Staten Island Allie



The Staten Island Ferry - It's free and everyone gets a ride!
















The following email was written to me by one of this blog's readers, and I had to share.  Thanks for reading, Allie!

(As for me, I've only been on the Staten Island Ferry once.  I was alone, and it was coming back from a birthday party that was held as far away from the homes of the majority of the guests as possible.  My hunch is it was the hostess' way of trying to trap me there and make it my home borough.  I managed to escape via a tiny little train that was a lot like the NYC subway (without being physically connected to NYC, apparently Staten Island is technically part of NYC).  Said train took me to said ferry.  Said ferry took me past Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty to Battery Park.  From there I took the subway back to the most normal place I'd been all day: Queens.  God, help me.)

Enjoy!

***

From:  Allie J.
To:  Jordan Knol
Date:  Tue, Apr 5, 2011 at 3:59 PM
Subject:  Saturday

I was on my way home from the bar on Saturday night.  I caught the 4:30am ferry to Staten Island (which was packed of course - children, weirdos, loud, drunk Staten Island Guidos/Guidettes). 

As I was walking to a seat with my group of friends, I noticed an old friend/coworker from a few years ago.  She wasn't alone though, she was sitting next to this guy - very cozy with him, maybe even holding hands (I wasn't 100% on this at the time because it was 4:30am after a night at the bar...) - who I quickly realized was someone other than her husband (at the time I forgot she was married and just thought to myself 'oh her and her boyfriend must have broken up'). 

So I proceed to say hello and act all happy to see her and we start catching up and she introduces the guy next to her as her friend (no big deal)... After about 4 minutes, you can cut the tension with a butter knife.  I, however, lacked the ability to stop talking since I was slightly intoxicated and continued to talk to her the entire 25 minute ferry ride from NYC to Staten Island - Awkward Turtle. 

The ferry docks and we say our goodbyes and when we get out of earshot, I tell my boyfriend what just happened and how awkward this whole situation was. I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt - maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed and she just felt like it could look bad if taken out of context.  Ten minutes later I completely forget about this whole ordeal anyway. 

Well, at about 4:00pm the next day, my memory is refreshed with a Facebook message from her saying that it was an old friend from way back when, and her husband didn't know she was out with him... oh, and:

"Don't say anything to anyone, please."

Forever Alone

"How is it possible," you ask, "that this blogger can bitch and whine as much as he does about driving etiquette, rules for bicyclists and subway riders, and still jaywalk?  Should he also be calling out himself, for breaking the rules of the road, for flagrantly ignoring the safety of himself and others?  How can he possibly justify this critical judgement of others and still blatantly commute in a way that is frowned upon (and for good reason)??"

Because it's my blog.  And the internet is a playground.

Yesterday, I was happily crossing Ditmars Blvd. mid-block.  I didn't have headphones on, and I looked both ways multiple times before crossing.  I recognize the hypocrisy of this, considering I am so judgemental of other people obeying the rules set out for them, and I break mine.  I suppose one difference is that if a car or a bike doesn't stop at the red light designed for them, and they barrel into someone due to their own carelessness, someone could be seriously hurt.  If *I* carelessly cross against the signal, and barrel into someone, the only repercussion *I* risk is embarrassing myself and mildly disappointing someone else.  And that's pretty much the story of my life, so I think I'll manage.

But I digress...

So I was crossing Ditmars yesterday, and a car turned onto the Boulevard towards me.  Once it righted itself from the turn, the guy gunned it, presumably to make it through the next light (or, perhaps to convey to me, "My car zooms fast!!").  I thought to myself, as I always do when this happens, "Jeez, where's the fire, Man?"

So I continued my saunter (I don't saunter.  My version of sauntering is still faster than the normal walk.) down the Boulevard.  A crosswalk or two later, I was halfway across the street when someone else turned onto the street I was crossing, apparently deciding there was enough room for their car to fit in between the parked car on the right and the random pedestrian in the middle of the street.

Whatever.  She, just like the guy before, gunned the engine after righting herself from the turn, and hurried her little driving self towards 21st Ave.

And I thought to myself:  How funny would it be if both drivers were in a rush to get to the same place?  What if they were racing each other, or going to a concert with a very specific start time?  My theory then became that they were going to an awesome party.  Someone, somewhere, was throwing a party for all the drivers in Astoria.  Clearly someone with a very long driveway or a parking lot.  They invited all of the people who drive cars, and had free appetizers and an open bar until 7pm.  As it turns out, I was walking at about 6:45, so, with this fantasy in mind, I could totally understand why someone would rush to take advantage of the last few free drinks before the bar starts charging.

As I strolled (I don't stroll.  My version of strolling is still faster than the normal walk.), I took this even further.  What if they, the two drivers who had each gone out of their way TO get too close to me, this man and this woman, were destined to meet?  What if, by showing up at this party on time, near sunset, with alcohol and pigs-in-a-blanket a'plenty, these two were to look at each other from across the room and hold the gaze just long enough to smile slyly?  What if, by the end of the evening, they ended up sitting in one or the other's car, talking about past loves, fate and the wealth of compassion?  What if, after that night, they end up spending the rest of their lives together, having fallen so deeply in love, that life moves more slowly, more leisurely, and the need to press down hard on the gas pedal is eliminated?

The thought made me smile.  But then it made me sad.  I began to realize that I would never be invited to that kind of party.  And I realized why:  because I'm a snarky, hypocritical jaywalking blogger who would ultimately need to bum a ride off of somebody, anyway.