New York Minute
Working in publishing, there are slow days between deadlines and there are crazy ones. While more latter than former, when announcements were made that Scion was dropping the new iQ and tC at the New York International Auto Show, a last minute redeye flight and hotel booking later resulted in one of the longest days in recent memory:
12:01 a.m. (Times are all Eastern Standard): After standing in a check-in line so long that it extends out of the terminal, twenty five minutes have passed and I'm still not even in the building. My flight leaves in 39 minutes and I have to check in two bags of camera and lighting gear, not to mention lug around my two carry-ons.
12:06 a.m.: I receive text from Eddie: "At bar by our gate. Where u at?"
12:07 a.m.: I text back: "In line. Not looking good."
12:10 a.m.: A host from Delta asks me whether I'm on the JFK-bound flight and whisks me to the front of the line. He makes magic happen but the lady at the desk asks for $60 to check in two bags. Freaking airlines. Correction: $150. Stupid Pelican case is overweight, tacking on an extra $90 in fees. Should've flown United where I have Premier status.
12:25 a.m.: Make it through security and meet up with my boys Eddie and Gordon. Flustered and sweaty, I find out our flight's delayed. Good thing I ran like a Kenyan through the terminal. On the bright side, at least now we have time for shots at the bar.
1:15 a.m.: In plane, tired and about to take off. Seated in the dreaded "bitch" middle seat, I try to sleep to make it through the rest of the day.
1:16 a.m.: ZzzZzz
1:59 a.m.: Stupid window passenger needs to pee and decides she needs to smack my right thigh to wake me up.
2:12 a.m.: Thanks to Ms. Window Seat, I'm still up. Exhausted, but can't sleep. This sucks.
2:34 a.m.: Still awake. This really sucks.
4:01 a.m.: Sucks times infinity.
6:10 a.m.: We land and get off the plane. I slept an additional 45 minutes, tops. Today is going to hurt.
7:22 a.m.: Everyone gathers their luggage-even my extremely late bags made it-and we make our way to limo service. It's mother f'in cold. Weather report last night said mid-50 degrees with some rain. Feels much colder. Should've packed heavier.
8:10 a.m.: Our driver gets pulled over by the NYPD. Apparently, he wasn't supposed to go straight at the previous light.
8:25 a.m.: I call my hotel room to see if I can check in. It isn't going to be ready for a few more hours, so we check into Gordon's hotel, the W in Times Square. Baller. From his view in the 31st floor, I can see the temperature displayed in LED lights on an adjacent building: 34 degrees Fahrenheit. Weather.com was off by 16 and now Manhattan is in for a treat: pert Asian man-nipples.
9:15 a.m.: We're at the restaurant at the bottom of the hotel and I order an omelet. It comes out and I ask the waiter for Tapatio or Cholula hot sauce. He asks where I'm from. I reply L.A. He retorts that he knew it. Confused, I ask why. He says only people from California and Texas ask for those brands of hot sauce. Eddie and I concoct an East Coast hot sauce distribution idea. [Note to non-Cali and Texan residents: must find Tapatio or Cholula. Tabasco is so 1800s]
9:52 a.m.: Gordon, Eddie, and I take turns defiling the bathroom. Luckily for us and our olfactory nerves, Gordon brought matches.
10:42 a.m.: I call the Sheraton again to see if my room is ready. It is. Gordon has to take off for a meeting at his office, so Eddie and I hop in a cab and head to my hotel.
10:59 a.m.: Holy crap! The Sheraton is more crowded than Times Square! It's practically a fire hazard. Check-in line, thankfully, is short.