Culture on the Cheap
The Metaphysics Of The 14th Street F Train
I have made mention previously that among the many scenic points of interest the Heather clan visited this week was Chinatown. As is often the case with me and the Mister, how to get there became the source of heated discussion. He wanted to take the L to 6th Avenue and transfer to the F. I, on the other hand, wanted to transfer at Union Square and take the N, R, or Q. He argued that the F was closer to our destination. This is indeed true.
However, my husband’s eye for efficiency seems to be lacking a nose to match. I have and will take great pains to avoid the 6th Avenue L as I find it a bit too fragrant for comfort (and given that I live a short distance from a massive sewage treatment plant this is really saying something). I have been known to schlep many a city block to avoid this aromatic chamber of horrors. But to keep a long story short (READ: in the interest of family peace) I relented and we commenced our journey to Stinkyville. As the train pulled into the station my mother noted the overall tatty condition of the station. Follows is my reply:
You can rest assured it smells every bit as bad— if not worse— than it looks.
And stink it did. But this is not to suggest there aren’t business opportunities to be had there by those who possess a stack of post-it notes and a little marketing placement savvy.
Everyone wishes they could escape their body!
Or at the very least their nose— while waiting at the 14th Street stop of the F train.