brooklynguist

Saturday, 10:57 AM. You awaken, bleary, hungover, and slightly panicked. You have a bridal shower in three hours in the dreaded depths of Long Island, and between it and you stands your feared enemy, the Long Island Railroad.

11:36 AM. Showered and dressed, you grab the unwieldy bag of bridal shower gifts and race out the door towards the subway. The day is unseasonably hot, and you can feel your hair frizzing, your makeup running, and a damp circle forming on your back. Ten minutes of careful preparation gone to waste.

11:47 AM. You arrive at the Atlantic Ave. terminal via the R train, 13 minutes ahead of schedule. You pause to purchase a Diet Coke for your journey. Struggling with your bags, you drop a dollar out of your wallet. A passerby immediately accuses you of stealing said dollar from his wife, prompting an impassioned argument between the man and the vendor who sold you the Diet Coke, your loyal advocate. You consider giving everyone involved a dollar just to end this conversation, but instead slink away quietly.

11:50 AM. You arrive at the LIRR platform with ten minutes to spare. As far as you can tell there is one functioning ticket machine with a line of about 15 teenagers, all of whom seem to know each other. You get in line.

11:52 AM. The leader of the pack seems to be handling purchases for everyone, one by one. Each ticket purchase involves a lengthy conversation and a transfer of funds in dimes and nickels.

11:53 AM. The leader does not know how to use a ticket machine. Her cohorts are equally baffled. You conclude that they are Amish youths out on Rumspringa.

11:54 AM. An LIRR employee comes over and informs you that there is another functioning machine at the other end of the platform. You run there,and discover that it is broken. You spot another machine and run towards it. Somehow the Amish kids beat you to it. You wait again.

11:55 AM. They're trying to pay with sticks of farm-fresh butter.

11:56 AM. You finally get to the front of the line. You hastily buy a roundtrip ticket to Port Jefferson.

11:57 AM. You run up and down the station, looking for the 12pm train to Port Jefferson.

11:58 AM. WHERE THE FUCK IS THE TRAIN TO PORT JEFFERSON?!!

11:59 AM. DOES ANYONE WORK AT THIS FUCKING STATION???

12:00 AM. As a train pulls in at Track 3, you spot a man in a smart-looking cap in the distance. "DOES THIS GO TO PORT JEFFERSON?" you bellow. He gives you a faint nod of assent.

12:01 PM. On the train.

12:02 PM. Oh God, this train doesn't go to Port Jefferson. Nana was right, you should never trust a man in a jaunty cap.

12:03 PM. You are calm. The conductor explained that you need to transfer at Bellesomething to get to Port Jefferson. Everything is ok until you get to Bellesomething. You sit down and sip your Diet Coke, shaking slightly.

12:20 PM. Was it Bellerose or Bellmont?

12:22 PM. It was Hicksville.

12:24 PM. You get out at Hicksville and look around for a train to Port Jefferson.

12:25 PM. Obviously there is no train to Port Jefferson. You try to listen to the conductor announcements, which are mostly white noise broken up by the occasional incoherent squawk. Potentially they are picking up frequencies from another dimension.

12:26 PM. Remember that movie Frequency where Dennis Quaid dies in a fire, and his son grows up to be a tough-as-nails New York cop, and one night he uses his dad's HAM radio and he makes contact with his dad before he dies because they're on the same frequency, only thirty years apart?

12:27 PM. That was a touching movie.

12:28 PM. A train pulls up and you amble onto it, because at this point, what the hell? The conductor tells you it's the train to Port Jefferson.

12:29 PM. Why isn't Port Jefferson one of the stops then?

12:30 PM. Oh because you have to transfer at Huntington. Would it be so hard to make some kind of comprehensive map, LIRR? Would it?

12:45 PM. Ok you're at Huntington. At least there's only one platform here.

12:55 PM. The train to Port Jefferson!!! You are elated. You'd dance a two-step if you know what that was.

1:30 PM. You arrive at Port Jefferson. Somehow you are still really early for the shower. You plant yourself on a bench and chill out for a minute.

1:31 PM. A long-haired, scruffy mini-hipster approaches you and asks you when the next train for New York leaves. You tell him that you don't know and you're just hanging out. He asks you if you want some pot. You decline politely, but are alarmed by the reality that you look more like a teenage stoner than a classy adult on her way to a garden party.

1:32 PM. Stonerboy realizes that he left his guitar unattended at the other platform and wanders off. You use this as an opportunity to duck inside the station. For some reason an alarm is going off and lights are flashing.

1:34 PM. An attendant starts yelling at you but you have no idea what she's saying because alarms are going off and your hearing kind of sucks anyway and you're pretty sure it's gotten worse since college but you don't really want to go to the doctor about it because hearing aids aren't punk rock.

1:35 PM. You flee the station and start wandering the streets of Long Island in search of the garden party. You my friend, are punk rock.

1:40 PM. You pause in front of a home to light a cigarette. A passing car suddenly stops next to you and a man leans out the driver's window. "That isn't good for you, baby girl!" he calls. You smile sweetly because you love unsolicited health advice from leering strangers.

1:45 PM. You arrive at the party, 15 minutes early and greatly relieved. You pray that another attendee can give you a ride back to the city later.