All I Wanted to Do Was Get Home

I headed to the train with my bladder filling up rapidly as a result of the two beers I had. No big deal, I thought to myself, because I can deal with this for 30 minutes.

When I stepped on the train, I heard a muffled voice saying something about suspended service because of a stalled train and that we wouldn't be moving for a while. Not more than 25 seconds later, the doors closed and we moved. One stop to Broadway, then the announcement came again, but this time, I had no choice. I won't go through the rest of the sordid details, but basically I met a nice financial fellow who couldn't wait to get home to his XBox on my way back uptown one stop to catch another train to finally get to Brooklyn, where we weary travelers were told we had to take a bus home.

The bus. Up top, now, I stood among about 30 other people, annoyed, wanting only to get home. The bus wasn't coming. And then I couldn't help it.

Anyone want to split a cab to Windsor Terrace?" Five of us climbed into a cab that smelled like the driver's ass and began our journey home. The worst part hasn't even happened yet. He was interested in cracking my window.

"It's cold out there, you know," I told him, but down it went, nevertheless. Despite his frequent expulsions of gas, he was a nice guy. He was curious about my headphones -- he thought I was on the phone. He was curious about the F train. And when we reached our final destination -- my house -- he was curious about my name.

After I asked him his name and where he was from, I said "it was nice meeting you," and made it home, finally, to empty my bladder and ground some turkey. The story's over.