On Friday, I had gone to the bank late which threw off my timing. I leaped onto a different platform and noticed that every train thereafter was crowded. Since I was not eager to ride home like a sardine, I decided to let two packed trains pass me by. This was a mistake.
I had my head buried in my latest book of poetry (i.e. Nuyorican Poet’s) and rode past the first stop. Here is where I must mention that I had once thought myself quite clever. So clever in fact, that I’ve been riding the train using a pass that is really designated for the disabled. Why, you may ask? Because I thought I was getting one over on DA MAN, that’s why. Turns out that Da Man had me pegged already and decided to catch me just as I’d slipped into my head for a bit, shutting close the delicious book I’d been reading.
You know how they say that women have a sixth sense? Well, they do and I did. As soon as I saw the officer hop onto the train, bowing just a little to avoid hitting the doorframe, I knew that I was hit. Don’t ask me what it was: maybe it was his handlebar mustache, or the way that he grinned when he got on. I dunno. All I know is that something told me that this was gonna be a bad experience…and it was…but I digress. Anyhow, he gets on the train and proceeds to ask for tickets. Well I, as I aforementioned, felt that I was quite clever, so I flashed the stamped ticket that is similar in every way to the standard ticket but with one notable difference: it reads, ‘DISABLED’ on it. Everything else is the same: the same color, the same shape, the same size.
So I flash this clever little card which would be my undoing because this was quickly followed up by, “Miss, where’s you’re diability card?”
Feigning retardation, I said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re disability card. Where is it?”
“Oh!” I answered, startledly and proceeded to put my foot in my mouth. “I don’t have it on me,” I whispered.
“What? I didn’t–” then he shook his stupid dunce-cap uniform capped head at me.
“I don’t have it…on me.” Then, I gave my standard puppy-dog look that usually goes over well. See? I am clever!
“Step off at the next stop, please.”
That was it. So I got off at the stop and the jerk continued writing out the ticket and I couldn’t find my ID and could’ve given a false address and all but…I didn’t. I took it like a man.
There goes $74 bucks. Oh well. It still won’t change my habits though. ‘Cause that’s the type of girl I am: a rebel without a cause. So go ahead Port Authority copper! You’ll never catch me again! You know why? Because I’m on ta you, see? Next time I see unusually crowded trains on a Friday, I’ll buy the full priced ticket. You caught me once, but you’ll never catch me again, Copper!!! HAHA YOU FOOL!!!
Full price is for suckers…!