As a result of growing up in a pedestrian-friendly city, I developed this misguided conviction that every destination is within walking distance.  Once I had a job interview in an office in Massachusetts that was about 20 minutes walk from the nearest bus stop, but I checked it out on Google Maps and concluded that it was manageable.  As it turned out it was several miles away along a busy highway with no sidewalk.  I trudged along in my suit and sensible pumps through thigh-high weeds and bramble as cars honked beside me and the sun blazed down on my cursing, harried countenance. I arrived at the office damp from sweat and dew, tousle-haired, and triumphant. Lesser women would have turned back.  Smarter women  wouldn't have accepted the job offer.

Generally, I like walking places, mostly because I loathe being inside any kind of moving vehicle.  I will walk the width of Manhattan before getting on a city bus, and I refuse to make train transfers on principle.  When I studied in Dublin during college I walked around so much that I lost twenty pounds despite subsisting only Guinness and Dairy Milk bars. Cities are made for walking!  But once you get out to suburbia, it's sometimes not even possible to get places without a car. So here's an idea for you, Big Gov.  You know how we're all really stressed about all these problems that are tangentially related to the ubiquity of car ownership, like the obesity epidemic and fuel shortages and global warming and Billy Joel?  Build some sidewalks, Big Gov!  And keep reading my blog for canny political strategies like these.

So Sunday I had a friend's wedding, for which I needed to take the accursed LIRR to the far depths of Long Island.  Said friend assured me that the train station was very close to the wedding venue, but when I checked it out online I discovered that it was actually several miles away along a busy highway. Plus the only feasible train was scheduled to arrive at said station only ten minutes before the start of the wedding.  Peaches.  I tried to call several local car services in advance but apparently car services in Long Island refuse to drive people anywhere but the airport. I guess because that's the only place people go without cars that isn't the end of their driveways. 

 So anyway, cut to Sunday. After the requisite eleven train transfers I arrived at the station and peered around hopefully for a cab or a serial rapist's van to take me wedding-ward.  No such luck.  So I set out tramping along the road in my wedding finery, narrowly avoiding speeding cars, no doubt filled with happy families who were laughing at the damn city fool dressed to the nines and trekking alone down the Montauk Highway.  I cannot say I blame them.  

When I finally arrived at the venue a half hour late the events coordinator looked at me in obvious disgust and told me I should have taken a cab from the train station. I just shook a high-heeled sandal at him and limped towards the garden, where the ceremony was already halfway over.  I had to hide behind a tree like a spurned ex-lover in order to watch the proceedings without attracting any attention for coming in late. Which was great, because people at weddings love socializing with sweaty, solitary lurkers. I was a hit, I think.  During the cocktail hour a Mary Kay lady gave me her business card and offered me a makeover, so that must mean I'm super pretty and she wants to be friends.

I proceeded to chug 85 glasses of champagne and basically molest the bride because her cans looked fantastic. 

Good wedding.


Hannah said...

A) I couldn't drive until I was 28 and when I tell people that, they look at me like I'm a freak, and I just say, "I grew up in Brooklyn," and I get a knowing "Ooooooooooooooooooh..."

B) When I moved down to DC, I wanted to go to a store, and my friend was all, "You have to drive," and I was like, "No, I'll just take the..... nothing goes out there..." and she was like, "YOU HAVE TO DRIVE, RETARD. THIS IS DC, NOT NEW YORK." Which just shows how silly she is: there is NOTHING outside of New York.

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