Subway Stories: The First Time I took the “L” Train

This was on April 26, 2003. I’d been invited to a birthday party for a young co-worker who would turn 24 on April 26. She was doing the party with a French intern from Brooklyn College who had been born at around the exact same time some 4000 miles away. April 26 just happened to be on a Saturday, so the party was held then at a loft in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn, rented by Brooklyn College students. (I don’t recall if Delphine, the intern, actually lived in the loft or asked some friends if they could use it.) In any event, the directions to the place indicated that I would have to take the L train to get there. The L train runs west to east along 14^th Street in Manhattan and then continues straight into Brooklyn, traveling through Williamsburg, Bushwick and East New York before veering south and ending up in Canarsie. As far as I can recall, I had never taken the L train before. Whenever I’d needed to go crosstown on 14^th Street in Manhattan, I’d simply walked and whenever I’d traveled to those sections of Brooklyn, I’d taken other trains.

The L train operates under the other subway lines in Manhattan, so it’s deeper than the train lines I normally take. (To get it, I would have taken the #2 train from the Bronx to 14^th Street and then transferred there.) It must have its own tunnel underneath the East River, since it’s the only line that crosses at that point. I can’t have gone too far into Brooklyn since there are only about seven stations along the L line that serve Williamsburg and East Williamsburg. I don’t remember what stop I got off.  It was quite a walk from the station to the address I was given and it wasn’t the greatest of neighborhoods. (Gentrification hadn’t quite reached this stretch of Williamsburg yet.)

Now I should point out that by the time of this party I had reached a point in my middle age where I made it a habit to be the first one to arrive at a party and the first one to leave. I tend to wake up early and that doesn’t change when I get in late. I usually go to sleep between 10 and 11 PM and wake up very early. If I get in late and get to sleep late, I still wake up at the same time I normally do, which makes me a wreck the next day. I was the oldest person invited to this party. The start time was 9PM and that’s about when I arrived.

When I found the address, I noticed gates across the windows and gates across the entrance to the building, as if the place was closed. I looked through the window of the ground floor and could see people there. After some scrutiny, I recognized Delphine, the French intern, as one of the people, so I vigorously pounded on the window until someone came and let me in. I entered an area that had clearly once been a rather large storefront with a big main room and high ceilings, now turned into a sprawling apartment shared by several students. Not only was there no sign of a party in progress, but there was no indication that anyone there had even given thought to planning a party. The place was a mess. I told Delphine that we needed to get the place cleaned up and she waved me off and told me not to worry. “No,” I insisted, “Give me a broom, a dustpan and a garbage bag.” “But you are my guest,” she said in her cute French accent. “No, I’m a grown-up and this place needs a grown-up to get it ready.” So, I managed to get what I needed and set about to work, sweeping up the place and emptying the dustpan into a big black plastic garbage bag. I then tried to get piles of stuff out of the main room and hidden somewhere else so there’d be room for people to move. And there was a lot of stuff.

Not long after I got there, the second oldest person invited to the party, a co-worker named Maryann, arrived with her husband and her three teenage children. They had brought a keg of beer and the two adults set it up in the kitchen while I was cleaning the place. Eventually, the place was ready. Delphine never thanked me and never seemed comfortable with my efforts, less concerned with the needs of the party than with her reputation as a hostess. By the time, the other birthday girl, a blond southern girl named Alyson, showed up, with some other co-workers, the place was ready for a party and Alyson never knew about my efforts.

Gradually, a crowd formed, consisting about equally of other co-workers and Brooklyn College students. Unlike the parties I attended when I was that age, the vices of choice were cigarettes and alcohol, the kinds of things MY parents would have indulged in at parties when they were that age. When it got late enough for me to leave, my plan was not to take the subway and go home but to get a cab and go to my daughter’s place a neighborhood away (Clinton Hill, I think) and sleep there for the night and then take the subway from there in the morning. (I don’t like to be on the subway in the middle of the night unless I have to. I hate the long waits.) I got the number of a car service in the neighborhood, called it and was soon headed to my daughter’s place. Luckily, she was still up and set me up in a room that served the purpose of being a guest room. In the morning, I didn’t even try to make a cup of coffee or a light breakfast in my daughter’s kitchen. I simply got on the G train, another little-used line, and transferred to another line that would get me into Manhattan, where I got off in the vicinity of St. Mark’s Place and had breakfast somewhere before heading into Kim’s Video to look for Bollywood films (a kick I was on at that time). I didn’t find anything I wanted in the Bollywood section, but I did purchase a VHS tape from the “Rurouni Kenshin” anime series.

And that, boys and girls, was the only time I ever took the L train. So, if you’re having a party and don’t want to clean up the place yourself beforehand, just invite me and the job will be taken care of.