The F Train

Dear Friends,

I almost got F-ed on the F train today. And I don’t mean that literally. I was running late to work: my hair was in a bun which just proves how rushed I felt, considering my hair hasn’t been in a bun since a dance recital in Irvine circa 1994. I’m riding the train and it appears that I’m on an E train because the little sign is showing me that we’re approaching 23rd street. But all of a sudden, I look up at the little track you can “track” your train on and it says 15th Street/Prospect Park. I don’t even know where that is – I’m a new New Yorker. That sounds uber far away from me. My heart drops because there’s no way I got on the wrong train, this is an E train. It looks and feels like an E train and it was on the E track I take every morning! The horror I felt. It is quite scary, even if you’re not claustrophobic, to take the wrong train somewhere, even if you aren’t running late because once you’re in uncharted territory, you may as well be on a stranded island. I don’t understand how to read the subway map, you don’t get service on your smart phone down there in the dungeon of mass transportation, what are you supposed to do? Oftentimes I don’t carry food with me, and I wouldn’t even be able to email work to say I’m late. Oh F, now my bun fell out.

For a minute there, I kind of felt like how I do when I meet a guy I really like, and I feel a sense of familiarity about him, and then it turns out he’s not the E train I’m trying to ride, he’s actually an F train masked as an E train, faking his way on my track, and I’m stranded underground with no wi-Fi to consult with. Girls, I know you’ve felt similarly before. He looked like an E train, I swear! But it turns out he was something else. Perhaps a not-so-nice word that I don’t want to be associated with my blog. It is not ladylike to have your SEO come up with terms like, “A**” or “D****e.” So, I’ll censor myself, and kindly let you know that by the time I had untangled my bun and the F train had nearly F-ed me, I realized I was in the right place – I did make it to Penn Station. Even though this was an F train on the E track, it came through for me; even though it’s different, and even though it was trying to be something else.

I guess my lesson of the day is: don’t judge a book (or train) by its cover (or track), or by it’s words either. Sometimes, the F train will F you on the E track, and sometimes the trusty E will seamlessly take you home.

 Kisses,

Jessica

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