The Anti-Ghetto (August 2005)

I know. I'm sorry. It's been way too long.

If my calculations are correct, it's been almost two entire years since the last official AGA episode (Teaching Assistant Thinks Amy is an Alcoholic) and I really have no excuses for allowing this length of time to pass. I can't say that I've lost interest: after all, Foolish Things Ministries (FTM) is my passion (motto: Our Embarrassment Is Your Entertainment). I can't say that I haven't had the time to log entries, because most AGA episodes are penned after the midnight hour. And I certainly can't say that I just haven't done anything dumb in the past two years.

(Just pausing here to let those who are paralyzed with laughter scrape themselves off of the floor.)

Whatever the reason, I offer my deepest apologies. And now, without further ado, I present to you:

Amy's Great Adventures, Episode XVII: The Anti-Ghetto.

It all began on a beautiful Friday afternoon in downtown Brooklyn. I was very excited because I was going to see my friend Ivy's new apartment for the first time and just enjoy a nice relaxing evening. I met her at the Brooklyn Tabernacle and went down into the F train station. Upon swiping my MetroCard, I noticed that I had just spent my last $2.00 and made a mental note to pick up another card on my way back home.

Those of you who are schooled in AGA are probably beginning to chuckle at this point, thinking "Amy? Make a mental note? Oh, this is going to be good." I think the problem is that my mental notepad is actually an Etch-A-Sketch. So I make very detailed, thorough mental notes... but the minute that something else catches my attention, the Etch-A-Sketch swings back to ready itself for another mental note, completely eliminating the old one from existence. However, in this particular episode, Mental Etch-A-Sketch (MEAS) does not come into play... so to those who were chuckling, I say "HA! You think you're so smart?? I have PLENTY of other ways to engage in idiocy!"

Upon arriving at Ivy's house, I spent a very pleasant evening relaxing and catching up, sharing Brazil pictures, etc. At one point, her roommate stuck her head into the room and said, "Hey, can any of you use an unlimited MetroCard? I'm going away and it has about two days or so left on it..." Praise the Lord! Providence is the bomb. I didn't even ask for one, and the Lord drops one right in my lap. Woo hoo! Etch-A-Sketch, be free! I was about to leave Ivy's at about 10:00 pm, when I had my Most Brilliant Idea. I had taken the F train to get to Ivy's, but in order for me to get home I would have to take at least a train to a bus. However, I seemed to recall that Flatbush Avenue was somewhere very close by to where Ivy lived. If I could find Flatbush, then I could just hop on the 41 bus, which would take me directly to my house. I'm so smart.

Of course, I didn't just go wandering off into the Brooklyn night. I mean, what kind of FOOLISH PERSON would just START WALKING, not knowing where they are going, at 10:00 pm in the depths of Brooklyn?? Certainly not I! I whipped out my pocket subway map, which is approximately the size of a thimble, and squinted as I peered into the darkness. "Ah yes!," I exclaimed. "Here we are, and here's Flatbush! Only one block away!" Ivy, who is a Brooklyn newcomer, just happily pointed me in the right direction, and I set on my way.

Now, for those of you who are not as familiar with the New York City area, the word "block" can take on a variety of meanings. For example, in Manhattan there is a large difference between a "street block" and an "avenue block." A street block is what most people would commonly consider a "block." Walking a couple of street blocks is no big thing. If you would like to walk a couple of "avenue blocks," however, you might want to consider rationing your foodstuffs. Depending on the location in Manhattan, it would take a average person of somewhat stable physical health between 1 to 3 years to cross an avenue block. But if you're starting to get worried, don't. Remember, I'm not in Manhattan! I'm in Brooklyn, where avenue blocks and street blocks make no sense at all! A compass cannot even find North in Brooklyn. Blocks are a lot more casual here. Streets change name whenever they feel like it... blocks intersect each other two or three times... and every once in a while they will just uproot completely and plant themselves in a totally different area of Brooklyn. In fact, if any of you happen upon Maple St, please let me know. I once looked for an apartment on this block and it has been missing now for 3 years. Thank you.

Oh, the digression! I apologize. So let's recap here before the fun begins. The scene: Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn. 10:00 pm. Friday evening. Heading from Ivy's apartment towards Flatbush Avenue, "one block away." Alone. Anyone with the IQ of cabbage would realize that this is a recipe for Unbelievable Disaster. But no! If my one-centimeter-square subway map said that Flatbush is one block away, then by golly, it will be one block away! And it was one block away. However, the "block," in this case, happened to be the equivalent of fourteen street blocks. Yes, that's right. Fourteen. See, the street that I was traveling on happened to cut right across the bottom of Prospect Park, opposite to the Parade Grounds. So Friday night, 10 pm, alone, in the depths of Brooklyn... fourteen blocks. Oh, and one more problem that I think I should mention: I was the Anti-Ghetto.

I don't stick out quite as obviously as I did when I first arrived in NYC. I've learned to adapt, to blend in a bit more. But for some ironic reason, on Friday night I was the whitest that I have been in years. I was wearing a jean skirt and a black tank top with little tie-on sleeves. My hair was half-up and extremely blond. I was carrying an enormous gray purse right in front of my body that practically screamed "ROB ME!", and my sunglasses were resting neatly atop my butterfly clip. And I had on Birkenstocks (Nana, stop laughing). It took me about 5 minutes to realize that I had made a Very Serious Error. No cars. No people. Hardly any streetlights. And LOTS of benches with hooded figures sitting on them. I could have turned around, but I figured that would have attracted more attention (like that was possible) and I was still convinced that Flatbush would appear any moment. So I decided that I had better look as tough as possible so that the hooded figures would be too intimidated to come and kill me.

How To Look As Intimidating As Possible In Three Easy Steps:

1. Walk purposefully and quickly. Unless you have on a skirt, which would cause you to trip over yourself and nearly take a tumble to the ground... at which point you would stand up and use one hand to hold your skirt up as you continued to walk, sending your Whiteness Factor into the billions.

2. Fix your face in a hard stare. Unless it's 10:00 at night and there are no traffic lights, in which case your squinting would probably irritate your contact lenses, which would cause them to become blurry and threaten to pop out of your eyes, at which point you would actually CONSIDER stopping to rummage through your purse for rewetting drops, and decide instead to just blink furiously, which would completely eliminate any attempt at fixing your face in a hard stare.

3. Find anything nearby to use as a weapon. Unless you had already decided that rummaging would be a bad idea, and you begin thinking that with all of the amazing resources that you can find in your purse, you never considered adding, say, a machete to the mix... so you settle with a ballpoint pen. Armed and dangerous.

And if none of those things work, use what you have. A cell phone.

Now, fortunately, I had enough brain cells still engaged to realize that I shouldn't just open up my cell phone and start talking on it. I needed to keep all of my senses sharp, so that if I heard footsteps approaching me I could shriek like a banshee. So I decided to just OPEN my phone and keep it in my hand. My thought was that perhaps the potential attackers would see that, at any moment, I could dial 911. Of course, further thought would have led to the conclusion that if I had NEEDED to dial 911 I still would have had to punch in the numbers, push SEND, lift the phone to my ear, wait for the ring... rendering my "weapon" completely pointless. So there I am, whiter than snow, lifting up my skirt to reveal my Birkenstocks, walking alone in the utter darkness in a bad neighborhood... but don't worry. My cell phone is out.

I joke, but this part was pretty scary and the praying was pretty intense. After what seemed like years, I finally saw a sign that said "Flatbush Avenue" and I could have kissed it. I started to jog once I could see cars and people, and I got to Flatbush just in time to see two 41 buses pulling away from the corner. I then had to wait 10 more minutes on Flatbush Avenue at the bus stop, feeling slightly safer but incredibly out-of place. I called Ivy at this point and said something to the effect of "DON'T YOU EVER LET ME DO THAT AGAIN!!!!!" and just prayed that the bus would come early. Ten minutes later, a 41 pulls up and I step aboard. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for Ivy's roommate giving me that MetroCard, because otherwise I would have been SUNK. You can't buy a MetroCard on the bus, and the only other option would be exact change. I stuck the MetroCard in the slot, and I heard the boop.

There are two possible sounds that you can hear when you insert a MetroCard. One sound is "Boop!!!:)" This sound is the higher-toned noise that indicates that your MetroCard has been accepted, that you should enjoy your ride. The other sound is boop. That sound means that something is wrong and that other passengers, by law, must begin to look up and snicker at you. However, sometimes boop happens by accident, so I tried the card again. boop. I looked at the screen and it said "Insufficient Fare." This is impossible! Ivy's roommate said there were two days left on the card! I started to panic, but then relaxed. I ALWAYS carry a ton of change around in my purse... because I needed to have quarters available for parking meters. But just that morning, I had decided to take all of the change OUT of my purse since I wasn't driving anymore! What a GREAT IDEA!! So the bus has already pulled away... I have no MetroCard and no change. I mustered up all of my feminine wiles and decided to sneak a peek at the driver, to gauge whether or not there was a chance he might let me ride for free. I took one look and received my answer, which was something to the effect of "get your wiles off of my bus."

So it was back out onto the streets of Flatbush once again. I didn't panic-- I knew that I just needed to find a subway, because then I could buy a MetroCard with my debit card. Unfortunately, I knew EXACTLY where I was at this point because I teach near that area, and I knew that the closest subway stop was at least 10 minutes away (and now those of you who know where I teach can get an indication of the type of neighborhood I was in). Finally, I decided that I was just going to try to find a non-scary-looking store and get $2.00 worth of change so that I could pay for the bus ride. It took me about 5 blocks to find a store worthy of the title "non-scary-looking." I got my change and continued walking to the next bus stop, which was at Flatbush and Empire Blvd, for those more familiar with the Brooklyn area.

At this point, all I wanted was to go home. The humor of the situation was starting to kick in, now that I had become fully aware that I had made it through the ordeal with all body parts intact... but it was still almost an hour after I had left Ivy's, and I was hungry. I stood there at the bus stop as a bunch of extremely threatening-looking individuals gathered around me to also wait for the bus. Tension is mounting and I'm holding on to my $2.00 in change a bit tighter. I started trying to intercept any other potential idiotic situations, just to make sure that this next step would be the last of the night. "Amy, do NOT drop your change into the grate. Amy, do NOT get on a bus going in the opposite direction. Amy, do NOT notice that a large number of the Threatening Looking Individuals have started to gather and snicker at you."

I continued this helpful self-talk until a bus appeared on the horizon and I nearly exploded with relief. This lasted approximately 5 seconds until I realized that this was the wrong bus. At this point, all energy was re-directed into Urge Suppression, because I was getting desperate enough to jump on the bus and force the driver to drive directly to my house and then come back and continue his route. Ten more minutes passed, and I saw a 41 bus. I didn't care whether it was local or limited... I could take either. I knew it was a 41 because I could see the sign. I checked my change-- still in the purse. I checked the bus stop-- I was going in the right direction. The Threatening Looking Individuals began to rise and congregate near the bus stop, so I knew that I was home free. Then something curious happened. All of the passengers on the 41 got up to exit the bus. "Strange," I thought. "I didn't realize that this was such a popular stop." And then I saw them. Just three little words that completely crushed any remaining hopes that I had.

Next bus please.

Note: THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE BUS LINE!! In fact, it is pretty much DIRECTLY in the middle of the line, at a stop that intersects two major streets in Brooklyn. Why on EARTH would a bus decide that its route was finished at THIS PARTICULAR STOP?!?! I never received an answer. Someone muttered something about an oil change, but there was not a gas station in sight. So now I am still waiting at Flatbush and Empire, with all of the Threatening Looking Individuals who are now ANGRY Threatening Looking Individuals because of the bus fiasco, PLUS all of the Threatening Looking Individuals who had just gotten OFF the bus which had come directly from East Flatbush, Brooklyn. By this point I had relaxed, thinking that if I was going to be killed, mugged, threatened or otherwise attacked it would have already happened. A real bus finally came and I made my way home.

I still can't quite figure out how I managed to make it through the evening without at LEAST getting mugged or propositioned. I've come up with two possible theories: 1) The Lord had mercy on this foolish girl and sent big, strong, scary-looking angels to protect me. Or 2) The potential perpetrators were so dumbfounded by the Anti-Ghetto that they could only stop and stare. Or maybe they were seriously worried about that ballpoint pen and open cell phone. Or maybe... well, I suppose it doesn't matter. The point is, praise God, I'm safe now.

Oh, and by the way... the MetroCard that Ivy's roommate gave me? Found it in my purse the minute I got home with the promised two days still remaining. See, my Etch-A-Sketch was so busy thinking about the future that I forgot about the present, and I neglected to dispose of the MetroCard that I had finished after getting on the train to Ivy's. I simply stuck it back in my wallet in my MetroCard slot. And for some reason, the MetroCard that Ivy's roommate gave me just went haphazardly into my purse. And this is what AGA is all about.

Morals of the story? Don't attempt to fix your face in a steely glare if you're wearing contacts. Always carry a ballpoint pen with you if you're walking late at night. And finally, never rely on a peanut-sized map to establish distance. Until next time... we are Foolish Things Ministries: Confounding Wisdom and Common Sense in a Neighborhood Near You! (Now I just need a theme song.)