But, At Least the Ferry Is Free!

Last week, I was told that I would be working in our Staten Island store. First, it was on Sunday at 6 am. Then it was changed to Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. Finally it was decided that I would only have to work there on Sunday at 10 am. All I knew was that I was very low on money, and I would have to find the most economical way to get there.

Saturday night I went to bed early, knowing it would take at least two hours to get there. My goal was to walk out the door by 8 am, so I could be there as close to 10 as possible. I got up at 7, showered, dressed, and slipped a roll of quarters into my pocket. (It was the last of my money until I was able to cash some checks I had received.) I looked online to find the best way to get to Staten Island, and could not get my keyboard to work. This was bad. I knew generally where the mall was, but I had no idea which busses to take or where to transfer. I tried several times to get my keyboard to work, but couldn't. Just when I was about to wake my sister and ask to use her computer, something happened, and the keyboard started working. I got the route I needed, looked at the times, and ran for the door.

Using my PATH card, I jumped on the train and went into Manhattan. The first leg was paid for and I was on my way. When I got to the bus stop in Manhattan, I found that I had about a 30 minute wait. I remembered a coupon I had for a free breakfast sandwich with the purchase of a latte at McDonald's. I walked down Broadway and into the restaurant to order an economy breakfast. There went $3.75 of the $10 I had. I got back to the bus stop and found a weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal laying on top of a trash can. Now I would have something to read on the trip to Staten Island. In short order, the bus came and I used my MTA card for it. The second leg was paid and we were off. I asked the bus driver to let me know when we got to my stop, since I had no idea where I was going. Out of Manhatten we went, into Brooklyn and south to the Verazzano Narrows Bridge. I had never been over that bridge, so it was interesting to see Jersey City from a different perspective. I can see the bridge from Jersey City, but not so much Jersey City from the bridge. Over the bridge and into Staten Island we went-on and on and on. I wouldn't have guessed Staten Island to be so big, but then, all the maps I ever see only have the tip of it on them-where the ferry docks. The bus driver told me we were at my stop, and that I needed to catch one more bus to the mall. I transferred and got off right where I needed to be. One hour and 49 minutes door to door. Lunch later that day was $4.00.

After what was supposed to be an eight hour day, that turned into ten, I finally clocked out at 8:30 pm. I told the store manager that I was going to catch a local bus back to the Staten Island Ferry since I had never ridden it before, and she suggested I take the train. After some delay, and by no fault of her own, I was finally dropped at the train station. I got out of the car and walked up the steps to the platform. Then, I realized I hadn't gone through a turnstile. I was hoping to use my MTA card, but what if the Staten Island Railroad didn't accept it? It was ok, though, because doing some quick math in my head, I knew I had enough cash for a regular train fare, IF it was $2.25. Then I remembered the iced tea I bought earlier. That left me short the fare in cash. I found someone nearby and asked what the fare was, and he said it was $2.00. I would still be short. I ran back down the stairs to find a local bus because I knew it would take my MTA card. Now, I just had to find the right one. The first bus that came took me away, and told me where to transfer to get the Ferry. That's right, I went right back to the mall to wait for the original bus I was going to take. Only now, it was an hour later, and I had no idea what time the ferry left the terminal. I arrived at the terminal at 10:17, hoping against hope that the next ferry would depart at 10:30. This, of course, was not to be. I was stuck there until 11. But, at least the ferry was free! Thank God for that!

It was a new experience to ride the ferry and I'm glad I had that opportunity. We docked at the very southern tip of Manhattan, and I walked back to the PATH. Under the river and through the streets, until I arrived home. Three hours and 37 minutes door to door. And I had $1.53 cents in my pocket. It is possible to survive in New York City on less than $10 (cash) per day. It helps if you have loaded MTA and PATH cards, as well.

The next morning I had to go back to Staten Island, and it was just under two hours each way. I love doing new things and seeing other stores in the company, but I am forever grateful that I don't work in Staten Island every day. In commuter time, it would be like living in Columbus and working in Cincinnati! The challenge next week, when I have to go back one more day, is to see if I can get there any quicker. We will see!

Childhood Memories

Two things have caused me to write this. First, I did a survey on Facebook the other day, and one of the questions was "Favorite Childhood Memory." I think I left that blank, because when you're answering questions like what time did you get up today or, what is your favorite cuisine, its hard to switch gears and remember anything, let alone your favorite. The second thing that caused me to write this was a TV show. I was watching "World's Strictest Parents" on MTV the other day, and the thought occurred to me, this must have been what it was like for my cousins to visit when we were kids.



"Never seen the show, but if you have any memories of my childhood, please, write about them," she said.



My mind immediately raced back to the farm. I don't remember if Tamera was there, but I imagine that she was. Most of the time, when we were younger, Charity and I visited Tamera and Tarl together. Tamera and Tarl more than likely visited us together, too.



I pedaled down a slight hill, picking up speed until the wagon tied to the back of my bicycle almost passed me. I was going from the house driveway to the barn driveway at breakneck pace. I reached the other drive and turned in, nearly toppling the wagon holding my brothers, just as a semi truck screamed past. I was breathless with fear, adreneline running thru my veins. I handed the bike over to my cousin, who rode it back up to the house. Puffing and straining, he struggled up the hill and turned in to the garage. And, he was far more in-shape than I ever was. (That's why I let him pedal back UP the hill.)


My dad was waiting for us at in the driveway, and told us to come inside. "Do you know how dangerous that was? The highway is closed and all the traffic is being rerouted to our street," he explained. We took our turns getting our spankings and never pulled the wagon behind a bicycle again.

There were times that I remember visiting Ann Arbor in the summertime, too. Both my aunt and uncle worked, which was something I was very unused to. We got up late, ate cereal for lunch, and grabbed our bicycles and rode. We went to the local shopping plaza, and played Q-bert and Centipede for hours at the laundromat. We rode to the swimming pool and swam all afternoon. One time, on the way back from these day-long excursions, Tarl and I pulled some crabapples from a neighbor's tree. When we got home, my aunt asked where we had gotten them, and we told her. She marched us right back to the neighbor's house and knocked on the door. "These boys have something to tell you," she said.

"We took some crabapples off your tree without permission, and we are sorry." The neighbor said that it was quite alright, and that we could have them if we wanted them. Somehow, after we were given permission to take them, we didn't want them any longer. My crabapple ended up on the sidewalk somewhere between the neighbor's house and my cousin's.

Once, while visiting our grandparents, we bought some fireworks to put on a show in the back yard. One cone shaped thing spewed sparks and just as it was dying down, there was a loud POP. Everyone jumped a little bit, and my grandma had to get up and go change. She laughed and said she may have peed herself a little bit. Another time, I am told, a whole bag of fireworks was accidently set off at once, creating a very large, very bright, and very fast show...and a very pissed off Tarl.

There were nights in tents, watching lightening. Not being a huge fan of sleeping outside, the minute it would start to flash across the sky, I was ready to get up and go in the house. Tarl said it was just heat lightening and that it would not rain. I bought it, and stayed.

The bus trip held many memories of its own. Some good, some bad, some ugly, but it was an opportunity I may never have again, so for that, I am thankful. There were other times, too, that were fun, scary, and maybe even a bit dangerous. Maybe this can reignite some memories of your own. Good Luck!

The Contract

I walked out the door and felt it on my neck. Cold steeel about the size of a washer pressed hard against me. I heard a voice.

"Do what I say or you will regret it."

I nodded. Fear welling up in my throat like a piece of dry bread that I wasn't quite able to swallow.

"What do I need to do?" I asked, trembling.

I found myself running down a set of slate steps..you know the kind-old, low risers and long treads...almost floating, faster and faster, to the bottom. As I reached the bottom, I realized I had no idea what my task was. No sooner has I reached the bottom than I was greeted by a goon telling me that I had not done what I was supposed to do. He showed me a picture of my brother. He was laying at an odd angle. Head tilted back, arms and legs splayed unnaturally. I knew instantly that he was dead...and "they" had killed him. I started hitting the goon as hard as a could. I pounded his chest and face until I looked up and realized I was no longer at the bottom of the steps. He told me we were in Tokyo and that I needed to take some time to rethink my situation.

I awoke the next morning, having decided my situation hopeless-I must do what they wanted. I tried again with the assigned task, but as I was completing it, I looked up and saw a friend. This was someone I was interested in romantically, and I felt my whole being lift when I saw him. Because I was in the middle of this life-saving task, I could only wave. He smiled and waved back saying, in the minute we had to speak, that he had to meet a friend and return a shirt. Later that afternoon, I was able to sit for a minute. I was in an amphitheater-like structure, so I chose a "terrace" and sat. Just as I was able to relax, my friend showed up, and saw me again. He smiled, but his smile quickly turned to a look as if to say, "Trust me, I like you, too. You didn't have to follow me here."

He didn't know that I didn't follow him-that I was only on a short break from my assigned task. And, I didn't know that the seat I had chosen was just below his friend to whom he was returning a shirt.

The end of the second day ended again in Tokyo, with a photo of another brother, clearly murdered because I did not complete my task successfully.

Feeling hopeless and helpless, I decided one more time to try to complete the task on the third day. Down the slate steps I went again, realizing upon reaching the bottom, that the goon was there again. Up the steps to the top I ran again, Suddenly, I realized that not only was I moving up and down, but also side to side, in huge, sweeping arcs. I knew what would happen next. My sister would die for the fact that I could not complete my task. I sank to my knees sobbing at the loss I had experienced and was about to, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

The goon was standing there holding a piece of paper. He told me that the last three days had been a test. I had passed the test, and no one in my family had actually been killed. My sister came out from behind a heavy brown curtain to prove that she was OK. Both of my brothers were on a video conference and alive and well. They were all present when I was told.

The test I had passed was to see if I had the stamina for my own reality TV show. The paper the goon held was a million-dollar contract to begin immediately.

I heard the alarm and sat up. Never knowing if I actually signed the contract. Would you?