Labor Day weekend I found myself in the typically unenviable position of taking the PATH train home from New York to Hoboken at around 2:30 in the morning after a night of drinking. I say ‘typically’ because as anyone who has made this trek knows, any number of things (not limited to, but including drunk patrons, long wait times, an INCREDIBLE urge to take a piss) can make that less than a mile ride one of the worst of your life.
I’m happy to report—none of that was the case for me.
I popped on to the train at 14th street after only having waited about 5 minutes for a train, a pleasant amount of time. It should be noted, at that time of night, the PATH runs on a “Every Go Fuck Yourself” schedule from Journal Square to 33rd, with a stop in Hoboken for good measure.
While 2:30 AM certainly seems late, for New York on a Saturday night it’s in that weird window of time before the true drunks come stumbling aboard. From around 2:30 til the bars close down, you’re only dealing with a select, smaller group of alcoholics. After that time period, all bets are off.
Either way, as I got on the train, it was apparent I was in the clear. First off, it was blissfully quiet. Second, there were seats. I felt good knowing my ride would be an uneventful one.
Then, I looked in front of me.
There was a girl, a pretty, skinny one at that, completely passed out in the seat opposite mine. Her head leaned to her right awkwardly in such a way that her neck and chin combined to pool together all of the “fat” she didn’t have into one of the most awkward faces I’ve ever seen a good-looking girl make. I had to take a picture*.
As I snapped away, the guy sitting to this girl’s left on the train—Oh, did I mention, she was on the train… BY HERSELF. More on that in a moment—took notice. Removing his earbuds, he asked me if the girl was, in fact, passed out. I answered in the affirmative, and, cool guy that he was, he continued to let her rest on his shoulder.
Not, however, before we could snap a few more pictures. Nothing lewd, mind you. Just one casual arm-around-the-girl-boyfriend picture and one where he chucked up a deuce as she clunkily napped on his shoulder.
It slowly dawned on me as we approached Hoboken that we needed to find out where this broad lived. I know that term isn’t really PC any more, but come on… you’re drunk, alone and passed out on a PATH train after a night out with your friends… You are, sadly, a broad.
She woke from her stupor, barely, to inform us that she did, in fact, live in Hoboken.
I may not be the best guy in the whole world, but I knew that it was going to be up to me to make sure this steaming mess got home alright. And, you know what, I was cool with that.
To my surprise, the other participant in the photo session and another guy from the train both got off at Hoboken with me (despite needing to take the train to Journal Square and in so exiting that specific train were now at the very mercy of that “Every Go Fuck Yourself”schedule we were talking about earlier) to help.
There is no big surprise ending to this story. We walked her up the stairs, wounded soldier-style, as she confessed that she wanted to go to the bar. I told her, politely, that it wasn’t probably the best idea. Turns out, she was trying to say that she actually worked at that specific bar. A bouncer from the bar, once we unloaded her, brought her to her apartment. Or, so I was led to believe.
Either way, those two other guys both headed right back down the steps to the PATH train, grimly realizing (I could sense) the horse shit situation their kindness had created for them. I walked back to my apartment.
That’s really the end, but it’s a nice story, isn’t it? I felt the need to share because while there are some incredibly untrustworthy dickbags out there, there’s still a group of guys willing to do the right thing.
Even if that thing involves missing your next train at 2:30 in the morning.
*If you’re thinking I’m a piece of shit for doing so, A) read on and B) hey, at least I didn’t post it here.
scott spinelli 