Stars And Stripes - A July 4th To Forget.

9 times out of ten, I’d swear I acted intelligently. Then, a turn of events takes place as if to say, ‘Wasser – be honest with yourself… you know that number is probably closer to somewhere around three’. As stubborn as I am delusional, I’m convinced it is not me with the problem, but in fact, everybody else. For example, why would an established company like the Long Island Rail Road, a branch of New York City’s MBTA, offer the easy option of WebTickets, if once purchased, said e-ticket will be hard mailed to your house for use in 3-5 business days. The Long Island Railroad is a two and a half hour schlep, with not an inkling of glamour or glitz attached, and bathrooms the homeless wouldn’t use. Who in their right mind plans 3 to 5 days in advance for something they don’t want to do. You don’t plan for last resorts, you suck it up and e-ticket them 30 minutes before port of call; which is exactly what I did. And like most true hellish debacles, that is where this story begins – rock bottom, on the LIRR.

Weeks prior, over chardonnay and cigarettes, my mom came up with a truly wonderful idea. Fourth of July weekend, invite Jamie to the Hamptons. Jamie, my best friend and ex-roommate from college, is one of the only people in the world who truly ‘gets me’. We get each other frankly and when you’re looking at a 6 foot tall, 100 pound gay man in women’s jeans, and an Hermes belt, with a contagious cackle and a 25th birthday plan of ’25 and alive’: pecks, lips, & lipo – you think to yourself, this is one of my souls mates? There’s a small 10% piece of you that just knows you’re screwed; the other overwhelming 90% majority knows however how blessed and lucky you are to have found such a friend.

Invite Jamie to a funeral or Bar Mitzvah in New York, there’s a 50% chance he won’t be coming. Invite Jamie to a Hampton’s weekend, and the hottest weekend at that, before I heard back ‘yes’ or ‘no’, I simply received an email, “my flight gets in at six.” A six pm arrival time leaves us boarding the hell train at either 7:30 or 8:45. 7:30 comes and goes, with 8:45 being our last, and final option. Getting somewhere, and punctually, is not my strong suit and at 8:07, it was decided that no, I wouldn’t have time to masturbate, I have to make peace with whatever I’ve thrown into my bag and also the truth that someone could get to Penn Station faster from Florida (Jamie), than I could from down the block.

Getting into any moving vehicle, and saying “Hi sir, Penn station please – as fast as humanly possible” is the closest thing to a death wish you can do in NYC but after two near life ending experiences, and one small tap fender bender, I find myself hustling into Penn with the grace of pig whose just found out they’ve been hogtied. With all my hands full, and the trains departure closing in on ten minutes, my phone rings;

“Wass, where are you? I’m in Penn Station, but I don’t see Long Island.”
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t see long island’. Jamie there are signs everywhere… follow one”
“I did! I’m telling you this Long Island Railroad is no where to be found”
“Jamie, it takes up half of Penn station”, and then I though of a sign for him to follow that you didn’t need to be literate for, “J, just look for girls with thongs hanging out of the backs of their jeans. That will get you to Long Island every time.”

Proof that the last tip actually worked, from behind a pack of gelled hair, bathroom Blonde, Mandee’s patrons came Jamie, sauntering down the escalator with a Vuitton duffle in tow. That, and the “American Tourister”; a hard suitcase circa 1970 that stopped being cool as soon as people were able to see it for what it was while not tripping on acid.

With 5 minutes to train-time, hellos would have to be postponed. Speedily, we start dodging through the overly crowded waiting area trying to find our track. While the clock is ticking, one of the reasons Jamie and I get on so well is that we always have our priorities in order. Making the train was one thing, making the train enjoyable was another; and as Oprah or any other self help god will tell you – you can always find time for what’s important; 8 mini bottles of Sutter Home chardonnay. Sweat from rushing may be dripping from our brow, but time stops for wine. All necessities in tow, we high tail it to Track 9, to find nothing but standing room and snobbery – at least we knew we were on the right train.

The doors close behind us; both of us here? check. Booze? check. Tickets?... shit. Well, so what – we didn’t sort out this e-issue at the help desk. Thanks to Steve Jobs, I have my emailed receipt clearly on my cell phone and assuming this 3-5 day mailing thing MUST be a mistake, as it really does defeat the purpose of the e-ticket, I’ll explain to the conductor, who must get this all the time. After meeting the conductor, he doesn’t. He also wasn’t interested in letting this slide for a mini-bottle of Chardonnay. What he wanted was the one thing we didn’t have; cash, and $46 dollars of it. Nothing is more embarrassing then creating a scene on the long island rail road, surround by people who think they’re too good to be there, next to the American Tourister, pulling crumpled singles out of your purse that between two people equal seven dollars.

“You’re going to the Hamptons,… with seven dollars?” Joe (we were now on first name terms) asked, in a condescending tone as if he was trying to get his facts straight. Neither of us willing to admit yes, Jamie flings open his wallet to check the nothing in it once again. In the fling, he exposes a photo he carries of his sister, which he, Joe and I discussed and agreed she looks great. Then either because he liked us, or there were 7 other full cars on the train, Joe asks for our ID, has us fill out IOU’s, tells us to bring them to a station, where we can eventually pay. Not only are we on the unfortunate Long Island Rail Road, we were now in debt to them. Handing the forms to Jamie, who hands them to me – “what happened to chivalry” I ask. “I’m gay… we’re exempt” Now Joe chimes in, “ehh a mans still the man, sorry” “Nobody has the gay mans side”, Jamie shrieks – “Someone has your backside though”, I retort – and with that, we’ve now won Joe over. He lets us in on the secret that nothing actually happens if we don’t pay these, which I think he might have only said because after he liked us, he still wasn’t sure if we had more than seven dollars to our name.

We transfer trains to one with more seating, bribe a man in a 2seat row with comedy club tickets to move to another open single seat so we can sit together, and just when we think all is well, the train starts moving, but in the seats we’ve coveted; we’re moving backwards – which in retrospect was foreshadowing what would become the rest of Stars and Stripes weekend… to be continued.