Goddamn nail clippers. Never around when you need them.

You see, three days ago, I snagged a small nick in a fingernail on my hotel suite’s comforter and ripped it clear through to the quick. And this was unfortunate, because six days ago, my wife reminded me to take the nail clippers off my keychain, and I assured her I would. But, I didn’t. So, five days ago, the TSA did their jobs and took them away, so I couldn’t terrorize the passengers on the flight from Atlanta to New York. And when they were taken, I thought to myself, “Oh well. They’re just nail clippers. I’ll get another set later.”

And then, the nail rippage happened. And there I was, clipperless and bleeding from the left index finger, wishing I’d just taken the damn things off my keychain. And really, it wouldn’t have even been an issue, because I always carry a Leatherman tool in my laptop bag. And that tool has a small fold-out set of scissors, which would have let me handle this split-nail thingy with at least some bit of efficiency...

If only I hadn’t forgotten to pack the thing in my checked luggage, instead of leaving it in the laptop bag when I went through security. Which was a super fun experience, by the way - getting both your nail clippers AND your Leatherman tool taken from you by the same smirking smart-assed punk who I just KNEW was going to take both of those items home for himself... “You must not have watched the news in the past, oh, six years, huh?” he said... Stupid jerkoff.

Anyway, the fact remained, I was without recourse for this injury I had sustained to my left index finger. But I did have something that would at least manage the issue for the evening - a miniature roll of duct tape, which I always carried in the same laptop bag that I carried the Leatherman in. So, I was able to tape the top of my finger so as to keep the nail from snagging on anything else, until such time that I would be able to secure nail clippers.

Which, reasonably, could have been the next morning from the hotel gift shop.

Or, from any of the four convenience or general stores I passed on the short 4 block walk to the office where I was consulting.

Or, while walking back to the hotel, or from the gift shop that evening, or any of those places any of the three days it’s been since I ripped my damn nail across my stupid finger. But no, each and every time I arrived to the office, I’d remember that I forgot to get some - same when I’d arrive at the hotel from the office. Nevermind the fact that it’d probably taken just as long to ride down the elevator to the lobby and JUST BUY SOME instead of washing the wound, packing toilet paper into it, and duct-taping my fingertip every night.

And, maybe if I had done the sensible thing, I wouldn’t have been standing in the Duane Reade pharmacy on the corner of 42nd and Lexington Avenue on the afternoon of July 18, 2007. But I didn’t, and so here I was.

And I was actually quite overjoyed. It was in that Duane Reade on that afternoon that I discovered that Jello Pudding Pops are still in production - they had a box of them (chocolate-vanilla swirl...Sooooo good...), and so I now had a box of them. They also had bottles of Coke Zero and packages of pizza-flavored Combos, so I had those as well. And some bottled water. And, of course, nail clippers. All of these things were just sitting gingerly in my plastic shopping basket while I stood patiently in line to check out.

And that’s when life turned into a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.

There was a rumble... It sounded like a subway train rolling past a platform. Only, this wasn’t a platform, and there weren’t any trains outside the window. But there it was, a rumble that started low and felt distant, but very quickly grew closer and louder... And louder... And louder still, until all you could hear was the high pitched shrieking that, I’m pretty sure, only a panicked New York female can produce... And the rumbling.

And then, the rumbling began to drown out the shrieking until it was all you could hear, even in your own chest and head. And with that, came the shaking. The whole building was vibrating and items were falling off of store shelves. I was convinced I was in the middle of an earthquake, which is unsettling all by itself - until you begin to think, as your mind might in the middle of such an event, with or without your permission - that New York isn’t prone to earthquakes. So, this probably wasn’t an earthquake... Unless it was, in which case we’re probably about to fall into the ocean and the Statue of Liberty was about to look like it did in The Planet Of The Apes. But it probably wasn’t.

Which could only mean one thing, of course... Terrorist attack.

Well, that’s what everyone was thinking, I assure you. Even six years after the fact, New York was a city on pins and needles the second something loud and rumbly happens... And understandably so. But I wasn’t satisfied with just knowing that there was something big going down... I had to see what it was. So, I dropped my pudding pops and my Coke Zero and my Combos and my nail trimmers to do what any sane, sensible person should do when he can’t even feel his own lungs moving air in and out of his body due to the deep, hollow tones his chest is making due to all the rumbling:

I went straight for the huge glass windows to see what was going on.

Just about the time that I reached the windows, there was an incredibly loud explosion - and it would have to be incredibly loud to be heard over all that rumbling. This was much more than a pow or a boom or a bang. This was a presence... It was a shockwave that was first felt and then heard. In fact, thinking back on it, I don’t even know if I actually even heard it. I may have just felt the power of the blast, and my brain took over and implanted memories of a loud explosion. Who knows. Either way, I instinctively shielded my head and ducked the moment it happened.

Everything went dark for a moment, and I froze with panic. The world was one loud noise in a sea of darkness. It took a second to realize I wasn’t quite dead yet, and that I had merely covered my eyes. So I opened them and immediately looked outside to see a massive - and I mean MASSIVE - fountain of steam, smoke, water and rock pouring out of the center of Lexington Avenue.

It was at least thirty stories high - it shot higher than the buildings on both sides of the street, and it had to have been at least twenty feet wide in diameter. And while I thought the rumbling from underground was loud, this was even louder. And just as I regained my senses, I felt myself ducking back and shielding my eyes again, as a huge manhole cover and a bundle of rock and debris came raining down just in front of the store.

I was scared out of my mind.

And then, for some reason, a moment of clarity came over me... I wasn’t dead, that much was for sure. Sure, I might die, due to whatever the hell caused this gigantic explosion in the middle of the street - and if not the cause, then surely the aftermath. But then again, I might not... Either way, it’d be cool as hell to have this on video.

So, just a few seconds after the ground was ripped asunder and plumes of smoke and steam and rock flew out of it, I whipped out my phone and began filming from inside the store. And as I watched the explosion on the street with my left eye and the explosion on my phone’s screen with my right, I began to realize... If this is going to be any good, I’m going to have to get closer.

So, I stepped outside, where I was immediately greeted by a wave of heat. Even from half a block away, the temperature had increased by at least thirty degrees - whatever was pouring out of the ground was hot as hades. I tried taking some steps forward, and with every step, it got hotter and louder.

So I stopped and took a few seconds of video, about fourteen or so, when the situation reminded me that there were chunks of road being ripped out due to the force of the steam and water constantly rushing out of the ground... And what goes up, must come down. Unfortunately for me, it came down right across my left cheek and into my left shoulder. And boy, did that smart.

So I retreated a bit and stopped my camera to check myself out. I was still alive, and while my shoulder hurt, I had just became the on-the-scene videographer of this insane explosion in the middle of Manhattan. So I had to grit my teeth and deal with the situation that had just arisen.

I steeled myself and restarted my phone’s camera, trying to get as much footage as I could. I ran through a good two minutes before the police and fire engines arrived. I thought they would immediately demand that I shut down and get the hell out of there... But oddly enough, they were far more focused on ensuring that the non-suicidal folks were all safely away, so they let me, the retarded moron with a cameraphone, stick around and get some more footage. It was only when I pulled out my laptop and cellular card that they decided I’d gotten enough of an exclusive for that afternoon and beckoned me leave the premises.

I joined a crowd of people who were watching from several blocks away, safely behind a NYPD barrier that had been set up to corral the spectators. I pulled out my laptop so I could begin uploading the video to Fark.com, and some people asked me why I was bleeding and soaking wet - had I been down there? So I showed them the video on the laptop and we all talked about how insane it was that this was going on... Did someone attack the subway system? Was there some sort of wreck underground?

“Nah,” said a New York firefighter standing near us. “Old steam pipe, is what they’re sayin... Just a malfunction.”

“So it’s not an attack?” I asked.

“Nah.”

“No wrecks, no derailed train...”

“Nah.” he said, smacking his gum. “Just a pipe.”

Well shit.

I had exclusive coverage of a faulty steam pipe. WOW. But hey, it was still pretty exciting video... And the thrill of actually getting it - man, did I ever feel alive. Not being able to hear myself think was probably the reason my mind allowed me to go and do something so incredibly dumb. But hey, it wasn’t the first dumb thing I’d ever done... And especially not the first dumb thing with such a lousy payoff.

I closed up my laptop and packed it away, and began the short trek back to my hotel. I walked inside and began stripping down to get cleaned up, when I felt the slightly worn and gunky duct tape on my left finger.

I bit my lip. I ground my molars. Without even hesitating, I put back on my mucky, stinky shirt and soaking wet jeans and marched down to the hotel gift shop to solve this stupid fingernail problem once and for all.

* * *

If you’d like to see the video I shot, check it out on YouTube. It’s garbled and grainy, cause my phone’s camera sucks. Check the video response links to see the other vids, they all link to one another.