In Which Miss Jill Changes Her Name to Miss Natasha

This morning I naively entered the B train, thinking that the Metropolitan Transit Agency’s intention was to take me to work. As strange stops whizzed by, I became nervous and looked up to confirm that I was in fact on the B train. Based on her panicked expression, the woman next to me appeared to have similar thoughts and queried, “What happening?” I quickly realized that English was not our optimal form of communication and we started discussing the finer points of MTA’s diabolical inadequacy in Spanish. Loose translation, “What is wrong with these people?”
The train stopped at W4 Street and they told us to evacuate the train (without explanation).

My new Dominican friend and I exited the train and wondered if another one would come. As we were pondering our dilemma, a woman with a Monster Truck hat approached me and said “B Train. Yugoslavian? Ruski?” Strangely, it isn’t the first time this week that someone has asked me if I speak Russian (although I am short, not skinny and look like a Hitler Youth). I pointed to the subway map and we finally figured out where she needed to go. I mapped out an alternate route, gathered my troops and went to another train.

As we waited, the Yugoslavian said, “I see you on train every day.” Then she pantomimed a person typing on a laptop. All I have to say is that this blog doesn’t write itself. We got on the train and they were stuck to me like glue. We all sat down in different areas, and as soon as seats freed up next to me, they ran over. When we finally transferred to the correct train, the Dominican woman started celebrating joyfully.

They hugged me as they got off at their respective stops. Thank you New York, for giving me an endless supply of new friends. Sorry if there are typos, I am writing this quickly.