Welcome to My Anecdotal Life.

Hello All,

I'm setting up this forum to share my stories with you. I will try to update it at least monthly/weekly.

I Earned a Commuting Badge Today...

It's a bad sign when the train conductor comes on and announces delays ahead. It's even worse when he tells you that there are "switch problems," and they'll be opening the doors at an unscheduled stop so people can "get out, stretch their legs, have a cigarette." Eventually he told us that service had been suspended between Penn Station and Jamaica and Atlantic Terminal and Jamaica. The worst news came when the conductor came on to tell us that the train would be turning around and heading back to Penn Station. Actually, I can't even be sure that he said we'd be going back to Penn Station or returning to the yard. All I heard from him was that the train would be heading back in a direction I did not want to be headed. My ass came off that train seat faster than you can say, "suspended service."

Suddenly it's one for all and all for one, except it's also "every man for himself." The woman who proudly declared, "I'm following you," was eventually in front of me leading the charge to the subway. From there it was a matter of piecing together the route home from fellow straphangers while simultaneously standing inappropriately close to them.

"You can take the 7 train to Jamaica," someone said and off I went. Up the stairs and over to catch the 7 train. Aboard the 7 train, I felt comfortable because in 3 stops we would be at Jamaica Center. Except, as it turns out, Jamaica Center, is not the same Jamaica from where the LIRR leaves.

"You have to switch to the E at 79th Street," someone shared. That didn't sound so difficult. I deboarded the 7 train, found my way to the E train platform and boarded an F train. Yes, that's correct, an F train. I followed the crowds thinking I was boarding an express E train. Apparently, F trains were running on the E track. I didn't even know there was an F train, but two stops later and I was again deboarding the wrong subway, and boarding the correct E train. Finally aboard the correct train and sandwiched between two enormous women, I was feeling like a hero. "I'm going to get home tonight!"

"This is my 'nam," I thought to myself as the subway approached Jamaica.

"Babylon train, track 5," a police officer said as he attempted to help direct people.

Out of my way, that was my train. I wanted to throw a few elbows, but I restrained myself. I finally made it to the train and sat myself down next to a lovely smelling gentlemen wearing body odor cologne and in front of a woman with the bubonic plague. It didn't matter, I was on a train that would be going east towards my stop.

I left work at 4:15pm. Took a 2/3 train to Penn Station, caught a 4:37pm train from Penn Station to Lynbrook, we stopped unexpectedly in Woodside, where I caught a 7 train, then an F train, then an E train, and then reboarded a LIRR train at Jamaica, which brought me to my stop. I arrived home at 6:30. Two hours and 15 minutes of commuting. Four subways. Two LIRR trains. And that's not even including my morning commute.

A Love Letter...

Dear 1997 Saab 900:

It's been 10 years since our eyes first met. It was 2001. Me, a recent college grad. You, a trade-in. I was only 21 years old. You were 40k miles young. Our courtship was brief. I got my first job and needed a car, but between receiving the job offer and starting work, I was going to Ireland for 2 weeks. I went straight to the Saab dealer and

you were the only pre-owned car available, but you were perfect. I didn't need to look any further, and I didn't. The salesman gave me all the sales pitches--low mileage, garaged, new tires, sunroof--but I didn't need to hear anything. The deal was immediately sealed and my dad picked you up before my return from Ireland. We referred to you as "the baby." You were the first big purchase I ever made. I spent all of my hard earned money (and some of my parent's money too - thanks guys!). I took pride in cleaning you myself.

We spent a lot of time together those first few years. Every morning and every afternoon we were together, in good times and in bad. Do you remember those gorgeous fall evenings, with your sunroof open and the windows down? We would cruise home without a care in the world. Then I started law school and you continued to be my loyal steed. There was that one time you got that flat in the parking lot. It was rare for me to be at the library that late, but I was. When I went outside to go home, I saw your sad flat tire. I called my brother. Madeleine was still very young and he was up all hours of the night. He came to help me fix it, but neither one of us could budge the lug nuts. We left you there for the night. I remember going to my

parent's house, taking their car, and leaving a note. The following day, my dad was able to budge the nuts and replace the tire.

After law school, we moved to D.C. together. I held off getting you DC plates because you were parked in my private driveway in Foggy Bottom. Even there, you weren't safe. Remember Thanksgiving morning? I went to take the garbage out before heading to the airport, to find your back window completely smashed in. An act of random violence, they said. I was almost running late for the airport so I took down the shower curtain and covered the back of the car to keep you dry over the weekend. Once I got back to D.C. I repaired the window, but by then your battery had died because your alarm had gone off all weekend long. Do you know I still sometimes find shards of glass?

Finally, we moved to Cleveland Park and I had to get you D.C. plates and a parking pass so I could leave you on the street during the day. You couldn't pass inspection for some reason

though. The mechanic did everything he could, but he couldn't get you to pass. D.C. DMV had suggested the computers would reset if you could get the car above 65mph for 5 minutes. The mechanic took you home to rural Maryland one night to reset your computers (your first overnight), but you still couldn't pass. I was very frustrated making all of those visits to the D.C. DMV. Finally, we went out to the dealership in Virginia and they found a crack in one of your hoses, which was preventing your temperatures from getting high enough. A few repairs later and you passed. I've never been prouder of you.

I can't believe we have traveled almost 100k miles together. That trip to Atlanta was the longest trip we ever took together. We went South with a then-boyfriend and came home as a single woman. That was a fun summer for me, but I'm sorry I made you suffer through that

heat. If it makes you feel any better, your air conditioning never felt colder.

100k miles is a lot. Most of those miles were good. Some weren't. Remember that time you decided you had had enough in Delaware? You just up and stopped working. It was a very warm summer evening, my cell phone was almost dead. The traffic was horrific that night. As I pulled into a rest stop, I found that I wasn't able to turn the steering wheel anymore. After a frantic call to my parents, who couldn't do anything from so far away, I called AAA and waited for the tow truck to come get us. I endured that 100-mile tow with that insane driver, while you sat smugly on the flatbed without a care in the world. What you didn't know then was that after this night, I briefly considered selling you. It hurts me to say this, but I even wrote up your "For Sale" ad. But I couldn't do it. I paid for the repairs and kept you around.

That wasn't the last of the trouble you would give me. Your side mirror got smash

ed off a few weeks later. That wasn't your fault

and I'm sorry if I took it out on you. Surprisingly, someone left a note saying they had done the damage and wanted to pay for it. And she did pay for it. You were good as new.

There was only one other incident. It was in Andover, Massachusetts. I was up there for work. Morgan drove you up to meet me, but you weren't having any of it. You just stopped working. AAA came and we had you repaired nearby and were able to drive you home. I was quite bitter after that, but I remember a lot of

good times too. I'm sorry I don't keep you as clean as I used to. I still have your oil changed regularly and I know you notice.

Thank you for being the most constant companion I've ever had. You're far from the baby you once were, but you're still a good car. I will continue to keep up with your repairs and I promise I won't discard of you, unless you give me good reason.

Always,

Dana