Arrived at bus stop just as bus was leaving: doors were closed. I knocked, but she didn't open them. She saw me, my yellow jacket and white hair. The light turned red. She was stuck. I continued to knock and implore her to let me on. (At that hour--evening--and that place-midtown--5's come rarely.) She resolutely refused to open the door.
But mercifully, a #7 crawled up behind her. "Aha," thought I, "I'll take the 7 to 66th and change for the subway or the 104, since the 5 will have already passed that stop."
I stopped knocking on the 5 and ran for the 7. Its driver, who had seen what happened, let me on without paying. Another old woman got on too and we sat together. She commented on the nasty 5 driver.
We got out at 66th and she said, "The 5 hasn't come yet." She knew this, she said, because she had asked the 7 driver to pass the 5 if he could, because she needed to catch it, and he had done so.
When the 5 shambled up, I told my new friend, whom I would never see again, that I was not going to pay the fare, and to watch out, clear the decks for trouble. We got on, I made no effort to pay, and the driver said nothing. She figured I'd either paid my small senior fare to the 7 driver and all she'd get was a free transfer, or else, she figured she bett' not mess with the old bat in the yellow jacket, because from that you could lose 20 minutes.
My lady and I sat together, and she was impressed with my strategy, and I was impressed with hers.
So I made the whole trip home without paying a fare and felt obscenely good.
New York is a city of drama. If you look at it right, every day is full of tiny adventures and celebrations.