NEW YORK CITY, August 24, 2012 — Last night with Alessandra was about thirty minutes that will most likely never be repeated. Even being next to her in real life is most likely not going to happen. Yet life is about experiences, memories, and the people who create both of them for us. Even in the worst place on Earth, there can be some good.
The most God-forsaken place on this globe is New York City. People go there to die. New York is all about drugs, guns, crime, traffic, mosquitoes, summer heat, winter cold, and the dictatorial reign of terror known as Michael Bloomberg. It is a place for animals, not human beings. Entering the city turns me into Bill Murray from “Quick Change,” lamenting, “God I hate this town.”
The plan was simple. Arrive on the redeye from Los Angeles, drive to speak to the Young Republicans in New Jersey, drive back to Staten Island, and fly to Tampa, Florida. The drive from New Jersey to Staten Island took four hours.
There was no traffic. There was also no Exit 13, despite everybody at every gas station telling me to take that back. Every time one goes through the toll, $12 is given to either Staten Island or New Jersey. Back and forth I came and went, donating my life savings to toll after toll after toll. Yet just when somebody thinks they are down, there is somebody else in even more dire straits.
At midnight, I stopped just to ask someone for directions. This person was in a heap of trouble. Her name was Alessandra, and her car blew out on the highway. She was not going to make it home. The police told her it would cost thirty dollars to fix the problem, and she did not have it. I was lost and had no idea how to get to Staten Island. She knew where she was going but could not get there. We both had smart phones, but she was the only one who knew how to work them. Despite not being the best human being on the planet by any stretch, letting this girl sit alone on the side of the highway at night was not an option.
She was 19 years old, and justifiably frightened. If New York could turn me into a basketcase, it could devour a stranded teenager. Her parents were asleep. So it was time to “pay it forward.”
We called the police again, and waited for a squad car. Given the destruction going on in new York City, a stranded passenger was not a top priority. We waited, sat, and talked. We bonded as the mosquitoes chomped pieces of flesh out of both of us.
She may not have had money, but I did. I had no idea where exit 13 was, but she did. She gave me a hug, and was on her way.
As much as I would like to say I immediately made it home, despite her best efforts, I did not know the difference between 13 and 13A. That added to more bouncing between Newark and other places, and more toll expenses. Eventually Staten Island surfaced. Thanks to Facebook, we each confirmed that the other person had made it home safely.
This 19 year old girl may also have met a potential boyfriend in the process. No, not me. My 23 year old cousin may be a good fit.
No matter what happens to any of us, it is nice to know that decent people still exist in this world. Alessandra may say she was rescued, but without her help I would still be driving and paying tolls somewhere between Boston and Atlantic City.
The best way to think of this as a happy ending is to receive the ultimate reward, a ticket out of New York City. La Guardia is a disaster area, but the plane to Tampa leaves soon. Goodbye, New York. I hate you always, now, and forever.
As for you Alessandra, take care kiddo. Drive safely.
Brooklyn born, Long Island raised, and now living in Los Angeles, Eric Golub is a politically conservative columnist, blogger, author, public speaker, satirist and comedian. Eric is the author of the book trilogy “Ideological Bigotry, “Ideological Violence,” and “Ideological Idiocy.”
Eric is 100% alcohol, tobacco, drug, and liberalism free. Follow Eric on Twitter @TYGRRRREXPRESS
Eric Golub is an independent writer for the Communities. Read more from Eric at TYGRRRR EXPRESS
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