My sister and I visit New York on Monday afternoon, staying with friends in Long Island. It’s a home I know well, bright with flowers and long-standing friendships. The kitchen has been newly refurbished and we are all soon enjoying the freshly-made pongal, three curries and salmon for dinner!
The next day, I am dropped off at Mineola, the nearest stop on the Long Island Rail Road. I reach the ticket booth thinking that I have four minutes to spare before my train arrives. However, I have just discovered, in the car, that my watch has stopped. So I know that I don’t really know the time. Anyway. I tap the touch-sensitive screen, navigating through the choices like an old pro — Single Adult, Penn Station, Return Ride, Off-Peak/Peak and Yes, I want a receipt. I insert my debit card and a nano-second later, get my ticket and a receipt.
Right then the train arrives! Had I known I was already late, I would have panicked, dropped my card, stepped on my scarf and fallen over! Instead, I board the train and sail away into Manhattan. I have an appointment to meet someone new and I am there well ahead of time. It turns out that the restaurant suggested by her is ending its lunch service. Not a problem: we both have cell phones and relocate to a neighbouring café.
We have a great first meeting. At four-ish we walk to our respective stations and bid fond farewells. I get to the LIRR terminal, feeling so smooth and confident — look! I have my ticket! It’s all I need. I wait to see which platform to board from, go down a single flight of stairs to the platform, find a seat. The ticket collector punches my ticket and tucks it into the top edge of the seat. Then a doubt begins to sprout: is this one of the trains that requires a change at Jamaica (Station)? The TC has already moved on. So I cannot ask her.
Listening to the announcements, I become convinced that YES, it’s one of those trains. So at Jamaica, I leap out. Just as soon as I’ve done that I realise my mistake: if I needed to change the TC would have handed the ticket back to me. Instead, I’ve left it on the train. Goodbye ticket, hello next train to Mineola. Okay. No panic. I sit down. Presently, here comes the second TC. “I’ve left my ticket on the other train,” I say, “but here’s my receipt.”
He looks sceptical. After all, anyone can say THAT! But he looks at the tiny receipt, he sees the debit card-number, checks it against my debit card and — we’re good! I arrive at Mineola and call my friends. While waiting, I find a nearby watch-repair shop. Get the battery changed. I’m all smiles when my friend arrives. Sometimes everything works out. Nothing remains but to curtsy to the Universe and say, “Thank you!”
Manjula Padmanabhan, author and artist, writes of her life in the fictional town of Elsewhere, US, in this weekly column