. As I look at my watch, there is still ten minutes remaining. After five minutes of the drunk swaying side to side, I look over at him to notice he is as white as a ghost. Being hesitant I ask him, “Are you alright?” Looking at me confused, he vomits on my brand new $130 Nike Air Jordan’s. Now I am furious because he ruined my sneakers and I still have to go to the Ranger game stinking like liquor vomit. With five minutes left on this train, I stand up and walk over to the exit for the rest of the ride. As I make way to the exit, I hear the chuckle from passengers as I pass by them. I am not having a good time. Finally, the train stops and I get off in a flash.
The game starts in twenty minutes and I still have to meet my friend, Bill, at the Garden’s entrance. Approaching the entrance, I feel for my wallet and notice it is missing. What else can happen to me today? My ticket to the game is in my wallet along with $100. I arrive at the Garden and see Bill at the entrance. As I approach him, he covers his nose and looks at me like I am crazy. He says under his shirt, “What happened to you?” I explain to him how I lost my wallet on the subway in addition to my ticket. Lucky for me, Bill has an extra ticket because someone else said they were going to go but didn’t. As we walk to the gate, I tell him the whole story. At the gate, they will not let me enter because they say I smell like liquor. I explain the subway incident and show them my sneakers. After five minutes of debating, they decide to let me enter under one condition. I have to leave my sneakers at the ticket booth. Walking through the Garden with no sneakers is not fun. As Bill and I walk to our seats, I try to avoid puddles of beer that have been spilt and people stepping on my toes. We arrive to our seat’s to find the drunk from the subway sitting in the seat next to me. He introduces himself as John and explains how he sobered up after he vomited on the train. John says, “You left this on the train” as he handed me my wallet along with $150. He continues to say, “The money should cover the cost for the sneakers to be cleaned and for the ticket to the game.” He apologizes for the nuisance he was and explains why he was so blasted. He tells us how his friend had a bachelor party earlier in the evening and he somehow left the party, got lost, and wound up on the subway train. I thank him for returning my wallet and giving me $150. I tell him that the past is over and we should enjoy the game. John offers to buy me a beer but at this point alcohol is not on my mind so I say, “A soda will be fine.” The game is moving fast and I am not looking forward to walking through the Garden having to dodge my feet getting crushed by the crowd of spectators. With five minutes remaining and the game tied at two, I start my exit to avoid the rush. As I walk to the ticket booth, I think about putting those smelly sneakers back on my feet. Waiting for Bill and John at the ticket booth, the game finishes. Bill and John explain that I missed Wayne Gretsky make a penalty shot with only one minute left on the clock to win the game. This upsets me because I would have loved to see my favorite Ranger win the game.
Bill heads back to his apartment as John and I approach the subway entrance recalling how humorous the ride to get here was. The fifteen-minute ride feels like five minutes to the train terminal. At the terminal John goes his way and I go mine. On the train ride back home, I recall the violin music I listened to before this whole event started. Being looked at by other passengers does not bother me one bit. I am too tired and too aggravated to care what people think about me. I just want to get home and take a nice long shower.
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