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Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Lost in the Big Apple: There's no place like home.

By Chelsea Monae

Let us start off with saying that this post is supposed to be about the Andy Suzuki and the Method show that occurred on Saturday, July 31st 2010. It will not be. It will be about the attempt to get to that show, followed by the fail.

I should start off by introducing myself. I am Chelsea Monae Sherman. I am seventeen and I just graduated high school. Cosmetology school is the next big step in my life and once I graduate from there, I hope to be a successful hairstylist in one or many places. So, my savings account is set aside, simply to save up for school - keep that in mind. Now enough about me, let us get to this trip.

Saturday morning, 6:30 am, my alarm sounds. Perfect. Just enough time to get up, get clean, and get out. My sister and I do not drive so waking up at 6:30 am to catch a 10:15 am train sounds about right. We make it to Penn Station at 9:00am. Perfect. Enough time to sit, relax, drink some water, etc. 10:15 am rolls around.
 "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are sorry to inform you that your bus went to the wrong pick up station, but will be here shortly."

 11:15 rolls around. The bus arrives, and we are on our way! My sister and I agreed to go straight to the place at which we would be staying that night so that we would know exactly how to get there from the show (that way we would not be out all night). And Good thing too. Had I known that there were this many 77th sreets in New York, I would have called off the trip altogether.

A friend of mine had asked his family in Brooklyn if my sister and I could stay for a night. In his mind, they said yes. So The cousin that I spoke with gave me an address on 7th street. 7th street! And so I call once we get to the place on 7th street.

Mind you, 7th street in whatever part of Brooklyn we were in is in Central Brooklyn's Jewish town. I am not Jewish and nowhere near it.

I am a small, black, vulnerable girl from the city. And  my friend and his family are black Jamaicans with the most beautiful accents I have ever heard - even though I can not understand them.

So anyway, we get to 7th street. Something is not right. I ring the bell. A woman opens the window. "Ask her if she's Auntie Anna," my friend from home says into my ear over the phone (that sentence structure is bad but leave me alone I'm on a roll). "Are you auntie Anna?!" I asked from the sidewalk. "NO!" she yelled. And Closed her window. Thanks. And Sorry. We're not in Baltimore, anymore, Toto!

So the friend on the line laughs and says "oh, you're on 7th street?! It's on 77th street!" Not funny. So we go through all this bus catching and people asking to get to 77th street. the address was....non existent. So, let us say the address was seven. The houses went from 1 to 3 to 5 to 9. I was incredibly frustrated and the show had started and probably ended by this time. So, I finally get in contact with someone at the house to see if they can direct us from whatever mess we have gotten ourselves into. Two things go wrong.
A. We are in Central Brooklyn...We are supposed to be in West Brooklyn. All I remember is McKinley Park
B. They do not ACTUALLY know we are coming.

Also, just for the record, i did not understand every 7th word that the woman from the house said to me.
I just wanted to go home.

So, We retraced our steps. Arrived back at Penn Station in New York. I spent my entire savings account - for school - getting my sister and I back home on the Amtrak. We caught the very last train leaving that night. And while we sat in the train station at 10:00pm, we had our first meal of the entire day - remember, we woke up at 6:30 am - and it was Taco Bell.

There is a statue of a HUGE man outside of Penn Station in Baltimore. When we got there at 2:00 am, my sister happened to barf at his feet. I think it was symbolic. We got picked up and went to her place for the night.

I am not sure I want to go back to New York without a native.

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