Take the Last Train to Yorkville

I must have that kind of face. The kind of face that declares I know not only know how to work the subway, but am also willing to help the wayward find Ground Zero, Barney’s CoOp or the Met. Yesterday I was giving some lost Russians directions to the Ellis Island Ferry when a group of three women lined up in back of them. This whole every-time-I-go-uptown-somebody-asks-me-how-to-get-someplace has been going on for a while, but yesterday was the first time I’d ever earned myself a queue.

Somewhat inexplicable when considering my allure to lost tourists, is that I never ride the subway without music and big white earphones. This necessitates the tourists to get right up in my business and scream to get my attention. Additionally, I appear to be most attractive on my way back from a run around Central Park. My sweaty aroma must be a powerful pheromone for befuddled mainlanders.

Mostly I’m a sure thing when it comes to on-demand transit advice to Fodor's Top 5 Sights, but sometimes I get hit with a stumper. I hate it when I come up short. One time an English guy asked me how to get to the Brooklyn Navy Yard and I have no idea how to get to the Brooklyn Navy Yard. When I responded with a blank stare, the dude gave me this look, like I knew how to get to the Brooklyn Navy Yard but was holding out on him.

I should have put him on the 2 uptown to the Bronx.

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