Last Saturday was one major ass-kicking... I had to work a graveyard shift, and spent an inordinate amount of time outside in frigid conditions (I was wearing a T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, a flannel shirt, and a peacoat, so I was able to cope pretty well). After work, I headed down to Manhattan for my coaching gig, though I was pretty much "starchless" for most of the day, I have to confess. After the day's program was done, I got on the 1 Train so I could return to the Bronx, where my car was parked (I do not drive in Manhattan). At 137th St, the train stopped, and all of the passengers were directed to exit the train. It turns out that there was a fire on the tracks near 168th St, so no trains were running between 137th and Dyckman Ave. Yeah, there was a fire in the subway, fire on the number one. We were told that we could take the Manhattan 5 Bus to 168th St and transfer to the A Train. The buses were packed, so I ended up trudging from 137th to 168th on foot, with a large bag filled with sweaty clothes. UGH, all that because stupid evil muthers throw their litter on the tracks. When I got to 168th, the 1 Train was running again. Fuh-huh-huck, at least I had an interesting walk up Broadway. Suffice it to say, as soon as I dragged my ass through the door, I hit the wall and was asleep within minutes.
It's funny, though, I really can't complain about public transportation. These annoyances are a fairly rare occurrence, and the need to find alternatives is good for the cognitive faculties. Hell, it's not always easy living in a megalopolis, but it's never boring.