Two Thousand Years

I shouldn’t be allowed to travel to the other boroughs of New York.

Maybe Billy was trying to tell me something after my trip to Staten Island, but I didn't get the memo.

You see, the outer boroughs trick me and make me feel comfortable. I’ll go regularly to parties in Brooklyn or take Hughie up to the Bronx Zoo and suddenly I feel like I got this city covered. I start to think, “Maybe someday you’ll move to Brooklyn or queens and save money on rent!” That’s when they get me.

Hughie, his older Sophie, and I had made it safely to the Hall of Science, deep in the heart of Queens, and I needed another place to take them this Tuesday. I chose Coney Island.

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May I begin by saying I always assumed all of the talk of Coney Island being trashy was just talk? If you’re one of my readers from Baltimore I’ll use this analogy: I thought Coney Island was to New York what Hamden is to Baltimore. Sure, some of it would be legit trashy and cheap, but the other part, the part tourists frequented, was just pretending to be that way for tradition’s sake. There’s also a certain charm that comes with being cheap (Don’t believe me? Look at the amazing Dolly Parton).

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Nope, Coney Island is plain gross.

I love it though. I love looking around and thinking that everything was made with as little money as possible and will probably fall apart if you look at it the wrong way.

This trip should have been amazing, but then there were those pesky kids...and New York’s public transportation system.

The problems started, just like my fateful trip to Staten Island, on the trip there. An F train came right away. I was prepared for the hour long trip with kids and was ready with coloring/activities books and crayons in my bag. We rode along quite nicely until about a half hour into Brooklyn, that’s when the train started going slowly and stopping for a few minutes on every stop. The announcements over the speakers were completely incomprehensible.

Hughie was enjoying his Mickey Mouse book and that we were on an elevated train. He was just happy to see the cars beneath, but his sister, not accustomed to long train trips, was growing impatient. Every time the train would stop or slow down Sophie would take the chance to ask me “How much longer?” or “Why are the trains going the other way going faster?”

It was 9 am. I was not up for this.

Finally we’re about five stops away when the train conductor comes to a car and tells us “everybody out, this train is going back to Manhattan.” We get out and wait in the hot sun. Another F train comes. We all get inside, but before we can even get seated we’re told to get out, because that train was also going to Manhattan. The same thing happens with the third train we get into.

By the fifth train there was a whole mob of people standing out in the hot blaring sun waiting for a train, and Sophie is asking when we can go back to the city. The trains that are going back to our homeland aren’t taking passengers there so that isn’t even an option. We just stand there.

The normal 1 hour long trip tuned into 2 thousand years (reality: 1 hour and 45 minutes) when we got to Coney Island

Once there the kids were excited and much more upbeat. They were hungry so we stopped by the Nathan’s on the Boardwalk. Nathan’s, the only place with decent food, didn't have electricity so we had to go to the next place. Instead of just ordering a hot dog like I told the kids to, they demanded pizza.

It was the nastiest pizza I’ve ever tasted.

On to the rides…

The kids loved the rides at the kiddie park. They were ridiculously priced, and they wouldn’t even go on the mini roller coasters. Instead they only went on the train that goes around in a circle, the cars that go around in a circle, and the fire engines that go around in a circle.

They loved it even though it was total lame sauce.

In fact, they were loving it so much I abandoned the backpack holding all of the money on a bench for three minutes while I took pictures on my phone of them.

After we they got out of the ride Hughie was holding himself so I quickly took them to the bathroom. By the time I remembered the back pack and raced with kids in tow back to the bench a man had opened up the back pack and was holding all of the money.

I stood in front of the man and stared at him, “That’s my backpack.”

He looked at me, “oh.”

My babysitting skills took over. I grabbed the back pack, held out my hand and gave him my best disapproving glare. He stared at it for a second, but when he looked in my eyes he knew what he had to do.

All the money was recovered.

After that it was all smiles and delights. We went to the aquarium, saw some animals, discussed sea horses, and pretended we were walruses. The kids basically ate popcorn and ice cream for lunch.

They hardly realized how long the train trip back to the Lower East Side was.

Perhaps I am ready for the outer boroughs.