Its about hour we throw it back to our favorite way of getting around as little betches-in-training. No , not our mamas minivan, Im talking about the good ol LIRR. Non-New York betches need not read any further, because you wont understand.
The Long Island Rail Road was, plainly, every young Long Island betchs way of getting into the city because, although they begrudgingly put up with our every whims, our parents did not hate themselves quite enough to try to drive into the city. And by the city Im patently referring to Manhattan, because as far as were concerned, there really is just one city worth talking about, and its the one in our backyard.
Anyway, the L-I-R-R, the lurr, the develop, or whatever you called it, was great because it took you straight from your suburban bubble into the Big Apple( lol ew ). Sure , now we know that Penn Station( and midtown in general) is a total shithole, but for our 13 -year-old naive egoes, it was a pretty good setup. I entail, Macys was a block away, Victorias Secretwhere we could buy thongs without our moms asking a million questions, like, was a block away from that, and there were like, 16 Dunkin Donuts within a 125 -foot radius, plus the 6 inside Penn. Dream.
Once we entered high schoolI entail, legal drinking age of coursethe LIRR took on a whole new meaning. Thats because after hours the LIRR became a whole different animal. Between shivering on the platform wearing next to nothing; chugging Four Lokos in paper bags( fooling no one ); overhearing some dude on the phone screaming about how hes turning 24, which is almost a quarter of a century, and needs something to put in his nose; and running into people from your grade and feigning you dont see them; the LIRR was where it went down. The LIRR: the old school DM.
Specifically, it was going down on the 3-whatever-oclock train back, where the entire drunk population of Long Island rushed to get their asses on there, lest they be stuck at Penn Station until 5am. Penn Station at 3am is where betches experienced the closest thing they’d ever find to the real-life Hunger Games: daughters passed out with eyeliner running down their faces( sometimes, this was us or our besties ); the floor littered with water bottles and half-eaten slices of pizza; police officer on duty who couldn’t be bothered to give a single fucking. And when your develop cameassuming you constructed it onto the platform and didnt get trampled in the processGod fucking help you get standing room, let alone a coveted seat.
And once you got on the develop, it only got worse. Youd be crammed in there like wasted sardines, praying the guido next to you didnt vomit on your shoes, the girl next to you wasnt dead, and the two bros in the aisle over didnt get into a physical fightand when they did, you only had to hope you didnt get caught in the crossfire. If youve survived a 3:00 am train on the LIRR, youve been through battle. Youre basically a Vietnam veteran. youd say to people with a wistful look in your eye.
So thank you, LIRR, for getting us places largely efficiently with only minor lags, cuts, and bruises. Even though we wont look back fondly on spending upwards of $10 one style to get to and from our unpaid internships, we couldnt imagine our developmental years without you. Youll be forever in our hearts, and we’ll try not to bitch about you too much the one time a month we visit our parents out on the island.
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