Escape from New York

(or, “And that’s when the CHUDs came for me . . .”)

The big blackout hit yesterday. I was in the middle of a phone interview for a contract packaging article (actually, I was telling a potential interviewee that I’d like to e-mail him a list of questions, since my strep-addled throat still hurt like a mo’fo’). The computer went down, and the lights went dim, then began flickering like that scene from the Twin Peaks pilot. I finished the phone conversation, and the lights went out for good. I picked up my bag, and headed out to my car, around 4:15. I figured it was a problem with the building, but when I started the car, I realized that several stations on my radio were silent. I found a news station that reported a metro-area blackout. I started driving home, and called the office on my cell to give them that news, so they could start sending people home.

On the road, I called home to see if my answering machine was still functioning. It was! I Got the Power! I held off on grabbing provisions at the local supermarket, figuring that

A) I’ve got power;
B) I’ve got some food and snack-type stuff at home;
C) Thanks to the local Mobil station leaking gasoline into the water supply, I’ve got 6 five-gallon bottles of Deer Park water.

Well, I walked in the door at home and new something was awry. The place was too warm, given that I left the AC on when I headed out to work earlier. Lo and behold, the AC was groaning mightily. I shut it off, figuring that it was underpowered.

In my office area, the desktop PC was continually trying to reboot, then crashing as it approached the Windows screen, lacking juice. I shut that down, too. Moments later, the power went down completely. I was pissed. And I was still exhausted from getting over strep (I didn’t go into the office till about 11:15am, in fact), and still in some pain every time I swallowed.

So I sat down and started figuring out my options. I tried to call friends and family to find out who had power and who didn’t. Lines were overloaded, so it was tough to get through. The radio contended that Philadelphia was unaffected, so I tried to reach a friend down there and see if this was the case. If so, I was going to head down and stay with her (get yer mind outta the gutter!) for the night. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get through to her.

I figured that, if the heat was bad, I’d drag a futon mattress downstairs, where it’s cool, and sleep there. This would involve rearranging a recroom that’s currently in a state of major renovation. I tore down wood paneling from 1968, but have nowhere the put it right now, so the panels are sitting against the walls, with nails protruding everywhere. I like to refer to it as “the least child-safe room in America.”

Given that I was in a state of some exhaustion, and a bit fearful that the end of the world had begun AGAIN, I felt it was my best option to just sit down and stare at the wall for a few minutes. The uncertainty of something like this, not just the question of when it will be over but the reason it happened, is tough on me. Uncertainty fucks with me pretty mightily.

I settled on a decent course of action: get a whole ton of Love & Rockets comics from downstairs, lie down on the futon in the living room, and chill the hell out. If I had my wits about me, I’d have made a titanic G&T before all the ice cubes melted, but I was still a little fever-addled (which, in a sense, sorta obviated the need for a G&T). If still powerless by nightfall, I’d move everything downstairs and start rearranging the Nail-Riddled Panels of Doom (which probably would have made a great fort).

It was around 5:30. My buddy Fink had just called from Seattle to check on my situation. I told him it was tolerable, and thanked heaven that I had strep this week. Otherwise, I would have been sitting in Newark Airport waiting for that Puerto Rico flight when the power went out. THAT would’ve been a terrible situation, since it would’ve been much tougher to get out of there and back home. So there are good aspects to getting nuked with a 103-degree fever; you just have to look for them.

I was about to open up Music for Mechanics when my cell phone rang again (it plays “Hava Nagila,” which I always find funny). A high school buddy of mine was calling from his cell. He lives in NYC. I hadn’t thought to check up on him, which made me fell a little guilty.

“Gil?”

“Hey, Adam. How you doing?”

“Okay. Listen: how far do you live from the George Washington Bridge?”

“About 25 miles.”

“Do you think it’s closer than Scarsdale?”

“Depends on who’s driving, I guess.”

“No one’s driving. I’m around 115th St. right now. I’m leaving New York on foot. I don’t want to be around here when it gets dark.”

“(sigh) . . . I’ll head out to the GWB and pick you up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call you as I get closer, so we can figure out where to meet.”

When I say fever-addled, I mean fever-addled. I mean, I’ve got no electricity, I’m getting over strep, it’s still around 90 degrees out, and I’m about to drive toward the biggest metro area in the world at a time that people are likely fleeing like rats. Sounds like a plan!

Now, I may be dumb, but I’m no dummy. I only have half a tank of gas, which would be perfectly fine under normal circumstances, but if I’m going to be sitting in hours of diaspora traffic, I could run out, which would be NO fun. So I’d better fill up some bottles of water for the ride.

Better bring the digital camera, too, in case there’s an image worth preserving. And a book in case I’m waiting a while for Adam. And a notebook, in case I think of anything worth writing (like there’s a chance of THAT happening . . .).

But what if this is actually the first stage of a zombie plague, like in 28 Days Later? Then I’d REALLY be in trouble. Better take the largest steak knife I own. If I had more smarts, I’d have brought along one of the Nail-Riddled Panels of Doom, but hey. In my notebook, I wrote, “Note to history: If I die tonight, it’s Adam’s fault.”

Off to the Bridge. I tuned in the news stations and listened for traffic warnings. The newscasters indicated that the in-bound lanes were closed, and some traffic was being allowed out. I feared a massive snarl-up in Ft. Lee, as well as the preceding traffic foci (like the Rt. 4/17 junction). But there was nothing. I cruised to the GWB in record time, and parked at the building of my old office on Central Ave. Curiously, the Bridge was open. Cars were crossing in both directions, and the toll plaza was functioning at regular shifts. I wondered if the media were lying for the sake of keeping traffic down. After all, it’s not like people could turn on their local TV news and see how the traffic situation is. It’s like going on TV to make fun of the Amish: how are they going to find out about it?

So I walked down to the bridge, and crossed it. I’d never done that before, and it’s a shame, because there are some wonderful views to be had from the bridge. You sorta see it when driving, but I was much more at ease on foot. I took a bunch of pictures (see slideshow). I saw some interesting people, too. There were bicyclists, joggers, businesspeople and hippies. There was also a muscular black guy, wearing dark, pleated pants and a wife-beater T-shirt, and carrying a putter. No, a golf putter. Really. I thought, “He’s either got some new fashion vibe going, or he was profoundly affected by 28 Days Later, too.”

I met Adam about 3/4ths of the way across the span. He’d walked about 9 miles to get there. Heading back to the car, we noticed incredibly bad and loud music blaring a block away. It was coming from Siggy’s, a dive bar near Lemoine Ave. Adam said, “We deserve a beer. I’m buying.”

And so he did. We sat outside and had a beer. Then we got a guy on the sidewalk to take a picture of us, and it was off to Ringwood. Adam initially proposed that we begin a road trip after we refueled (power had been restored in some areas of Rt. 4), but I think he was starting to realize that walking 9 miles through NYC in the heat wasn’t going to treat him too well in the evening.

Overheard in my car:

Listening to the radio with its stories of people milling around the city, Adam said, “Did these people NOT think it was going to get dark tonight? I can’t believe people wouldn’t take more precautions and get the hell out, like I did.”

Laughter, at news reports that NYC mayor Bloomberg was offering PowerBars to people outside City Hall. “Does he have any grasp of irony?” Adam asked. I replied, “But remember: no smoking!”

Adam, an avid Republican, at one point remarked, “I can’t wait to hear the Democrats blame Bush for this.”

“We’ve heard that there are some lights visible in the southern Bronx,” said one radio reporter. I shouted, “You fool! Those are fires!”

Part II to come. If you’re lucky.