24 Aug 07

Time:

?

Money:

?

More interesting things:

Grinned at a JetBlue guy standing on the tarmac to guide us to the plane's back door who had thrown me a big smile and a loud "You made it!" in recognition of my earlier conversation with the gate agent that I really, really, REALLY wanted to get on the 6:40 rather than the 8:55 (yecch, even before I had Metro-North plans).

Sat next to a very nice (and clearly Lawn Guyland kind of) lady who kept mentioning "Daddy" to her college-aged son, who acted like he probably called the guy Daddy himself. It occurred to me that this goes right along with having a name like Tommy, matching Daddy with "Ma," and wearing a bright blue class ring - see post from a much earlier trip back to New York.

Laughed, contributed money, and applauded on the train headed north. These two French girls had gotten on the New Haven line with tickets to Tarrytown, which meant, in the words of the conductor (who had spent a great deal of time reminding passengers that it was an express to Stamford and urging them to "be sure you're right!"), that they had "really messed up." He went off to fetch "some French," and a lady in front of them stood up, turned around, offered some mild interpretive dance to illustrate how the track to Stamford curved far away from the one for Tarrytown, found she couldn't in fact understand what they were saying, and got into an extensive debate with the young guy sitting to the girls' left about whether a cab between the two places would cost a hundred bucks (her opinion) or thirty (the young guy's.) Finally, the guy called the cab company and learned that it would an 82-dollar ride. Of course, the girls didn't have 82 dollars, so: he took one of their tickets and wrote on its back, "We need 82 dollars for a cab ride from Stamford to Tarrytown because we got on the wrong train, but we don't have any money and we don't speak English. Please help us." Yes. The girls at least understood, somehow, his suggestion that they should walk up and down soliciting donations, to judge by their hysterical laughter, but even in their refusal to actually get out of their seats they made about 60. The young guy announced, "Look, I'll start," and handed them a five before turning to me and everyone else with a "What about you?" I handed them a five, the Mets fans next to me each handed them a five, and the interpretive dance lady handed them a twenty (and got change, but she redeemed herself by playing Jerry Lewis for the next few minutes. From that point until the train arrived at Stamford, where the girls got off and, I hope, understood the concept of getting a cab, she kept track of how much had been collected and cheerfully encouraged everyone else in the car to help out, causing all the folks in its back end to keep looking over their shoulders; some of them were even brave enough to lurch up and hand her some bills, which earned them our exuberant applause.) I've never seen anything like it, and if I didn't have other things to make me fond of the Metro-North, the people I see and hear when I ride might be enough all by themselves.