Blackout

We were in rehearsal for Irish Rep's "The Streets of New York" in Chelsea, NYC when the lights went out.
We didn't think much about it.
After thirty minutes Charlotte Moore called off rehearsal.
One of my cast mates needed cash for a cab so I pulled out the $20 from my wallet and gave it to her.
"Pay me back tomorrow."
I left the building excited.
Chelsea was coming into the city to hang out with me after rehearsal.
Rehearsal was out early so I headed to Marlowe.
I tried to call her on my phone.
"All circuits are busy."
I walked up to a payphone.
It was dead.
I looked up at streets crammed with confused people.
I pivoted right and saw for the first time that this wasn't just our building and it wasn't a power outage on this block.
It was a power outage as far as the eye could see.
Shit, I thought.
ATM was out.
I try to call Chelsea.
"All circuits are busy."
Oh no, I thought.
She can't come here.
Now I'm nervous.
I have no cash.
No communication.
It's 90 degrees out.
I'm stuck.
Alright, I'll walk to where we are supposed to meet.
People continued to pour out of the buildings.
Everyone staring at their phones in disbelief.
The system had shut down.
I pass Port Authority on my way to Marlowe.
It was a scene out of a movie: a throng of people amassed.
Shut down.
That was not expected.
Try my phone again.
Same. Damn.Thing.
Now I'm hot and sweaty and praying my fiance isn't on her way here.
We're supposed to meet at Marlowe so on I go.
When I get there it's dark inside.
The windows are open.
Marlowe sits below the street so it's cool and feels nice.
The bartender leans in.
"What can I get you?"
"I don't have any money."
"Pay us back next time."
"I'll have a Sam Adams."
The beer tastes good.
Try my phone again.
Nope.
A loud voice declares, "Dude, can you believe it?"
It's Doug Storm, Les Miserables alum from the late 90's.
I like Doug Storm. He's a fun guy.
I'm happy to see a friend but I'm anxious about Chelsea and getting off this island.
"Another beer?"
"One more."
Still no Chelsea.
She's not coming.
I feel a desperate urge to get home.
Like, I'm a strong swimmer I could probably swim across the Hudson, type of urge.
"I think I'm going to go check Port Authority out again."
"DUDE! Are you insane? Nothing is getting out of there. Don't waste your time," says Doug Storm and I think he's right.
I'm going anyway.
So, I thank the bartender, give Doug a bro hug and head back out into the hot jungle of powerless New York City.
Trudging back down 8th Avenue the streets are strewn with sweaty stressed out citizens.
Port Authority looks like something out of The Stand, by Stephen King.
Everyone is trying to get home and nothing is moving.
My shoulders slump.
When my head lifts I see a familiar bus across the street.
A Decamp 66 sits there with a driver inside.
I jay-walk straight to it and knock on the driver's window.
His eyes slide to the right and he nods.
The door "pssshhh" opens and I'm greeted with deliciously cool air.
It's empty.
Soon the bus is jammed and people keep cramming on and when it is full beyond capacity and more the door closes.
In a rich and calm voice the young driver says, "I'm going to take you ALL home,"and we roll.
It took hours.
He went on every Decamp route.
He did it.
To this day I am grateful to the man who took us home.
All of us.

Photo credit Duncan Rawlinson.