De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

Let me present the evidence:

My ATM card went missing. Still had the old one that I hadn’t cut up, but couldn’t find the new one that actually allowed me to withdraw cash.

This wouldn’t have been a problem except that I was working in New Jersey this week, and I only had $5.55 to pay the toll for the Holland Tunnel. The toll is $6.00.

Was asked to stay late on the job to make revisions for the client, when everyone else was wrapped and told to go home for the evening.

Therefore, I made it to a local bank branch at 5:38p.m. I frantically held up my ATM card to show the branch manager that I had a major problem. He neither opened his locked glass door, nor did he offer to issue me a temporary one that I could use in the ATM.

The local supermarket and Walgreens were both already closed. No chance for a cash back purchase.

Used mapquest to plot a trip back to the city via Staten Island to avoid a tie up on the Turnpike and traffic in downtown NYC.

End up in similiar gridlock in downtown Newark.

Feel like every lane, except the one I’m in, is moving. Started to take it personally.

Get lost with the directions given by mapquest, end up near Newark Airport.

End up going through the Holland Tunnel anyway.

Tell toll booth attendant, “Go ahead take a picture of my license plate. I lost my ATM card. Anticipate receiving a ticket in mail with a $30 surcharge on the $6 toll.

End up back home in Brooklyn at 8 p.m. and I can’t find a parking space to save my life. Cruise around neighborhood for a full 30 minutes before I end parking at 1st street and 7th avenue. I live at 5th avenue and 7th street at least a mile away.

I finally enter my apartment and I am overwhelmed by the smell of the cat box (I did that one to myself).

After I feed everyone, I attempt to fill the tub with hot water to soak an ingrown toe nail…nothing but luke warm water comes out of the faucet. Resign myself to the fact that my feet will just have to hurt.

Drink two glasses of milk and fall asleep before I realize I haven’t turn on my alarm.

Wake up an hour late.

It’s raining heavily, and traffic is once again tied up. Get soaked before I realize that I forgot my umbrella.

Make apologetic phone call to director, luckily everyone else is late because of the rain as well.

Thank my lucky stars for bad weather.

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It was the end of a week long business trip in San Francisco. I had worked, shopped and dined to my heart’s content. Today was the day I made the arduous journey back to New York City. A plane ride from one end of the US to the other is the equiviant of flying across the Atlantic to another country. It’s going to take you all day and night, so just embrace and prepare for the inevitiable long hours and hassle.

Today would be no different.I made it to the airport very early. This was NOT my own doing. I had the good fortune of being put in a cab by the hotel’s bellhop. The cabby was very nice, although slightly smelly, even by NY standards. His impatience with traffic and other drivers reminded me of home and the hurried pace that I had left a week earlier. I was going to see my animals and see if what damage, if any they had inflicted on my apartment in my absence.

The cabby sped on the ramp of the 101 south and started to tailgate a motorcyclist in the far left lane. I watched the speedometer spike, as he wized in and out of traffic. I told him nicely, “I have plenty of time to make my flight.” His reply,”Oh this is the legal speed ma’am. I’m only going sixty-five.”

What he didn’t realize was that I could see the speedometer from the backseat and he was going eighty. I said a little prayer and reassured myself when I saw an electronic traffic sign that claimed the airport was only 11 minutes away with current traffic conditions.

Sure enough, I was at the terminal five minutes later. He graciously unloaded my suitcase when I tipped him five bucks. I was two and half hours early for my flight. If this was NY, then that would be just about right, with current security measures. But San Francisco International Airport, although small and somewhat crowded, doesn’t suffer in the same way.

I checked in and paced up and down terminal looking for any distraction. I hate flying. So I bought a smoothie, took my anti-anxiety meds and resigned myself to the inevitable crowding, noise, and chaos that was waiting to unfold.

2pm

I was grateful to be seated at the front of the plane. There is nothing worse that being in an economy class seat next to the back, near the engine or the lavatories. However some cruel trick of karma always places me directly behind the passenger who not only reclines his or her seat, but thrusts their entire weight into it, causing the seat to bend back much farther than the four inches it is suppose to go. Although I’m a petite to average sized women, it is always inches from my face. It is annoying to say the least when that person seems oblivious to this fact.

Sure enough I was seated behind a father and his son. He reclined his seat to it’s breaking point and then wedged his arm between their seats so that his forearm was now in the face of the passenger next to me. This was going to be a long long flight.

The air stewardesses began the beverage service. A half hour into our flight, and evil intentions were already creeping into my brain. What could I do to change this situation and send a clear message that this was intrusive and inconsiderate behavior? I have in the past asked fellow passengers to please pull it forward a little, with very little success. Usually if someone is this intent on their own comfort over everyone elses, they don’t want to hear you complain.

The stewardess pulled her cart down the aisle. She paused at their row, gave him a slight look, smiled very politely and asked him what he wanted to drink. She continued to our row. Now, my usual inflight beverage is coffee. I don’t really care if it tastes good. I just want to stay awake for the flight. I always order coffee. She asked the other two passengers what they wanted while I stared intently at back of his head, with an an ever growing, pleasant sense of courage welling up inside of me. I opened my seat tray and it fell down with little room between it and my stomach. She looked at the tray and looked at me and asked me what I wanted. “Water please.” She smiled, and I swear she knew exactly what I thinking when she asked,”Would you like ice with that?” “Yes…please.” I replied.

I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination, but as the passenger who was in the aisle seat, I had to get up several times to allow the passengers in the middle and window seat to go to the lavatory. Each time I did, I grabbed onto the seat in front of me and pull myself up while precariously and not always successfully balancing a full glass of ice water.

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