For a few brief months, I lived in New York City – Queens to be exact. Like any new resident who can’t afford to take a cab, I had to learn how to use buses and trains. Finding the subway was no problem. Figuring out how to take the right train was – for me – nearly impossible.
My oldest daughter was with me the first time I took a Manhattan train home. She was about 9 years old at the time. There we were on the streets of Manhattan looking for the subway. Finding it, we walked down the stairs and up to the ticket agent. Pulling money out of my purse, I asked the agent how much it would cost to ride the train home.
He looked at me, cocked his head, pointed toward the stairs, and told me I had to go back up those stairs, cross the street, and then go down the stairs on the other side of the street to the other ticket agent.
Would I EVER get home?
So up we went, across the street, down the stairs – this whole train taking experience was becoming quite annoying! Finally, we found the ticket agent.
“Wow,” I told my daughter, “doesn’t he look just like the guy from across the street? Maybe they’re twins!” When the ticket agent saw my daughter and me walk toward him, in true dramatic New York fashion, he slumped his shoulders, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.
I had crossed the wrong street.
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