Lost in Translation

It’s the day before our spring break and my friend Susie is freaking out. She hasn’t packed, hasn’t finished her grades which are due tomorrow, hasn’t done her laundry, and definitely hasn’t figured out how she’s getting to the airport. I can sympathize with her except on the airport situation, as I’m walking two blocks up and finding a seat on a bus that will take me right to the curb at la guardia. Susie is deciding between the shuttle easy and expensive, or the subway, two transfers and a monorail, but cheaper. We were in the middle of hammering this out when she went to go change loads and I cashed out.

After school the students are almost all gone for spring break except for four who are hanging around during our afterschool program. Susie has one of them in her room and as she helps him I stop by to ask what is going on. Chaos. Apparently you have to book the shuttle in advance, which she didn’t, and the subway-monorail will take all day especially if you have to go from school to your apartment before beginning the hour long journey to JFK. She’s thinking taking a $45 taxi ride to the airport. I’m thinking she should take a taxi and the subway, or the taxi and then the monorail. I’m strangely not thinking about the simpsons monorail song, because the situation is very tense. Our four dedicated leave in 5 minutes, 3:00, leaving Susie an hour and a half to get on her 5:30 flight.

I’m on my way home from the bar, and trying to get ready for my flight when I get a text message from Susie saying that she made her flight, with time to spare. When I arrive at my apartment two hours before before myflight leaves I will probably not be as lucky. I haven’t packed, I haven’t taken out my smelly trash, and I am strongly thinking about taking the dishes I haven’t washed and leaving them in the fridge for the break. After a pretty furious hour of cleaning throwing things into duffle bags I ran out of my apartment trash in hand with my sights clearly set on JFK, by way of my incinerator.

The whole subway ride down from apartment was nothing but nonstop stressing. ...NOTGONNAMAKEIT NOTGONNAMAKEIT NOTGONNAMAKEIT... Slowly though I assessed the situation. I am only going to go as fast as the train will take me, so there is nothing to worry about. I calmed down and relaxed, I took a seat and I started reading a book. I even listened to the little subway guy who was surprisingly clear today as he announced to transfers at each stop. "Roosevelt ave. transfer to the F, the R, and the bus to Laguardia." The name of the former mayor hit me like a really strong sleeping pill, but backwards. I ran out the subway before the doors closed, up the stairs, and on to the bus an hour before take off. I rode this bus randomly through queens for 30 minutes until the plane was surely boarding. I ran as best I could up the stairs to the check-in and saw that I had exactly 23 minutes until the plane left the tarmac. I went to the check-in computer, put in my info, and saw that my flight was delayed.