It's been a long, hard struggle but we've reached the last installment of our series on a recent trip I took with my loyal friend Amber to Las Vegas, Philadelphia and New York. If you're just joining us, you'll want to read about Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, my Philadelphia Addenda, Day 7, Day 8, Day 9 and Day 10. Whew!
Friday, June 1, 2018
Okay, last day. We packed, checked out of the room, checked our luggage at the bell desk and headed out into New York for a few hours before the limo would pick us up back at the hotel. But before we did all that, I had to deal with the whereabouts of that package I shipped back to Los Angeles just before we left Philadelphia…
As you may recall, I thought I was so ingenious. Before we left Philly, we put all our soiled Vegas and Philadelphia clothing into a big box. I sealed it up and carried it down to a 24-hour FedEx-Kinko's in the lobby of the Philadelphia Marriott where we were staying. This would free us from having to tote all that laundry around for the rest of our journey.
Since my tuxedo and Amber's party dress were in there along with other costly-to-replace items, I put $500 of insurance on the package. This meant that it would have to be signed-for on the other end. They told me it would arrive at its destination on Friday, June 1.
Problem: My house-sitter might not be around a goodly part of that day so there'd be no one to sign for it there and then. So, clever me, I had them ship it to my mail drop — an address I have for packages 'n' stuff. There'd be someone there all Friday to accept delivery, plus it's a FedEx affiliate so they stop in there anyway. Smart, huh?
During the week, I tracked the package online and at some point, the Estimated Delivery Date turned into Saturday, June 2. Don't know why, don't know how but it did. New Problem: My mail drop is only open a half-day on Saturday and there's no FedEx pick-up. Ergo, there might be no one there to sign for it. I called FedEx and a nice lady said I could switch it to my home address (where I would presumably be all day, unpacking and recovering) for fifteen bucks extra. I went for this and you will read later why this was not a good idea.
Our hotel was near Times Square, which is now quite different from what it was when I visited the area in the seventies and eighties. Then it was mostly hotels, restaurants, Broadway theaters, strip joints and porn shops. Now, it's mostly hotels, restaurants, Broadway theaters, national chain stores and tourist hustles. Some might argue the value of the upgrade.
I like it better because in the seventies, to walk three blocks there was to be solicited by twenty-four hookers. (The math was like three blocks x eight hookers per block.) Now on each block, you get accosted by three people who want you to buy a bus tour of the city, a guy pointing to a nearby store that can upgrade your cellphone, at least one person hawking tickets to some Broadway show, two different guys trying to sell you tickets for a comedy club that evening, a couple who just plain want handouts…and a couple of versions of Elmo who'll pose for a photo for a good tip.
The area is full of costumed characters selling photo-ops and even a few uncostumed ones. The famous Naked Cowboy (he actually wears tighty-whities) was there and he may even be franchising the bit because at one point, I think I spotted two of him. There are also "showgirls" wearing g-strings and shoes with the rest of their outfits consisting of body paint. If I were a woman, I think I would tell my parents I was doing porn or hooking or maybe even working as a Trump spokesperson before I would tell them that I was spending my days standing topless in Times Square with my chest painted blue, charging people ten bucks to take a photo with me. Then again, given what I do for a living, maybe I have no right to criticize someone else's career choices.
Speaking of Trump: He was there, at least as a reasonable facsimile, and someone told me there were a couple of him — guys dressed as The Donald, posing for photos. While Amber dashed into the Walgreens for something, I found myself sitting on a bench next to a pretty good Trump imitator. He had the suit, the too-long tie, the body language, the hair and the smirks just about perfect. I said to him, "Okay, what percentage of the people who want a photo with you love Trump and what percentage hate him?"
He responded it was 20/80 — 20% want to pose proudly with him as if they met the genuine article, 80% want to be kicking or strangling him or giving him the finger. A few, he said, splurged to pose with him and one of the topless showgirls. He said he was pretty sure that the 20% were from way-outta town. A third party hearing our chat said, "And the 80% are all New Yorkers?" He said no. He thought very few New Yorkers availed themselves of his service at all but that the ones who did were all in the 80%.
The other person asked what he charged for a photo. He said, "Five, ten, twenty…whatever someone wants to give me" and I made some smartass remark about how he was just a good negotiator as Donald. Wish I'd gotten a pic with him to post here.
Amber and I went to the Marvel offices and went out to lunch with Senior Vice President of Publishing Tom Brevoort and Senior Vice President of Business Affairs and Talent Management David Bogart. If you want to know what someone who has either of those titles does, I think it means they go to lunch with people like me. There are probably other responsibilities but that's the vital one.
We talked 'til it was time for them to go do those other, less-important things and for us to head back to the hotel and from there to JFK Airport. Figuring a late Friday afternoon drive there could only be a monstrosity of unmoving vehicles, I allowed plenty of extra time but it wasn't needed. We arrived way ahead of boarding time.
The flight back was great. I keep reading online how JetBlue, our favorite L.A./N.Y. conveyor, is cutting back on service, cutting back on legroom, etc. If they are, they haven't gotten around to every flight yet. It was all very comfortable…and the flight attendants were delightful. If every flight I took was that pleasant, I'd travel a lot more.
The next few days were taken up with (a) sleeping, (b) unpacking, (c) catching up on mail, (d) sleeping some more and (e) trying to find out where the hell my FedEx package was. The lady on the phone on Friday had said that if I paid the fifteen bucks extra, they'd re-route my package to my house for Saturday delivery. When it didn't show on Saturday and the online tracker kept saying "Delivery Date Unknown," I began speaking to FedEx reps, the supervisors of those FedEx reps, the supervisors who supervise the supervisors of those FedEx reps…
All told me that I had it all wrong; that when you change the delivery address of a package, everything starts over. One insisted, "You couldn't possibly get delivery on Saturday because when you change the delivery address on Friday, it's like you shipped it out the next day…and the class of mail you selected isn't delivered on the weekends on Monday. The soonest you could possibly have it is Tuesday."
The online tracker was never updated but I finally found the package on my front doorstep late Tuesday afternoon. No one had signed for it and the box looked like they'd just had a cargo plane do a fly-by of my house and dropped the package from a thousand feet. Luckily, there's not much you can do to dirty laundry so my tux, Amber's dress and all the other stuff were intact.
It was a great trip but I don't think I'll do that again — hit three cities in eleven days. It didn't strike me until we got home how tiring it was…and how much of my time it consumed. To the eleven days, you have to add what must have totaled four or five days of prep time — making reservations, buying things that were needed for the trip, packing, etc. — and at least a week of operating at half-speed and two-thirds awake upon our return. I never got jet-lag before but we've now been back for more than two weeks and part of my brain is still on Eastern Daylight Time. My foot though is all better.
Amber enjoyed every minute of our journey too…and she was real good, as not all of my traveling companions have been, of being ready to leave for things as per the schedule. A large part of the fun was watching how much she enjoyed the shows, the meals, the sights, the get-togethers. About the only thing I regret is that I didn't take more photos…but I have two to share with you. The first one is of Amber across the table from me in the dining area of the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia…
The other is of the other most beautiful thing that was in my field of vision at that moment: The turkey plate I got there…
Thank you for coming along on our trip with us, at least the way you did. Sorry I didn't save you any turkey…and I'm even sorrier I didn't save me any of it, either.