Can You Think Of Any Place Worse To Start From Scratch Than Winter in New York?
This story takes place as I was coming back from Atlanta last Friday. I was exhausted, I was downright spent, I'd spent 24 of the past 48 hours traveling, and I was ready to not be in a fucking airport. I finally make it to my gate, bags packed to the brim, one step away from exploding (it's a fucking metaphor TSA), and I plopped down in an open seat- ready to do some online research and dive into the familiar darkness that is blog life.
"Hey man, so do we all get on the same plane?"
I look up from my really important research, "Excuse me?" I ask back.
"Are you going to New York?" the man across from me asks, he has earbuds hanging from his ears, and it appears that all of his possessions are in a trash bag that lies by his feet.
"Yeah, I'm going to New York, I'm on the 1:55 flight", I respond.
"Ok cool, I'm on the 3:30 flight, but it looks like I go through St. Louis, want to look at my boarding pass?"
I do want to look at his boarding pass, and his claims are correct. We are in different flights, we are facing very different journeys, but our destination city is the same.
"Yeah man, looks right. You have to go through St. Louis first but then you'll fly from there to LaGuardia"
"Lagardia?"
"LaGuardia"
"Lagardia?"
"Sure", I answer back, not so much confused as I am intrigued as to why fate has crossed our paths.
"Where are you going?" the man asks, "I'm going to MaNHATtaN", in a mispronunciation that can only be accurately expressed through the above combination of upper case and lower case letters.
"I'm going to Brooklyn", I answer back to my new best friend, suddenly wondering if he's ever been to MaNHATtan before.
"So, if we're both going to New York, can I just get on your plane?"
"No, definitely not. They check all of the tickets at the door"
"You think I could squeeze by?"
"Nope. They're pretty strict about that type of thing"
"I've actually never been on an airplane before" the man confesses to me.
"Oh really? Yeah they're alright." I answer back unsurprised, trying to hide my disgust for all forms of air travel.
"Yeah, I'm going to New York. Never been, but I'm starting from scratch."
"Oh really?" I ask him, confused as to why anybody would ever want to move to New York.
"Yeah, and get this, I'm broke!" The man says, for some reason, excitedly.
"Oh yeah? New York is um, cool" I stumble as I try to hide my loving disgust for the concrete bunghole I've spent the past 3 years in. I try to find better words, a more excited attitude, and I try to quiet the inner monologue of the aspiring playwright turned uninsured blogger. I give that a good try for a second or two and all that comes out is, "New York is really cold dude."
"Oh yeah, I heard that. I'm not too worried about it though" The man chirps cheerfully, putting his earbuds back in and nodding to the music.
The voices inside my head scream. What the fuck is this guy thinking? New York is a different planet than Georgia. People are meaner. Streets aren't named Peach Tree. Our state fruit is the bodega. I maybe, MAYBE, could understand starting from scratch in our absurdly expensive, sometimes downright inhospitable city, in May. But January? You've got to be out of your fucking mind.
Suddenly the earbuds are off, and the familiar voice asks, "Hey man, you gonna be here awhile?"
"Yeah, what's up" I quip, not wise enough to check the time.
"You mind watching my stuff while I go get something to eat?" He asks, "Please don't take anything"
Well at least he's in the right mindset for moving to New York, "Sure thing, man. I'll watch it."
I don't know what it is, but for some reason I feel like this guy's not trying to blow up anybody with his trash bag, and I'm willing to bet my life and all of the other lives at gate C2 on that belief as well.
The guy hasn't been gone 30 seconds when I realize what time it is. It's 1 PM, and my flight's due to board in the next 15 minutes. Now with anybody else, I'd have just moved the bag to the gate check in. With anybody else, I'd trust that they would know where to check for their bag if they couldn't find it. With anybody else, I'd trust that they'd be mindful of the fact that my flight would be boarding soon. But with this guy I've got no idea! I don't know if he knows where the restaurants in the airport are, of if he knows that there is, indeed, a gate check in. And what am I supposed to do, just lose the guy who's moving to a frozen wasteland's only possessions? What kind of monster would that make me? So I rapidly pack my bag, not paying attention to what goes where, or what straps fasten to what pieces. I just pack as quickly as I can and take off after my most recent best friend. I sprint down the concourse and find him leisurely strolling about a hundred yards away from the gate. I stumble my way breathlessly through my explanation that I might not be able to watch his bags for that much longer because my flight is boarding. He just laughs me off and says, "Man you scared me, man."
It's only after I've landed in LaGuardia safely, after the man returned to the gate moments before my flight boarded eating a pepperoni stromboli, after my twice-delayed flight finally took off, that I checked my pack to find that a bag full of medical supplies was missing.
I retrace my steps and realize my medical supplies must have been flung from my improperly strapped bag during my 100 yard dash to catch my friend in the concourse. Somewhere in Atlanta airport, about 25 yards from gate C2, my small 18-year-old fanny pack full of diabetes supplies died an anonymous death. And I can do nothing but submit a lost-item form to Southwest Airlines and smile at the fact that fate has had me again. As to my nameless friend, he starts anew in one of the most miserable winter climates in the world, and I, I start to reassemble a bag full of medical supplies just in time for my parent's health insurance to expire. We are very different, but also startlingly alike. He must figure out how to put enough money together to find a place to live, to hold down a job in the freezing weather, to find a way to be happy in the concrete jungle, and I have to find a way to test my blood sugar with toilet paper and a fork. I wish him the best of luck, and I only hope that he found my medical supplies by Gate C2 and sold them.
