Partial Toll Road Nightmare

Although I love many things about the Big Apple, my most memorable experience of NY so far was less than pleasant. When we first arrived here, David, his parents, and I stayed at a hotel in New Jersey and traveled in to New York City to tour around during the daytime. Daniel was scheduled to fly in from Ecuador a couple days later, and so we had to pick him up from JFK airport. The day of his arrival, there was a moment during our exploration of Manhattan when we had the following conversation:

"We could just take the train to JFK straight from downtown, instead of taking the bus back to New Jersey and driving from there."

One of us (I won't say who) said "Yeah, but I'm sort of feeling like we should drive." I guess the reasoning was that it would be inconvenient for Daniel to drag all his luggage on the train - which would actually have been two trains, a bus, and a 12 minute walk to get back to the hotel. Quite the commute. So we hopped on the bus and returned to New Jersey. It had been a long day of exploring a very hot city, and I was positively parched; upon arrival at our hotel, I downed no less than five glasses of water.

Marilyn's Google Maps printout said the trip to JFK would take "47 minutes," ranging up to an hour and forty minutes with traffic (see fig.1). When we started out, things were going smoothly - we made it to about number 10 on figure 1, and it seemed to us that we would have time to swing by Fordham University to check out the campus, while still arriving at JFK inordinately early. When we arrived at number 11 or so on the map, the 9N to Washington Bridge, we had the option of choosing between "Upper Level N - Express" and "Lower Level N - Local." Of course, we picked the Express - this is what Google told us to do, and it was logically the faster route. About two minutes after choosing "Express" - somewhere along number 12 - we hit a. WALL. Of vehicles.

Deadlocked for miles.

We gazed helplessly out of our right window at the happily mobilized cars on the previously eschewed "Local" highway, now inaccessible. We found a traffic report on the radio which informed us that the New Jersey Express turnpike over Washington Bridge was backed up 10 miles. May as well have been a hundred.

TRUCKjeepcarSUVcarcarcar, and absolutely no exits or pit-stops, ANYWHERE. And it was raining, hard (it can be incredibly hot AND raining here - like reverse steam). Imprisoned in a tightly closed space with no food or amenities or immediate chance of deliverance, I began to feel faint from nausea and claustrophobia. But I kept thinking to myself "at least I don't have to go to the bathroom - wouldn't THAT be awful." I kept thinking this, repeatedly, without understanding why I was so fixated on that thought, until finally I became cognizant of the slight perturbation of my bladder. Five glasses of water is a lot for your body to absorb.

An hour later, this slight perturbation had escalated into an absolute upheaval of order and all things pure. I had been transformed into the prototype of humiliation, a bouncing, writhing, and finally crying, lunatic. I counted backwards from 100 by threes at pretty much the top of my lungs. I searched frantically for exits. I eyed the empty seat in the back of the van, which to me began to morph itself into a toilet. I asked if there were any plastic bags in the vicinity (there were not). David and his family agonized for me, but there was nothing anyone could do.

Half an hour after that, or maybe forty-five minutes, I had folded up into a womblike ball and was weeping quietly, positive that any moment I would consummate the humiliation with a river of urine. And then, someone spotted it, up ahead - an exit, the first we had seen in miles of gridlocked agony. Heedless of the fact that we were now to be an hour late in picking up Daniel, Ernie (yes, sigh, my father-in-law) swerved off the road and took the overpass to a small Subway and convenience store, the only beacon of accessible commercial civilization in miles. I darted out of the van before it had come to a stop and dashed inside, David following close behind. I burst in the doors, scanned the room, and made the terrifying discovery that there was no customer washroom.

Bugeyed, I turned to the unsuspecting Subway worker.
"Excuse me, I need to use your washroom."

"I'm sorry, washrooms are not for customers."

*blink* "Nononono you don't understand this is an EMERGENCY I will pay you I will do anything"

[David:] "Please man, this is serious."

*Subway guy shakes head* "I'm sorry, I can't."

An image of me catapulting my body across the counter and grabbing Subway-guy by the collar flashes across my brain. I will strangle him, I will do anything and everything in my strength. Instead, I start to cry, begging him in inarticulate whimpers to let me use the washroom. Seeing my tears (which were probably yellow), and glancing from me to David, he finally cracks, shrugs, and leads me into a tiny water closet with a mop and bucket and other cleaning implements. My tears are now joyous, echoing the happy tinkle emitting from the other side of my body. I am free.

While I am in the bathroom (for a looong time, I must say) David and Subway-guy stand together in silence (cue peppy elevator music). The clerk behind the counter in the convenience-store side of the room says, in a foreign language, something disapproving to Subway-guy, and I'm sure it was along the lines of "You're going to get in trouble for this." Subway-guy responds with "But she was crying!"

************************
When we finally arrived at the airport, it was revealed that Daniel's plane was also delayed and he had only just arrived as well. But when we got back on the road for the return trip - already three and a half hours after we had left our New Jersey hotel - the rain had intensified, and there was only about two meters of visibility in front of the van. We also had not thought to print out return-trip directions, so we didn't really know where we were going. Things were tense, but I didn't care. I was prepared, and liquidless.

Driving from New Jersey to JFK on a Sunday night? Visit the bathroom, people. And don't gorge yourself on water. Or, just scrap the plan altogether - like seriously, take the train.

************************

Also, noodle caps.