The Night That I Experienced Homelessness
Alternate Title: "The 1:42 That Never Was."
On 25 January 2008, Rambo premiered. I, like all manly men, was in high anticipation of the movie and needed to see it on release day. Here's why: I was born on 24 August 1982. Rambo was released on 22 October 1982. Typically it takes more than two months for a boy's testicles to descend. Thanks to First Blood, I did not have that problem.
I left work on that Friday night in January, bought a few cans of beer, and hopped a train North to White Plains. I met up with friends from upstate for dinner, more drinks, and ultimately Rambo in Imax. I needn't explain how much I enjoyed the film, but I will sum it up in this
***MILDLY SPOILING (BUT NOT REALLY)*** EXAMPLE.
Rambo takes out the most tense compound bow I have ever seen. He nocks an arrow, draws back, and shoots a dude in the ankle. Pissed off that the guy's foot is still attached, he repeats the motions, only aiming higher this time. The second arrow pierces the dude's skull. At this point, I thought, "Wow, that was incredibly badass. My desire for cool violence in this film has already been sated." Little did I know, that this dude's ass was not yet thoroughly kicked. Now, quite killed, the dude's corpse falls on a landmine. Giant explosion results. Theater erupts. I had to restrain myself from sprouting a third testicle to hold the extreme amount of testosterone now coursing through my hormonal pathways.
***SPOILER OVER***
After the movie, I said goodbye and returned to the train station. Since we caught a late movie, it was now 1:35AM. I made it up the train platform in time to catch the 1:42 train. There was one other guy on the platform, as well. He was sitting in the heated booth between the Northbound and Southbound tracks. Since it was about 10 degrees F that night, I gladly joined him in the booth and stood by a window looking out for the train.
By 1:45, the train still had not arrived. I thought, "Maybe it was early? Perhaps my watch is wrong, it has been wrong before." I checked the piece of scrap paper on which I had written down the train times. There was a 2:02 and a 2:11 incoming. Awesome.
Those trains, as the title of this post suggested, did not come. Later, I would learn that when I clicked "Return Trip" on www.mta.info, the clock reset to PM, rather than AM. I had the times for the mid-day trains, rather than late night. In reality, the 1:04AM was the last possible train, and I should have traveled upstate with Jason, Mark, Tony, and Steve. But, sadly, this information came only after I had stranded myself in White Plains.
Luckily, I had my Zune with me. I sat on a bench and continued listening to book 5 of the Dark Tower series. After about twenty minutes, I noticed that I was really frickin' cold. I wandered around the train station seeking sources of heat. I found five sources total. Two in the center of the main glass breezeway, away from the benches. Two in a side corridor near the closed down security office. The last was the giant heater above the main entrance on street level. I chose the vicinity of the security office, since the area seemed better insulated and had benches directly underneath.
I laid down on the metal wire-woven bench. It was a bit cold, but relative to the rest of the metal in the station, completely tolerable. I found a free newspaper encouraging people to donate to diseased children. Lepers, or something. I don't know, since I didn't actually read it. Rather, I folded it up for use as a pillow. Now sort of comfortable, I paused the audiobook, removed my headphones, and tried to sleep.
Around 3:10, I heard people talking. A White Plains police officer was talking to the other man in the station, who was until now quite passed out on a bench with his winter hat over his eyes. Now that I looked over, the man genuinely looked homeless. Unshaven, ratty clothes, long hair. It soon became apparent that he was really just an impoverished hippie from out of town, but the policeman had no way of identifying this, since there's no empirical way to infer this from a sleeping man. It turns out the guy missed the last bus home, and needed somewhere warm to sleep. Unlike me, the hippie was not a paying ticketholder which according to the sign on the wall was a requirement for tenancy in the station's warmth. The policeman was sympathetic, however, and allowed him to remain.
Around 3:30, the cleaning crew arrived. They made me leave my bench and promptly gated off that sector of the station. Fuck. I walked to the other heated area and attempted to sleep there. Too damn cold. As quickly as the heat hit my body, it left the other side turned away from the heater. After about 10 minutes of actual sleep, I was far too cold. I got up, resumed the audiobook, and started walking around the station. Still cold, I began doing laps on the escalators - down the up ramp, up the down ramp, repeat. It worked to warm me up again.
Shortly after 4AM, the newspaper deliveries began. Most of the front pages concerned themselves with Britney Spears's custody strife. Uninterested, I continued listening to the book on tape. Finished it, even. In the meantime, I slumped against a wall near the front entrance. It stayed surprisingly warm down there, even with the newsmen coming in periodically (pun!) to make their deliveries. Soon enough, it was after 5. Other people were making their ways into the station to join me on the next train. Ultimately, the 5:10 arrived and took me away. No more bench bed and paper pillow for me! Goodbye, stranded hippie.
I got back to my apartment a little before 7AM. Instantly I cranked the heat higher than I ever had before. While preparing for warm, soft sleeping conditions, I had time to laugh at myself and say aloud, "this could have only happened to me."
Cliffhanger: With my next post, you'll see that this sentiment was much more foreshadowing than I would have liked.
On 25 January 2008, Rambo premiered. I, like all manly men, was in high anticipation of the movie and needed to see it on release day. Here's why: I was born on 24 August 1982. Rambo was released on 22 October 1982. Typically it takes more than two months for a boy's testicles to descend. Thanks to First Blood, I did not have that problem.
I left work on that Friday night in January, bought a few cans of beer, and hopped a train North to White Plains. I met up with friends from upstate for dinner, more drinks, and ultimately Rambo in Imax. I needn't explain how much I enjoyed the film, but I will sum it up in this
***MILDLY SPOILING (BUT NOT REALLY)*** EXAMPLE.
Rambo takes out the most tense compound bow I have ever seen. He nocks an arrow, draws back, and shoots a dude in the ankle. Pissed off that the guy's foot is still attached, he repeats the motions, only aiming higher this time. The second arrow pierces the dude's skull. At this point, I thought, "Wow, that was incredibly badass. My desire for cool violence in this film has already been sated." Little did I know, that this dude's ass was not yet thoroughly kicked. Now, quite killed, the dude's corpse falls on a landmine. Giant explosion results. Theater erupts. I had to restrain myself from sprouting a third testicle to hold the extreme amount of testosterone now coursing through my hormonal pathways.
***SPOILER OVER***
After the movie, I said goodbye and returned to the train station. Since we caught a late movie, it was now 1:35AM. I made it up the train platform in time to catch the 1:42 train. There was one other guy on the platform, as well. He was sitting in the heated booth between the Northbound and Southbound tracks. Since it was about 10 degrees F that night, I gladly joined him in the booth and stood by a window looking out for the train.
By 1:45, the train still had not arrived. I thought, "Maybe it was early? Perhaps my watch is wrong, it has been wrong before." I checked the piece of scrap paper on which I had written down the train times. There was a 2:02 and a 2:11 incoming. Awesome.
Those trains, as the title of this post suggested, did not come. Later, I would learn that when I clicked "Return Trip" on www.mta.info, the clock reset to PM, rather than AM. I had the times for the mid-day trains, rather than late night. In reality, the 1:04AM was the last possible train, and I should have traveled upstate with Jason, Mark, Tony, and Steve. But, sadly, this information came only after I had stranded myself in White Plains.
Luckily, I had my Zune with me. I sat on a bench and continued listening to book 5 of the Dark Tower series. After about twenty minutes, I noticed that I was really frickin' cold. I wandered around the train station seeking sources of heat. I found five sources total. Two in the center of the main glass breezeway, away from the benches. Two in a side corridor near the closed down security office. The last was the giant heater above the main entrance on street level. I chose the vicinity of the security office, since the area seemed better insulated and had benches directly underneath.
I laid down on the metal wire-woven bench. It was a bit cold, but relative to the rest of the metal in the station, completely tolerable. I found a free newspaper encouraging people to donate to diseased children. Lepers, or something. I don't know, since I didn't actually read it. Rather, I folded it up for use as a pillow. Now sort of comfortable, I paused the audiobook, removed my headphones, and tried to sleep.
Around 3:10, I heard people talking. A White Plains police officer was talking to the other man in the station, who was until now quite passed out on a bench with his winter hat over his eyes. Now that I looked over, the man genuinely looked homeless. Unshaven, ratty clothes, long hair. It soon became apparent that he was really just an impoverished hippie from out of town, but the policeman had no way of identifying this, since there's no empirical way to infer this from a sleeping man. It turns out the guy missed the last bus home, and needed somewhere warm to sleep. Unlike me, the hippie was not a paying ticketholder which according to the sign on the wall was a requirement for tenancy in the station's warmth. The policeman was sympathetic, however, and allowed him to remain.
Around 3:30, the cleaning crew arrived. They made me leave my bench and promptly gated off that sector of the station. Fuck. I walked to the other heated area and attempted to sleep there. Too damn cold. As quickly as the heat hit my body, it left the other side turned away from the heater. After about 10 minutes of actual sleep, I was far too cold. I got up, resumed the audiobook, and started walking around the station. Still cold, I began doing laps on the escalators - down the up ramp, up the down ramp, repeat. It worked to warm me up again.
Shortly after 4AM, the newspaper deliveries began. Most of the front pages concerned themselves with Britney Spears's custody strife. Uninterested, I continued listening to the book on tape. Finished it, even. In the meantime, I slumped against a wall near the front entrance. It stayed surprisingly warm down there, even with the newsmen coming in periodically (pun!) to make their deliveries. Soon enough, it was after 5. Other people were making their ways into the station to join me on the next train. Ultimately, the 5:10 arrived and took me away. No more bench bed and paper pillow for me! Goodbye, stranded hippie.
I got back to my apartment a little before 7AM. Instantly I cranked the heat higher than I ever had before. While preparing for warm, soft sleeping conditions, I had time to laugh at myself and say aloud, "this could have only happened to me."
Cliffhanger: With my next post, you'll see that this sentiment was much more foreshadowing than I would have liked.