Planes, Trains and Car Services

The impromptu game of tag that had erupted in the middle of the street was the only visual I needed that Summer was here. That and the fat Puerto Rican man at the end of the block in the wife-beater barely holding up a folding chair. Ah, Summer. As I manuevered my way down the block, a rogue Mr. Softee truck nearly cost me my hip. The same song repeated itself over and over again. So this is Summer in Brooklyn, I thought to myself. Interesting. The same basic Summertime thematic elements were there as in other places, but New York had a certain attitude that other cities simply did not possess.

New York City had only known my smiling, West Coast face for about a month. Moving here from Seattle was one of the craziest, scariest things that I had ever done. I had a few motives for changing coasts, most of them completely selfish, but oh well. There was always the primise of chasing my long, lost love across the country in hopes of winning him back. (There was only a half-truth there). In the simplist terms possible, I wanted a change. A big one. Seattle had become increasingly small and depressing. I didn't really have any friends there anymore and the people that I kept running into were the ones I wanted to avoid the most. The love of my life had left a year prior and I saw no need to stay in a place that didn't really want me anymore. There was also the prospect of going back to school that made New York a desirable destination.

Lucky for me, I was still friends with my long lost love. We had kept in touch via phone calls over the past year. Our relationship had had its ups, downs, and backflips. He was the only person in the city that I knew. I had actually been planning on moving to the city for awhile, so when I told him that I had my plane ticket he was excited for me. He knew how important this change was for me and was happy to help out in any way he could.

The day of my flight I was all nerves. I kept freaking out that I had forgotton something: my ID, my phone, my ticket. In my mind, everything was missing. Once I said goodbye to my parents and boarded the plane, I knew that this next chapter in my life was going to be starting in about six hours or whenever my plane touched down at JFK. I was all butterflies. The plane took off without any problems and I began to relax. It was a morning flight, so I got to see the sun rise, which I hadn't really seen from a plane before. My window allowed me to see all kinds of things. For instance, now I know why Minnesota is called the 10,000 lakes state. There really are 10,000 lakes. Who knew?

Six hours later and one plate of crappy plane food later, I arrived safe and sound at JFK. Now I had to try and get myself together. After filing off the plane and making my way to baggage claim, I had to figure out how to get to Martin's place. He had given me his address, but told me to call him when I got in. I waited for what seemed like forever at baggage claim until I realized that I was at the wrong one. Shit, shit, shit! I thought I had everything figured out. After running around and asking about half the airport staff for directions, I made it to the correct baggage claim and my luggage was the only luggage left. Close call. Three dollars into the pushcart machine and I made my way to get a cab.

My luggage was threatening to take over me and the cart. Never before had I travelled with so much luggage, four pieces to be exact. There were a few nice airport employees who helped me out and tried to calm my nerves a little. I had called one of those airport shuttles to pick me up, but had been waiting for well over 45 minutes. It took me awhile to realize that I had given them the wrong terminal number. I was almost in tears when a really nice man asked me if I needed a taxi. I said yes and followed him. To a minivan. Hmm. After i asked him for his taxi license, he explained to me that in New York, there are car services that drive mostly towncars, but occasionally minivans and other larger vehicles. He welcomed me to New York and we were on our way.

So, Martin gives really bad directions. Always has. I try not to hold it against him. the driver and I go around in circles for awhile and I am getting increasingly frustrated. Martin gives me a direction that I can understand. "Meet me on the corner of Havemeyer and Marcy. I'll be right there."
I relay the direction to the driver and there we are. I open the door and my heart jumps a little. It had started to rain a little, but there was Martin in a t-shirt and jeans ready to help me with my bags. Stepping out of the van a go to give him a hug. As he hugs me back, there is a little bit of an awkward silence. It's been awhile.

Grabbing my bags, he looks up and says, "Let's get this stuff inside and go grab some beers." And I think to myself, who can argue with that?