TBagBay to NYC

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TBagBay to TO. I haven’t been gone for 2 hours. I’m like some sort of weirdo magnet when I’m travelling. She’s in Row 7. It is the world’s loudest woman. She is yelling. I am two rows ahead of her and can hear everything she is saying clear as day. I can’t concentrate on my book because she is so loud. And none of it is interesting. Why is that? The people who are the loudest are also the dullest. So she is going on and on. Just mindless, I hate to say it, woman talk. The exact kind of woman I don’t want to be. I bet she’s wearing comfortable shoes. “We don’t spend a lot on Christmas. Really, it’s Christmas every day, you know what I mean”. No, no one knows what you mean. I think it means that you are cheap and give lousy gifts.



At the baggage I take a perfect picture of her. Perfect! And I was totally right about the shoes. Might have even been Birkenstocks. But Ed says I can’t post the picture because she’s probably from TBagBay. He might be right. But a picture of her from behind couldn’t be bad, could it...



So we are flying Porter. My new favourite airline. No stress, no craziness of Pearson. But also, no magazine stand. What kind of airport doesn’t sell magazines? I need frivolous reading materials. Where else would it be acceptable to be seen reading Cosmo? And more gum. I always need more gum.



We arrive at the very slick Newark Airport. Everything is a breeze. The flight is perfect, it’s on time, there is no line up at customs. Then we get to the cab. Everything grinds to a halt. We are trying to get to my niece’s place in Brooklyn, in an area called Red Hook. But no one has heard of Red Hook. Which gets me thinking, maybe people who live in Red Hook can’t afford cabs???? Oh boy. I’m not really an adventure traveller. I mean, I will stay in a four star hotel if I have to... That’s about how much I like to step outside of my comfort zone. After a very mosquito infested weekend in Gimli in a tent, I decided that this body needs all the stars it can get. And real mattresses. Of course, that was pre-marriage. No need to be sweet and polite now.



So we get into a cab. The driver attempts to enter the zip code into his GPS. 1 1 2 and that’s as far as it gets. Repeat. Now he tries the street name. D E G. Do you have the zip code? I say 11231. GPS says 1 1 2 F. ‘Nope, that’s not it’. Repeat. 10 minutes later the street is in! The GPS goes on the dashboard and off we go. He has never heard of this area. Oh Boy. And right into a traffic jam. So the driver has the seat so far back that my legs don’t fit. I’m all sideways in the seat. I’m texting my niece to make sure we are heading in the right direction. The driver is also texting someone. Yikers. We get to the apartment. It wasn’t exactly a great service kind of experience. So I pull out $90. The bill is $82. Isn’t that enough of a tip for a guy who didn’t know where he was going, didn’t speak to us, made me lift in my own bag and was texting while driving??? I think yes. Ed gives me the look. The don’t be a cheap snob look. $100!!!! We get out of the cab, and pull our bags from the trunk. Step over the baby mattress that is on the sidewalk outside of the apartment. Welcome to Brooklyn!!

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