The thing that really kills me about New York is that, for a city based on efficiency and fast pace, there is nothing more tragic than our subway system. And by that, I mean there is nothing more anger-inducing than taking the subway during the weekend.
Last night, tipsy and tired, I waited FORTY-FIVE MINUTES for a 4 train to carry me home from Union Square. Do you know what I could have done with that time? WALKED HOME. And I'm only half-kidding.
The worst part is, I had no idea it would take that long; no one ever does. You stand there, waiting for Godot, wondering where the hell the train is. Could it still be in Harlem? Yes it could. Could it be running on another track? Sure it could. Could the conductor have stopped between stations to eat a burger? I would not doubt it.
This afternoon Goldie and I took the 2/3 up to see Dangerous Liasons with Anne and Katherine and though we left our apartment an hour early, I still had a minor panic attack while waiting for the subway to come. Apparently you need a military degree to get to Times Square, such are the strategic plots one must devise while sweating it out on the platform.
And the worst part? Paris has already solved this problem- with the simple solution of electronic boards that tell you how long you have until the next train. Get with it, MTA!