chapter XVII

The Gem in...Jersey?

Yes, indeed, New Jersey!  The gem in The Garden State is Cape May, Exit 0 off of the Garden State Parkway.  Coming from a snobby New Yorker, this is a major compliment.  I think it's better than the New York beaches. 

The Big H and I are here for a couple of days with friends, celebrating July 4th.

I have to say, I wish I had discovered this place earlier, but am glad to be here now.  It's beautiful, fun, not all Hamptons-hoyty-toyty (though I did love the summers I spent there in shares...definitely not material for this blog).   I should probably not even be writing about it, though I am pretty confident that my blog is not yet have the "New York Magazine effect" on anything it mentions (meaning, once something is written up in our City's fair namesake mag, it is no longer accessible or fun).  So I take the chance and post here.  Anyone reading who lives within a hundred miles should check it out.  The Blue Pig, the Ebbitt Room, The Virginia, and the beach.  Tomorrow we are getting a real old fashioned July 4th with a band, hot dogs, kids everywhere.  I may even get my face painted.  Not a Manolo to be seen, and thank goodness for that.

Ahh, that ocean air.  Gets to me everytime.

Smarty Takes a Bus to the Airport

God bless the airlines.  A trip was scheduled.  A simple trip from NYC to Dulles, VA.  You would think we had asked for a shit storm...

It all started with a little rain and a 7PM flight on a Friday.  Was it going to be possible to get a taxi?  Well what did I care - I had a smarter plan!

So I left the office at 4:55PM thinking I am being smart taking a BUS to the airport.  Yes a BUS.  Not a taxi, not the subway, not a car service.  A bus.  It was cheaper, more efficient and would definitely be on time.  I am a smarty.

Oh how wrong I was.

The bus practically broke down.

I smelled like an ashtray because the bus smelled like an ashtray.

The bus had a BEEP BEEP BEEPPPP BEEEEEEEEEEP it kept making.  Apparently it did not have enough of some kind of "pressure."  The driver was radioing headquarters "I don't have enough pressure."  Headquarters said "Try to get more pressure."

But nevermind!  Stinking like ciggies and going mad from the BEEP BEEP, we were somehow on our way...but to where you might ask?

Hell!  I would reply.  We were on our way to hell. 

Why hell?  You might ask.

Well, halfway into said bus ride, I get a fateful call.

"Hello!" Says a Pollyanna-like passive aggressive super sweet computer voice.  "HELLO Ms. Dixon, your flight is canceled!!"

Mind you, at this point on the this-is-a-good-idea bus, we are screaming towards LGA (screaming after sitting in dreadful traffic for 30 minutes) with no hope of turning around.  My husband points out that indeed yes, had we taken a cab we could have turned around.

Well, yes indeed TRUE.  My brilliant idea to take the BUS. 

So what to do when your flight gets canceled and you still have to go to the airport?  Well I spend a lot of time in airports and consider myself an expert.  Airports can ROCK if you are fun.  We think we are fun, so it kind of rocked (not really, but occasionally I like to lie to myself.  Self delusion is a very important tool.)  When in doubt, have a beer.  So we did.  We had a beer.  It was great.  Great beer.  We also had pizza.  After an hour and a half of "Chillin' at LGA," husband said "I need to get out of here."

So we got in a taxi (not the BUS) and went home.  We had one regret.  We forget to get massages in the Brookstone massage chairs.  Next time. 

Another Day on American Airlines

To the untrained eye, a 6 hour flight must seem dull.  But for me, it is a time to notice all kinds of crazy things!

• A child on the plane is crying because his foot is swelling (Swelling?  This is not good).  His mother is concerned.  A woman comes over to help, claiming she is a homeopath.  The mother looks more concerned.  The flight attendant calls for a doctor.  The homeopath looks enraged.  The doctor arrives, swiftly dismisses the homeopath.  An altercation is narrowly avoided.  Said child is given ibuprofen and told to rest.  Mother looks relieved.  The homeopath stews.
• A woman one seat up from me across the aisle is on her fifth crossword puzzle.  She looks highly determined. 
• The movie starts.  It looks foreign.  I am bored immediately.  Dear god, have I really become that provincial?  No, just missed the States after a three week absence.

I observe that there are several types of flyers out there.  A few:

• Spacehogs who immediately claim as much territory as possible.  The take the entire overhead and the area under the seat.  If they are your neighbor, forget about the armrest!
• First time travelers who arrive on the plane typically wearing tank tops and daisy dukes, with midriff blazing all the way (I cannot help but to release a snide chuckle knowing they are setting themselves up for hours of shivering);
• Meditators…these are the ones that amaze me – they get on the plane with NOTHING to read or look at.  I mean, who can sit there for hours staring at the seat in front of them???  I kindly conclude they must be buddhas rather than numnuts. 
• Scouts – those that were definitely Boy or Girl Scouts as children.  They arrive with ample reading, enough beverages for a safari and square meals.  A woman two rows behind me has set herself up with a three course lunch.  No joke.  She started with a lovely looking cucumber and tomato salad, followed by baked ziti with freshly grated cheese and a side of crisp green beans.  She finished it off with tiramisu.  Tiramisu?  Impressive.  I neglected to bring anything to eat, arrogantly assuming I would be upgraded (uh, yeah).  Piddle to that.  It was not to be.  So I sit here now starving and almost through an entire tin of raspberry flavored hard candies.  I will surely come to regret this later.
• Finally, and my personal favorite, arrive the Bad Children.  Not real bad children, though there are plenty of those, but adult bad children.  Those that upon sitting crank their seats back all the way.  Others in this category immediately jump on cell phones to discuss NOTHING for all of us around to hear.  People in this category feel they are above the rules.  They are my favorite because as a lifetime follower of rules (how dull, I know, but I am a first born child and cannot help it).  I relish in seeing them get lectured by the flight attendants (am now revealing side of self that is better left unsaid, that petty hahaha! side of me).  Sweet revenge for those of us that never whispered in class, keep quiet in movies, and dutifully replace our seats to their full, upright positions for landing and takeoff. 

So what is “crosscheck” anyway?

Someone is passing gas.  How rude.  We are in a closed environment, people.  Almost as bad as letting one fly in an elevator.  Inexcusable.

I find myself amazed by my mother.  She flew for a living and managed dealing with all these people.  How wonderful.  No wonder she is a good mom.  The patience of Job, I say, but took no sh*t either. 

The sundaes are being served in Business Class.  I feel robbed.  In steerage we don’t get sundaes.  But there is a lovely snack box for sale.  It has cheese, crackers, dried fruit, turkey stick, cookies…halt. 

Turkey

STICK?  We should be ashamed as a country. 

Turkey

stick.

Where have I been in life thus far...

Canada
Bermuda
England
Ireland
Morocco
Puerto Rico
Jamaica
Dominican Republic
Chile
Greece
Turkey
Israel
France
Denmark
Germany