Stranded

I’m going to do this a bit backwards.  Forgive the chronology here as I’ll tell you all about my wonderful holiday with my family in Virginia later, but first I need to regale you with my tale of the adventure of getting home.

It was Sunday, the day after Christmas.  My train departed from DC at 7:20PM.  It was lightly snowing outside but they said there would be no delays.

 

Thank goodness I hadn’t booked a bus, or a plane!  The train zipped up to New York without any problems.   I was really surprised at how much snow was coming down outside, especially as we got to New Jersey.

 

I arrived at Penn station carrying a backpack, loaded down with a laptop, books, and food, a large bag that included my purse, new snow boots and Christmas goodies, and finally another large piece of luggage that contained all of my clothes and new Christmas presents.

 I took the escalators out to the street.  The sidewalk was cleared for about 20 feet, until the street.  There were huge snow banks and the snow was still coming down and the wind was blowing.  There were some cars in the street, and other passengers like me trying to find a cab.  It looked pretty hopeless, so I gave up and decided to take the subway home.  Luckily, they were still running and I caught a train pretty quickly. 

I got out at Grand Army Plaza, which is 6 short blocks, and 1 long block from my apartment (approximately half a mile).  It’s usually not a bad walk.  I don’t know what I was expecting to find when I got out, but when I exited the station it was not this.  It was crazy #$%&*@ blizzard!  The snow was blinding and it felt as if every little ice crystal was stabbing me in the face.  I huddled up next to a building and weighed my options.  The building offered little protection from the wind, but this part of the sidewalk at least wasn’t covered in a foot a snow like everywhere else around me.  The large street not too far from me was busy with stalled cars and people digging them out.  There were some cabs but they had their off-duty lights or were stuck.  I thought I could walk it, even though the sidewalks hadn’t been shoveled.  There was one main avenue that was somewhat plowed.   I tried calling a couple of car services.  One kept giving me a busy signal and the other one said there were no cars running tonight.  With each gust of wind I became more and more hopeless.   I crossed the street and huddled next to a mailbox, ready to give up.  It didn’t look like such a bad place to curl up and die.  “But, no! What am I thinking? This is the snow talking!  Pull yourself together Shi!”  I told myself.  But I was still at a loss for what to do.  How was I going to make it home?  I called my roommate Rachel.  She didn’t answer, I tried again.  I clearly woke her up.  I cried, “Rachel! I’m stranded and I don’t know what to do!  I’m going to DIE out here!”  I told her where I was, and she said she’d put on her boots and come help me.   I was skeptical of this plan, but I happily took the help. 

I decided that I would walk down the avenue where it was partially plowed, pulling my suitcase and lugging all of my stuff.  Rachel was going to walk up to 8^th avenue and meet me.  

(Photo Courtesy of AP - This is not me)

I felt like I was walking straight into the wind.  My eyes kept tearing up… not out of emotion, but out of physical pain.  My suitcase got heavier with each step and I had to keep lifting it, because it would accumulate so much snow under the wheels.  I passed a few other people and I felt immediately bonded to them.  We would give each other sympathetic nods and smile.  Others I passed were shoveling out an SUV which was caught in the middle of an intersection.  I said to them as I walked by, “And I thought I had it bad!”  They seemed to agree.  Now this is very odd for me, because New Yorkers don’t talk to one another in passing like this.  It’s unorthodox for complete strangers! 

So I’m trudging along and I get to the side street that I need to turn down to make it to the 7^th Avenue.  Rachel had made it thus far and I was never happier to see her. 

The biggest challenge to our adventure lied ahead on this side street.   Nothing had been plowed, so there was about 15 inches of fresh snow to contend with and it was still coming down.  Even Rachel’s footprints had already vanished! 

She took my shoulder bag and my backpack and I was able to hoist my luggage onto my back.  We forced our way into the snow, but had to stop every few steps to duck behind a car because this small street also acted as a wind tunnel and there we tried to shelter ourselves from the thrashing wind.

(Photo Courtesy of AP - This is not me)

“Stay on top of the snow!” Rachel kept yelling at me.  (Rachel, with her tiny, 100lb frame).  “I’m heavier than you and carrying more stuff…  I SINK!” I would yell back. We tried the middle of the road, the sidewalks, next to cars, everything.  There was no good place to walk.  We just took one step after another. 

Finally we made it back to the apartment.  Whew! My muscles were sore, my hair was matted and wet under my hat, my cheeks were red and burning, my mascara had smeared- making my eyes look like a panda bear.  But we were safe and the apartment was warm.

As Rachel put a pot of tea on I said, “That was the worst experience of my life.”