THE BLACKOUT OF AUGHT-THREE

August 14 at 4:10pm I was sitting at my temporary desk at my temporary employer working on my temporary job, which happened to be filing membership cards for the Transport Workers' Union, Local 100. The job I was brought in for centered on a large collection of membership cards that were found in the RTO (Rapid Transit Office) division. These cards are not supposed to be kept anywhere but the office I worked at on 80 West End Avenue; but somehow these cards were discovered and the union wanted to know what they were. So I was spending that week sorting through them and discovering that many were duplicates of cards already in the files and many did not match the information on the computer concerning their status. But such odd circumstances were not my concern; all I was hired to do was file, and file I did, along with praying that I would not be subpoenaed to testify about the union's accounting practices.
At the time mentioned above, I was sorting through the Ns and the lights flickered for a moment and they went out, as did both computers on my desk. The Compaq just went dead, the other, older computer, which housed the membership information, had enough juice in it somewhere to squeal. It took me a moment to figure out where this noise was coming from. It sounded like a UPS warning, but I couldn't find such a contraption. I wondered if it was the old computer and switched it off and discovered I was right. The office buzzed with people speculating what happened in the building. Another employee came in and said that it was more than just our building. One of the assistants, Frankie, looked out the window and confirmed that traffic was already backing up on West End Avenue as cars were proceeding slowly and carefully though the intersections. More speculations sprang, mainly that Bloomburg's career as a city leader was truly in the toilet.
About 4:13pm another employee entered the office and said that security wanted us to evacuate the building. We were on the top floor, which was only the sixth. Our office manager, Rosemary, began demanding for calm and insisting that we all grab our belongings and head to the stairwell. She barked the necessity to remain together so much I half expected her to insist we all hold hands. Fortunately, that never came to fruition. Another bonus was that there were windows in the stairwell so at least we were not descending in the dark.
On the street, Rosemary insisted that we stay together so she could account for our safety. She then promptly disappeared. I stood talking to Bri, the other intern from my agency, she was twenty-one and seemed visibly shaken. The other secretaries were mothering her and I saw no need to be another useless there, there-er. We waited for the power to be restored and looked at one another uselessly. Rosemary returned with the news that the blackout was the entire region. People argued with her that it was impossible and she argued back, one of her favorite pastimes I noticed. Now she began trying to figure out how to get us all home. I thought about where I was and where I could go. I was scheduled to meet a couple of friends at the Lion's Head Tavern at 6:30 at 109th and Amersterdam. Not yet realizing the scope of the blackout, I decided to walk uptown to the Tavern and wait the thing out. So I started walking the forty-five blocks.
Along the way, I encountered average citizens directing traffic at several intersections, including Broadway and Amsterdam, one of the most insane intersections in the country when the lights are working. Traffic seemed to be obeying the established laws of taking turns for the most part. Every bus I saw was packed to the windows with people attempting to get home. People hollered and begged at taxis to take them home. Once I got into the eighties up on Amsterdam, things calmed down a bit. People had their cars on the sides of the street with the radios on listening to the news. It was at this point that I learned how great an area was affected. I almost turned to start walking toward the Williamsburg Bridge, but determined that I would probably not make to Brooklyn until dark and I did not want to try to traverse the three miles from the bridge to my apartment in the abyss, I kept walking uptown and hoped for the best.
People seemed to be in fairly high spirits, all things considered. Lines began forming outside stores to purchase flashlights, batteries and candles. Crowds were also gathering in bars to start what would be long lasting festivities. One bar I passed had a completely open front. The folks inside were a little quiet, as though speaking attributed to the heat. A woman stepped out of the bar and faced the group. She held up a camera and called out "Okay, now everybody look hot and pissed off!" She then snapped a picture.
I made it to the Lion's Head without incident. I sat down at the bar and was greeted by the owner, Mike. He said the taps were still cold for now, but they wouldn't last. I opted for a bottle of Coors light instead since I could see it in the ice. Fortunately, Mike's ice machine was completely full before the power went, so he had a huge stash. I had arrived at the bar around six. Within a half hour, my friend I was meeting came in and we started reveling in the situation. As the evening went on, we noticed a regular man directing traffic outside. At first he was just waving cars through with his newspaper. A cop car pulled up and we suspected they would relieve him. Instead, they handed him a reflective vest and two orange flags to help him in his chosen duty. We mused at the elevated feeling of importance the man must have felt.
After a period of time, we heard the sound of people cheering in the street. We turned and looked out the large windows in time to see an eighteen-wheeler. It was a flatbed. All over the back of the flatbed were people catching a ride and waving to the folks on the sidewalks, sort of a second-and-a-half parade, if you will. We continued to enjoy the bar, even though it was extremely warm. The bartender was only charging for every third beer and that made for much consumption of it. Another couple of friends turned up unexpectedly, already hammered on their own. And we spent the night enjoying their drunken company. Although one of them clearly needed to be cut off as his answer to someone asking him for directions was "Beats the hell out of me, it's all black out here!!" Mind you 1) the sidewalks are full of people and 2) we are in Harlem. Once he started heckling the police for not being able to get their flares lit, I decided it was time to head inside. In addition to his ribbing, I could actually see stars over Manhattan, something which hasn't been possible since the Grant administration, and that was just making everything too apocalyptic.
One man kept complaining that no ice cream trucks had come by. Apparently a Mr. Softee would usually come by at night to sell soft serve yogurt and crack. Almost as if conjured, the truck appeared. Mike stepped outside and said "There's Mr. Softee, get him!" Thus causing the no longer Good Humor truck to peel off.
About 2:30 in the morning, my friend Jay and I decided to go to his apartment and try to sleep in the heat. We got there to discover his roommate and neighbor in considerably good spirits, mainly because they had been consuming them: almost an entire bottle of vodka.
I flopped down on the living room futon and tried to sleep.
The next morning, I awoke to discover power had been restored to the apartment. I ignored the pleas of the mayor and turned the AC on, I'd had enough. The radio reported that power was only partially restored and the subway would not be running until eight hours after all the power was back up. I decided to walk over to Broadway and try to go bus by bus until I got home to Bushwick, Brooklyn.
Every bus stop I walked to was overflowing with people. Every bus that went by couldn't take any more riders. I decided to just walk until the situation improved. It didn't. I walked a hundred twelve blocks to the Williamsburg Bridge and then over it. Along the way, I noted that there was no indication that the power had ever gone off, except in those areas where it was still out. A big difference was the number of people around. The tourists were obviously peeved that this had dared to occur during their vacation, but the New Yorkers were thoroughly enjoying their snow day in August. It seemed as though everyone pretty much behaved themselves. On my long walk, I only encountered two indications of any looting. Up in "SOHA," there was a Radio Shack that someone had thrown a trashcan through the window. The idiot had done it before the sun went down, so the police just put a guard in front of it all night. The other was a McDonalds that someone had unsuccessfully tried to break into. They failed to break through four windows. What they hoped to get out a fast food place where none of the food was cooked escapes me. Otherwise, everyone was enjoying playing hooky. In fact folks were treating one another better than normal. While on the Brooklyn side of the Williamsburg Bridge, I noticed some people cooling off by an open fire hydrant. They looked up at those of us on the bridge enviously watching them. One man stepped down and directed the flow of water up to the walkway on the bridge. People ran over to the side to catch some of the spray.
The bus situation wasn't any better in Brooklyn, so I thought I would head to a friend's place that was closer than mine to at least rest and get some water. Fortunately for me, he was home; fortunately for him, my arrival heralded the restoration of power to his neighborhood. I sat for about a half hour talking with him and calming my feet down which were rather upset with the task they'd been asked to do. My friend told me a bus to my neighborhood stopped right outside his door. I decided to give it a shot since I was completely exhausted and I wasn't looking forward to walking through the industrial area of East Williamsburg that separated where I was from where I wanted to go. I always regard the area as a no-man's land whenever I passed though it in a car and I had no desire to see it any closer.
The bus arrived shortly and was rather empty, after about another ten minutes, I was home. My roommate had a "friend" visiting that week. They had decided to take advantage of the darkened world to take advantage of each other. They were too "busy" to even notice that either the power had come back on or that I had come home.
The next day I went on line and entered the address of where I walked from and to and discovered it was a distance of eight miles. Easily the longest hike I had ever undertaken, especially in clothes meant for office work. Another difference between this trek and my other hiking experiences was that Zion National Park didn't have bodegas every block to sell you water and Gatorade when you ran out.
I would say the whole experience wasn't too hideous, although I really could've done without the walk.