Free Ride Karma

Fall asleep on a public train in New York and you will most likely end up somewhere in the Bronx — lost, confused, bewildered, with slightly less money in your pocket, your feet in a sticky puddle of an unknown substance and completely on the opposite side of town than you intended to be. Fall asleep on a train in Shikoku only to be tenderly awoken by the old man with no teeth who kindly assisted your badly phrased enquiry about directions when you initially boarded. The grand thing about trains in Shikoku, Japan is that they come with dozens of little walking, talking alarm clocks that are more determined of making sure that you get off at your stop than you are yourself, leaving you to nap freely. Those with less than a stellar grasp of the language have nothing to fear, as simply grinning and announcing your destination upon boarding the train to several people will result in your getting their safely, well-napped, and possibly with a gift of mikan/tangerines in your pocket.

However, whilst complimentary fruit and animated alarm clocks with arms and legs are enchanting, there is something to be said about the possibility of riding free in New York City.

I dodge European tourists, stationed in the middle of the sidewalk, their mouths gaping open from behind their cameras which they awkwardly point haphazardly towards the dazzling, luminescent billboards that overwhelm Times Square. Despite it being nearly eleven in the evening, the sidewalks are bustling, and the sky is so light it may as well be day time. Jaded to the incredible sights and neglecting them completely, I maneuver through the throngs making my way to the nearest subway station.

Down the stairs.

“It’s closed.”

“What? Oh… right, thank you.” The gate is indeed nonsensically closed. A bustling weekday evening in Times Square, but New York City transit is out to inconvenience the lot of us.

“So, what… what are you going to do?” He looks exhausted and equally annoyed as I am that we have to actually put more thought than is necessary in getting home.

“Well. I guess I’m going to go across the street, try over there and if that’s closed, walk up to 34th street.”

“Oh, okay. That sounds good.”

And all of a sudden I find myself with a companion. I learn he’s a personal trainer who has been dealing with irritating customers all day. Customers who have kept him far and beyond the time of day when normal people are working. A 16 hour day which, I imagine,involves a lot of “C’mon ONE MORES,” high fives, unrequited spandex and slapping people’s hands when they reach for cookies. “But I have to stay until whenever they’re ready to go…. God, it’s been a long day,” he grumbles.

We cross the street and I begin walking around rather directionless, looking for the worn green posts with bubbles signifying a subway entrance nearby.

“… Is there actually another one?” he chuckles at me.

Wandering pays off and another entrance materializes up the block under the garish, neon lights of Broadway.

“…And it’s open! Very nice. Right, well, have a good night.” I start through the turnstile only to have my card spurned by the machine.

“Hey, hey - I got it. Don’t worry about it.” And my new friend proceeds to buy me my ride home.

My jaw drops. Things like this don’t normally happen in New York. A complete, whimsical act of kindness. There must be some mistake. The subway is full of avaricious people who nab your seat when you lean down to tie your shoe. People who allow their sweaty hands to slide down the pole and then leave them resting on your hand as though you’re there for their own support. People who scream to themselves for the length of their ride. People who convince themselves that they will manage to fit in that three inches of space on the bench, and thusly, end up sitting in your lap. These people don’t buy you rides home.

A complete random act of kindness. Rare, unusual and utterly appreciated. It just might beat a mikan. I’ll have to pass along the karma.

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Published:
10.5.08 / 12pm
Category:
amusing incidents, what i call life, travel