Panic will only serve to create confusion, and when there is confusion, people get hurt.
I step out of my apartment building at 11:00 pm and hustle along while trying to get a signal on my phone.
Cellular signals are notoriously scarce out in the industrial wasteland I�m currently calling my home, but eventually I catch a prevailing wind. When I finally reach Gretchen, she tells me that her bus is going to be on time, 11:30 sharp.
My reply is that I almost certainly will not be on time, and in fact I�ll be arriving closer to 11:45.
She blows it off because she knows I�m kicking myself already, but I can tell she�s nervous about sitting alone in the train station. I apologize a million times and then promise to see her soon.
All the way to the subway station, I�m doing that middle-aged woman fastwalk thing, but it�s dark and there�s no one to share in my embarrassment.
When you�re late, it seems that the world conspires to perpetuate your folly. The subways arrive a little later, the doors stay open a little longer at each station. People meander in front of you, just in efforts to slow you down. These are the things I think about as the L train speeds towards Manhattan.
I finally get off the L at 8th avenue and hustle down to the tracks for the uptown A/C/E lines. I hit the bottom stair just in time for the C train to pull out of the station.
Remain calm, the time is 11:20.
Surely enough, another train arrives just a few minutes later and I�m whisking uptown like shit through a goose.
In almost record time, I arrive at 42nd street and rush into the bus station promptly at 11:30. I would revel in my good fortune, but there is a girl around here somewhere, and I must acquire her so that we may begin our fantasy weekend.
I head down the escalator and scan the assorted travelers. No sign of Gretchen. I walk to the other end of the platform, no sign of Gretchen. I check the traveler�s lounge, no sign of Gretchen. I check the snack bar, no sign of Gretchen. I stand outside of the women�s bathroom for a few minutes in hopes she would wander out into my arms, but again...no sign of Gretchen.
I wander around the platform for a few minutes before finally discovering a helpful Greyhound employee. Along the way, I discovered several unhelpful Greyhound employees, but they are inconsequential to our story. I ask him if the busses always arrive at the same gates. To further explain my question, I give an example: would the bus from Baltimore be arriving at the Baltimore gate over there?
His reply: well, it wouldn�t ever be arriving in this building.
Apparently, arrivals and departures are in completely different buildings. I just assumed that they used standard gates like in airports, and so I headed straight for the Baltimore gate I�d seen before without even considering that this whole terminal was only for arrivals
Asshole that I am, I�ve been standing in the wrong building for the last twenty minutes.
The time is 12:00 am, do you know where Gretchen is?
With a determined, yet anxious jog, I found my way into the arrivals building and down onto the correct platform.
Again, I scanned the randomly gathered people and found no sign of Gretchen. I walked all the way to the other end of the platform, checking behind phone booths and kiosks. Still no Gretchen.
As a lark, I decided to check my phone and was stunned to discover that I had cell service down there. Immediately I called her, and through a static-filled connection, I gleaned that she was in another part of the building. I told her to hold on, and I rushed up the stairs to where I assumed she was. I entered the huge lobby of the Port Authority building and started to search around.
Still no sign of Gretchen.
I called back to inquire further about her location and discovered that the static of our previous conversation had masked the fact that she was completely and entirely sobbing.
That gigantic tearing sound you just heard was my heart.
This time I keep her on the line as I fumble my way through the caverns of Port Authority. She thinks she is near a Hallmark, seeing a distant card store, I rush up the escalator.
No sign of Gretchen.
I�m trying to comfort her while pulling out more information, but she can barely form words between tears. Her breath comes only in staccato whimpers, and she�s completely lost.
If there are worse starts to this weekend, I most certainly would hope never to discover them.
Gretchen is hiding next to a phone somewhere and people are staring at her as they walk by. I ask her if she can see Spiderman crawling down a building. Can she see outside from where she is? Are there any signs?
Yes she can see outside and there are signs everywhere.
I finally find a security guard and begin to interrogate him. Are there any other Hallmark stores in this building? He scratches his head and thinks, but the only hallmark he knows of is the one I already discovered.
Gretchen adds that she can see something for Verizon, she thinks it might be a store.
I ask the guard if he knows of a Verizon store or booth or anything having to do with Verizon in the Mall. He reflects for a few moments before vaguely recalling a Verizon store over yonder.
With a passing thanks, I rush away in the general direction he suggested. Down another escalator into another completely undiscovered cave of commerce, I scan the offerings for anything relating to Verizon.
Nothing.
All the while I�m talking to Gretchen on the phone, trying to calm her down, trying desperately to comfort her while I continue my panicked search. I round the corner and see a tiny little black ball down the hall, sobbing into a cell phone. Next to her, a closed Verizon booth.
�I see you.�
I smile back and reply, I see you too.
We start towards each other, but I halt abruptly in my tracks.
Standing twelve feet away from her, I pull out the sign I made earlier. I unfold a manila folder with her last name scrawled across it in large Sharpie letters and I pretend to scan an imaginary crowd for signs of Ms. Gretchen. I then �discover� her and present myself like a chauffeur.
She smiles, wipes away her tears and we melt into each other�s arms.
