By REID DAVIS

ATLANTA -- I should have known better.

Once again, I nearly ended a fun-filled weekend in New York City by getting stranded there. Only this time, it was completely my fault.

Typically for a Sunday night, nonstop flights from New York to Atlanta were packed. As I am a Delta employee, things are kind of hand-to-mouth when it comes to getting on board - to quote my boss, "they load pets" before someone of my stature. I decided not to risk it, and Sunday morning, I confirmed my flight on the 6:30pm Delta Shuttle to Washington National. That flight would put me in position to catch the 8 p.m. flight from DCA to ATL and if I missed that, I could catch the 9 p.m., which had 80 available seats.

So far, so good.

I spent the afternoon on the Upper West Side, exploring the Columbia Univ. neighborhood -- decided to catch the M104 bus down Broadway to see more sights. It would be slower than the train, but with more local color.

That was my first mistake.

The bus was much slower than I'd figured, making every local stop. I should have jumped off at Columbus Circle and hailed a cab downtown. But no, I'd planned to run through Times Square, and was determined to do so, even though it was getting late.

That was my second mistake.

Eventually the bus came to Times Square; I got off, walked to the subway and rode down to Chelsea, where I was staying. I was heading for the Delta Water Shuttle, a ferry service to LaGuardia that picks up on the East River at Wall Street (5:30), 34th Street (5:45) and 62nd Street (5:55).

After I entered the subway station I asked a guy for the time. (Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I didn't have a watch.) When he told me it was 5:20, I figured Wall Street was out of the question.

So I quickly walked uptown from 28th Street, where I was, to 34th street, aiming to catch the crosstown bus to the East River. As luck would have it, the Knicks were at the Garden and seemingly everyone in creation was shopping at Macy's. Let's put it this way: I wasn't the only person waiting for the bus or trying to get to the bus stop.

And then it turned out that the bus I caught only went to 2nd Avenue. As we approached the stop, I again asked for the time. "5:40." I bounded out of the bus and galloped three blocks toward the water, expecting to have the cheery red white and blue Delta ferry waiting for me.

No ferry.

And no solid answers from the nearby parking lot attendant.

I shrugged, figuring I'd missed it, and hailed a cab on the FDR service road. The road was choked with traffic so we doggedly chugged along at about 20 mph, passing under the 59th Street Bridge.

The cabbie had never been to the 62nd Street ferry terminal before. and neither had I. So I gave him directions by a highly technical means known as "following the signs."

Again, no ferry. And at this terminal there was a sign saying, "Delta Water Shuttle," so there was no doubt I was in the right place.

After dismissing the cab, doubts of another kind began creeping into my mind. With a pounding heart I reached into my bag for a piece of paper. Sure enough, it said, "The Delta Water Shuttle departs from Manhattan...to La Guardia's Marine Air Terminal, Monday through Friday..."

Monday through Friday?!?!?!

THAT was my third mistake.

Remember the scene in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" when Cameron screams? If you had been on the east side of Manhattan about 6 p.m. that day, you might have heard something similar.

I quickly realized that I had to do two things: change my reservation to the 7:30 Shuttle flight (and 9 p.m. flight from DCA) and get the hell out of Manhattan to the airport. I decided not to plunk $30 on a cab, which might have been my fourth mistake, but wasn't.

Instead, I hauled my shell-shocked booty as fast as possible to the subway station at 59th and Lexington. On the way my bag fell open, dropping CDs, magazines, interview notes and church bulletins all over the Second Avenue sidewalk.

Don't let anyone ever tell you that New Yorkers aren't nice! A kind woman ran around gathering up my papers from under wheels before the wind took them uptown while I tried to stuff everything back in the bag. I would have given her everything in my wallet, I was so grateful.

Disaster averted, I entered the subway station, found a pay phone to change my flights, and quickly caught a 4 train to 125th Street in East Harlem. After leaving the subway, I found traffic on 125th crawling toward the Triboro Bridge even slower than FDR Drive. Eventually an M60 bus poked along and I climbed aboard.

The M60 rolled through Astoria, Queens at 7 p.m. And of course, the Delta Shuttle Terminal is the last stop the bus makes. For a 7:30 flight, this was cutting it to the bone. An excruciating quarter-hour later, I bounced off the bus and tore through the terminal.

With minutes remaining, security tried to hold me up because I didn't have a ticket. (If I had ever come close to getting beaned with a nightstick, this might have been it.) Fortunately (for the guard!) I talked my way past him and bounded up the ramp for the gate.

Then the gate agent, who was not in a good mood, told me she didn't have my reservation.("No, really, I TRIED to get here on time and I really did list for the flight! Honest!")

She sent me a few steps away to the ticket agent, who quickly took care of business. The gate agent had already shut the door to the plane but she actually opened it again to let me aboard -- the first good thing that had happened all evening.

Memo to self: I will always leave for an airport earlier than necessary.