Into the Mouth of Madness

As the NYC summer progressed, I felt very lucky. Although it was hot, I was somehow spared the hellish humidity which can wrack the NE during the summer months. That ended on August 5th. Years from now I will still think back on that purely evil event of that day.

As with all such stories, the day started out quite normally. I woke up around 9:30 (the joys of not having a job), had a lazy breakfast, got cleaned up, and headed out to explore the city. One thing that happens when you live in NYC, is that you fairly quickly find the closest subway stops to where you live. For me, this was the Bedford-Nostrand stop on the G line. Now the G line is definitely in need for some renovations. Its not only the only line that doesn't go into Manhattan, but its the only line where I saw rats running along the main level of the concourse with all the other commuters.

Anyway, I digress. I was walking to my stop, enjoying the morning (it was hot (85) but not overwhelming), thinking about how great it was to be in NYC, when it happened. As I turned to go down the entrance to the subway I was hit with a blast of the most foul smelling, rank, heinous odor that I have ever smelled. It wasn't just the smell. The air coming out of the entrance was super hot and blasting out like a furnace. It was as if god turned on his own 2500 watt hairdryer out of a day use national park port-a-potty after a long 3-day weekend. And it was non-stop. I tried to go down at least 3 times, but was repulsed after the 2nd step. And then, then most amazing thing occurred, people started coming out of this "pit of Mordor". None looked happy, and some looked like they could have used some immediate care.

Finally, I sucked up my courage, took a deep breath, and ran down the entrance. OMG! It didn't end. That rank wind followed me all the way down to the waitingplatform. There were about 20-30 others down there waiting with me, and from what little I could see through the tearing of my eyes, they were going through their own personal trials attempting to endure this situation. While bracing myself against a pillar, waiting for the train, the lyric from "wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" kept going through my head.

Lyric from Song: Does anyone know where the love of God goes, When the waves turn the minutes to hours

My Adaptation: Does anyone know where the love of God goes, When the wind turns the minutes to hours

Eventually, my ears (which was the only part of my body not affected by this demonic effluence) picked up the glorious sound of screeching subway brakes. As the doors to the subway opened, you never saw people jump onto a subway so fast. Passengers getting off took one step onto the platform, then immediately got back on the subway. I think I carried that smell around with me all day. Not that I smelled it, but I would get sideways looks from people I was standing upwind of during the day.

When I got back to the Bedford stop at the end of the day the "Wind" was gone and it was back to normal. But I will always remember that "wind" and that day will always be remembered as the day that I no longer feared death.