I got off pretty lightly with Hurricane Katrina (as David Stern, NBA Commissioner dubbed it prior to the Boston Celtics vs Miami Heat game on Tuesday). So when I heard that MTA was running a partial subway service today, I decided to embark upon the Quest to the East Village. Fired off a quick text to let MJ know I was heading to work, put my lukewarm coffee in a thermos and set off.
Subways weren’t running between Manhattan and Brooklyn, but a free shuttle bus service was being provided. Got to Atlantic Av fine, stood in a round-the-block queue for the shuttle. About 20 people away from the front, my phone rings. Al, my boss’s housemate, is outside my apartment in his van. This is the second time Al has made the journey in the last 24 hours. I explain that I’m at Atlantic. A flaming row ensues on the other end of the phone. Eventually I am told to sit tight and they’ll come and get me.
30 minutes later, I get a call. Can I walk up Flatbush against the traffic in the direction of the bridge? All well and good, but the road is two-way and I have no clue which direction is the bridge in. Explain. Told to wait.
15 minutes later Al shouts my name. I get to the van, MJ gives me a grin and offers me a choice of muffin. He saw Young Victoria last night and is full of questions about the British Monarchy. I do my best.
Good thing there are three of us in the van because the NYPD are only allowing vehicles with 3+ people onto the island. We arrive at the apartment and walk up two flights of stairs in complete darkness. Lights are on in the apartment, but the generator is also powering three other flats. We lose power twice; the first time the guys downstairs plug in their heater. The second time Eileen tried making toast.
Needless to say, took the walking option on the way back.
The round trip totalled 3 hours and 25 minutes. Still, this is nowhere near as bad as the odyssey Mme O-E sent me when I moved.