Faces in the crowd

Unlike my roommates, who work in schools and nursing homes, I have a job job that doesn't really let me get to know or build relationships with a fixed group of people. If it's a busy day in port, I may see upwards of 80 seafarers, but almost all of those encounters will be brief and banal ("Can I have a phone card!" "Take me to the mall!" "Will you marry me?"). Because the average shipping route is a 3 month circuit (with a whole lot of variation, mind you) and the average shipping contract is 9 months, it's not like I get to see the same people again very often, even if I do visit the same ship more than once. And, because I see so many people without any relevant context, it's incredibly difficult to keep names and faces straight. It's also near impossible to keep track of which ships I've been on in the past, because they're all named maddeningly similar things, and they all look a lot alike. As you can tell, there are a lot of factors conspiring against me.

Now that I've been working with SCI for about 6 months (oh my GOD! has it already been that long!?), it's becoming more and more common for people to say, "Welcome back! Good to see you again! Don't you remember me?" To which the honest answer is usually no (another non-helpful factor: Filipino men all tend to have one of about 10 different names. Not a terribly creative naming culture, from what I can tell).  It's especially awkward now that my coworkers are starting to bring back reports of seafarers who have asked about me...and I usually have no idea who they're talking about. It makes me feel terrible, but what can I do?

It was a very nice change, then, that in today's sloppy, sleety, and altogether disgusting weather, I got to visit THREE ships, each for the second time. On each vessel, I got a hero's welcome (always a nice ego boost, especially when you're drenched in filthy slush) and an awful lot of food. And I even held up my end of the deal by recognizing people - three for three! I was particularly excited because the MSC Luisa, possibly my favorite ship ever, was in, and I had begun fantasizing about my lunch there from the minute I saw its name printed on the ship list. The cook of the Luisa does not belong on a container ship. He belongs in a 5-star Manhattan kitchen. This man is a culinary magician. He's from Madagascar. He speaks French (to this day, the only francophone seafarer I've met). And he's awesome. We are, needless to say, good friends. 

I really don't know how to impress on you how nice it is to be able to walk into a galley and embrace someone you recognize, remember, and actually want to see after months on end of incredibly superficial encounters. I love my job, but it's so draining to have to be the person that everyone remembers and esteems (being a young woman in a port of mostly men helps a lot) when I, in turn, simply see too many people to remember many of them. It makes the meaningful encounters, like my friendship with the Malagasy cook, stand out all the more. 

It'll be interesting to see how the next 6 months play out - whether I continue to embarrass myself with the same frequency, or whether more and more faces will start to stand out in the crowd. I'm certainly hoping for the latter outcome. 

Breaking News: Connecticut!

I break my long silence on the blogosphere to share amazing news: in late August, I will be leaving New York City and moving a few hours northeast to New Haven, Connecticut! No, I'm not starting grad school at Yale (not yet, anyway...!); I have accepted a spot in the first class of interns at Saint Hilda's House, a brand new Episcopal Service Corps program co-sponsored by Christ Church, New Haven and Berkeley-Yale Divinity School. I could ramble on forever about how psyched I am, but it's probably far more efficient just to point you toward their gorgeous website.

Here's the short version: St. Hilda's is like a super-Episcopalian version of the program I'm doing right now. The basic structure is the same: community living and a 10 month-long stint at a local social service agency (I don't know yet where exactly they'll put me, but the options sound very intriguing!). The difference is that it's a lot more intentionally churchy - it's designed for people who are discerning vocations within the Church, corporate prayer is very much emphasized, and our work schedules are slightly shortened so that we can participate in what looks like a truly ingenious theological curriculum. Yeah, I know: you probably didn't think my life could get any churchier. Allow me to prove you wrong :)

Most of my excitement stems from the sheer relief of having guaranteed housing and employment for another year in this terrible economy. But another huge part of it comes from knowing that my time in New York City has a definite end date. As much as I enjoy certain aspects of New York, and as much as I'm deeply grateful for the opportunity to have spent 12 months here, the reality that has become more and more apparent over the course of my time in Manhattan is that I do not want to live here forever. In fact, I am rather looking forward to getting out of here in August. Manhattan may be cool and exciting on the rare days when I'm well-rested and have some free time, but on the far more frequent days when I'm sleep-deprived, rushed, or annoyed, it is crazy and exhausting. While I have no illusions about New Haven being as idyllic as the name suggests (well, okay - maybe a few illusions...), I am pretty stoked about living in a place where there are no rush-hour subway stampedes (can you tell how much I'm not looking forward to my Friday commute home?).

So, esteemed readers! Rejoice in the good news along with me, and keep following for further exciting updates about life in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut!

The best New York has to offer

Seriously, people: if you come to New York hoping to see interesting things, don't go to the Empire State Building, don't go to any of the museums, and don't go to 5th Ave. All you need to find amusement, intellectual stimulation, and mind-blowing insanity is ride the subway.

Best commute EVER:

I entered the Chambers St. station at rush hour, like I do every day. As I stood on the platform, waiting and waiting for the unusually slow uptown A, I was approached by a disheveled looking guy who asked when the K train would be there. At first, I simply assumed I'd misheard and he was actually talking about the A train (since that was, after all, the platform we were on) - I told him I had no idea. Far be it from me to predict the inner workings of the MTA. He persisted, repeatedly asking where the K train was. At that point I realized I was talking to a lunatic, mostly because there simply is no K train. With great effort, I finally succeeded in convincing him that I was not his best travel resource. He turned away and started walking in the other direction....only to be bowled over by a man who was running along the subway platform. No, not running from something. Just...running. For exercise. In expensive running gear. In the subway. At rush hour. Why on earth anyone would choose to run in an underground tunnel that reeks of urine is utterly beyond me, to say nothing of why anyone would voluntarily run in a place where there is a very real risk of tripping over any number of objects (a banana peel, a stroller, a sleeping homeless person, the possibilities are endless) and falling onto train tracks that carry lethal amounts of electricity. Needless to say, I was more than a little alarmed.

Fortunately, at this point, the train finally rumbled into the station, and I got on it gratefully. I sat down, pulled out my iPod and my knitting, and lost myself in the angsty world of Green Day. The train filled up. I paid no attention. Around West 4th St, I became aware that the man standing in front of me was looking at me with unusual frequency. I met his gaze. He bent over until his nose was inches from mine, ROARED LIKE A LION, waggled his tongue menacingly, and then turned away. WTF? How does one even react to that? Besides getting off at the next stop and switching cars, which is exactly what I did.

I settled into my new car, resumed my knitting, and tried to push creepy lion man out of my mind. I only dimly noticed when, several stops up the line 2 school-aged girls sat down on either side of me (because, why would I?). I only dimly noticed as they squabbled about something across my lap. And then, all of a sudden, I became aware of 2 things: 1) the fighting had stopped and 2) I was very wet. I looked up from the scarf I was making and assessed the situation: the 2 increasingly red-faced girls still sat flanking me, one holding an empty beverage bottle, the other holding the severed cap. My pants were drenched in a murky brown liquid, a puddle of which pooled around my drenched feet. I was covered in chocolate milk from the waist down.

Fortunately, I was heading home from work, where a clean change of clothes awaited me, and besides - all my outerwear was already so covered in grease from the port that a few more stains blended in nicely. I assured the mortified girls that it was no problem, I wasn't mad, and all was well. They got off at 59th St, apologizing until the subway doors closed. I thought we were done. What I hadn't taken into account was that no one wants to sit next to the girl in the filthy coat who's sitting in the middle of a puddle of brown liquid (it never even occurred to me to move - I had a much coveted seat in a crowded rush hour train and I was already as wet as I was going to be. Why bother?). And that the A runs express from 59th to 125th St. That's over 60 uninterrupted blocks of being stared at like you're a leper, as rivulets of chocolate milk drip down your legs. And here I was embarrassed for eating a cupcake in my safety vest last week.

What I still don't understand is why I'm the only one of my roommates to have subway stories such as these. Are the crazy people only on the A/C trains between 125th and Chambers? Do my roommates just not notice the insanity that surrounds them? Or do I just attract lunatics? You be the judge.

On humiliation

It was a long day. I got next to no sleep last night because the boiler in our church/house (which, I'm convinced, must be at least 200 years old based on the alarming frequency with which it malfunctions) went out, and my room felt like an igloo. As a result, I was hardly functioning at peak capacity today.

Blessedly, I got out of work early and decided to reward myself for making it through by buying myself a cupcake at the train station (side note: the bakery in Penn Station Newark is god's greatest gift to NJ commuters. Everything tastes phenomenal, and it's CHEAP! It will be my downfall, I'm certain.). I selected an enormous monstrosity of devil's food cake, frosting, and rainbow sprinkles, plopped myself down in the PATH train, and dug in. About halfway through the cupcake, I was haunted by the uncomfortable feeling that someone was looking at me. I assessed my surroundings and confirmed that, indeed, most of the people in my car were surveying me with ill-concealed amusement. And then I realized why:

There I sat, devouring what my roommate Ellis would call a "child's confectionary wet dream," rainbow goo smeared all over my mouth and a gob of frosting on my chin, bobbing around in my seat to the music of Paul Simon, and... still wearing my grease-caked, neon yellow safety vest. Which I had conveniently forgotten to take off after work. And then, to top it all off, I was so overcome by the total ridiculousness of the picture, that I burst out laughing as well. 

What's one more lunatic in the mass transit system? 

In which the port chaplain became a money changer

I am approximately $20 richer than I was at the beginning of the day. Sadly, NYIP has not decided to increase my stipend, nor have I taken on an second job. Allow me to explain.

Today, I went on a Scandinavian car ship. This was, in itself, nothing out of the ordinary: Sweden and Norway transport an awful lot of vehicles to Newark and I, liking my job to be easy, have a penchant for finding my way to these highly self-sufficient vessels. I happened to arrive right during the morning coffee break, so I settled in with a bunch of seaman for some relaxed conversation and imported biscuits (see why I like these ships?). At one point, the chief engineer excused himself from our gathering, muttering some vague explanation about needing to get something from his cabin. Ten minutes later, he resurfaced with a gallon Ziploc bag full of coins from all over the world, which he plopped down on the table in front of me with no explanation, and sat back down. At this, three or four other seaman started proclaiming excitedly in Swedish/Norwegian and excused themselves from the table as well. Not long thereafter, there were TWO full gallon bags of international coins sitting in front of me. Needless to say, I was just a little confused. 

"What am I supposed to do with all this?" I demanded. "What are we supposed to do with it?" was the response. "Every seaman has a bag of coins like this sitting in his cabin. We're flying home in two weeks, and they're too heavy to take with us. You have them!" I kept trying to decline the currency, but they weren't having it. Finally, I decided it would be better just to leave with the stash before the other 19 seamen on board decided to bring me their change as well. 

Feeling exceedingly ridiculous (you'd think I'd have gotten used to the feeling by now, wouldn't you?), I hauled my loot back to the office, where I set to work sorting. Fortunately, it was not a busy morning. It turned out that about half the money was, indeed, American coins. After an intense inner struggle, I managed to resist the temptation to appropriate what would have surely been enough quarters to cover my laundry expenses for the rest of the year, and gave the bag to our highly confused finance guy as a donation to SCI. The rest of it, I decided, was fair game. The end totals:

- $26 Australian dollars

- $23 New Zealand dollars (both of which I gave to our receptionist who, providentially enough, knew someone who was imminently leaving for Australia and NZ)

- 11.27 Euros

- 7.20 Swiss Francs

- 2 pounds 50 pence

...and an uncounted fortune in coins from the rest of the world, including a large quantity of European currencies that are no longer in use (it had been a while since I had seen Deutsch Mark!). We put them in a jar on the desk, bearing the label: "Going overseas? Free money! Take what you need!"

Random enough for you? It was for me. 

Also, I think I sat next to a bank robber on the PATH train. But it was hard to be 100% positive.