I was not looking forward to arriving at Penn Station after midnight. I was thinking it may be even more depressing than late night airports. Is there anything more lonely than an airport when yours is the last flight in? Everything is closed, and one sad guy is buffing the floor mindlessly. Even restrooms are closed. It's like the energy has been sucked out of the place.
Penn Station is not a place where you want to spend more than a New York Minute, but I had a lovely experience. The escalator was turned off so I faced the prospect of hauling a suitcase up a non-working escalator. I know there are people who can pick up a roller board bigger than mine, with a back pack to boot and cheerfully trot up the stairs, but not me.
I asked if there were an elevator and there was. As I approached it, I saw a man in it looking at me expectantly as I drew closer. I admit that it's often "every man for himself" in New York, but this man had overheard me asking about an elevator and was actually holding the elevator for me. Let's hear it for the kindness of strangers. No way did he have to do that for me.
When I got to the main level, I was surprised to see that the trains run all night, unlike the airport. Trains were scheduled to leave 2 am, 3 am... all night long.
I got in a cab and at 12:45 on a Sunday night, the city was fairly quiet. We took 8th Avenue then crosstown to Third Avenue and uptown. Nothing was open, except for big bank ATM places, and it wasn't until the high 60s where there was an all-night drug store. Farther uptown, more drug stores, some delis, some bars. The city may never sleep, but it does seem to take some beauty naps.
1 comment:
I remember Penn Station after midnight, but I don't think the city was the kinder, gentler place it is today back then. I had a girlfriend with amazing long, thick, dark hair, and Penn Station was hell for her. There was always some weirdo reaching out and touching her hair there. Really. I could not make this stuff up. Glad to see it is less spooky today.
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