The Great Blackout

Standing on the subway platform in Manhattan waiting to catch the #1 train from 50th to Penn Station for a meeting the lights flickered a few times and came back on. I said to the gentleman I was with, “It’ll be alright, we’ll get there on time.” He said, “I think not. Are you a fool? There’s a snowball’s chance in hell that I’m getting on any subway. We’re going to have a blackout.” At that very instant all the lights went out and it was pitch black. That party was over, but another party was beginning—we were beset by the big, ugly, eight state blackout on August 14, 2003. If you lived through it, I know you remember it.

Anyway, we ran up the subway station stairs to daylight. I went back to my office, packed my stuff and tried to get back home to Joisey. I figured it’s a blackout, but luckily my wife has some candles...certainly we have some form of distilled or fermented liquid somewhere in the house...if I'm lucky chocolate and strawberries...so electricity or not, it will be an episode of How Kirk Got His Groove Back! But, for some wicked reason, I found myself peregrinating through the streets of Midtown Manhattan for the next hour or so like dog with no home. Then I bumped into a friend, Joe (name changed to protect the innocent), who was wondering around looking for a way to get home too—that was a major mistake. First of all, Joe was like, “Dude, I’ll call my driver and get him to take us to Jersey.” I’m thinkin', “Okay, dawg, you got it goin’ on’…you got a driver and I have a pair of worn out shoes and a subway metrocard…so what? Where is he?” Of course, his driver was MIA. Then we walked from 50th and Broadway to 34th & 7th, Penn Station, trying to get a train home—that wasn’t happenin'. The train station morphed into a third world country.

Finally Joe says I have an apartment back on 50th Street. We can walk back, crash there and get home in the morning. Finally something was making sense, but it took forever to get back to his apartment because he was wearing out—the walking was killing him and the snail’s pace was murdering me. So, here’s the first lesson—if you’re in a blackout in NYC and find yourself walking around like a vagabond, maybe 40 blocks or so, on your feet for 2, 3, 4 hours, you need to be in shape. I knew bruthas and sistas who walked from midtown up to Harlem U.S.A. and the Bronx. So, no excuses.

But now the escapade begins. We get to Joe’s highrise apartment building but, of course, his apartment is on the 43rd floor—and, oops, the elevator runs by electricity so it ain’t happenin’. So, let’s do the math—43 floors times 20 steps per floor—about 860 steps. No problem, I can knock that out and I’ll keep Joe motivated (another of my major errors in judgement that year). I had my computer bag and brief case, which over the last 3 hours and 40 or so blocks was kickin’ my butt. So, the second lesson—if you’re in a blackout in NYC and you have to carry something for a long distance, you need to be in shape.

The doorman was handing out candles to any fool inclined to tackle the ascent to any apartment above the second floor. We already know I’m a fool, but Joe—he must have been an ignoramus. Since he had only one smaller attaché case, he held the matches and candle to light the way. We get to the third floor and there was an older lady there taking a little break. She was cool, so we moved on. However, by the fifth floor Joe was moving considerably slower and he had to take a break. From there on, every other floor he had to stop and catch his breath. By the tenth floor, not only did I have to carry my two bags, but I had to carry Joe’s bag also. I’m thinkin’, dude, pump some iron, run some laps—you’re useless. By the fifteenth floor I was further chagrined because I had to also carry the candle! So, think about it for a second—not only do I have to get my black butt up 28 more flights of stairs, I’m carrying three bags which are breaking my back and a candle with hot wax dripping on my hand. I was almost ready to go back down the stairs and sleep in the street—of course, after killing Joe. By the way, if you’ve ever seen any of those movies where it’s erotic to have hot candle wax dripping on you, get a life—I can’t roll like that—or maybe I’m just watchin’ the wrong kind of flicks—or maybe I’m watchin’ the right kind of flicks—I’m confused! Anyway…

By the twentieth floor Joe was really wearing down and looking pitiful, like he was going to pass out. He was obviously having a near-death experience. I said, “Dude, don’t even think about clutching your chest and having a heart attack because your timing is crap. If you’re not my wife, mother, grandmother, sister or a few other select, vetted and well screened relatives, odds are zero to none you’ll get mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. To even think it is absurd. Fuggedaboutit.” As Richard Pryor cautioned, “Death might ease on down my throat.” So, mouth-to-mouth was off the table, as well as carrying him back down the stairs to the hospital. He had to get with the program or make the ultimate sacrifice.

Anyway, by the grace of God, we stumbled and bumbled up to the 43rd floor. I don’t know how. I was dog tired and soaking wet from sweat, but I made it. Joe didn't have a heart attack, although it probably would have been less painful if he did. The saga was over. We ate a can of salted cashews for dinner, crashed, and hitch-hiked home in the morning. So, the third lesson—if you’re caught in a blackout in NYC and you have to walk up a lot of stairs, about 860, carrying heavy bags, with candle wax dripping on you, and you’re with someone who is having heart palpitations, you need to be in shape. Ain't no doubt about it.

Saying all that to say running 3.5 miles may not be on your agenda over the next decade or so, but if you’re caught in a blackout--I'm feelin' you! Therefore, get with the program and stay in shape! Do what ya gotta do.

Copyright © 2009 by Kirk Charles. Do not reproduce or distribute in any form, without prior written consent by Kirk Charles.