Honeymoon in New York, Part One

The Honeymoon started off on a good note. After a morning trying to drag my new wife out of bed before the noon checkout at the St. Paul hotel, we got the hotel to airport service. Wife was happy to be in a cadillac for this first foot of the journey. I was happy she was happy, because she does not fly well.

We got to the airport, and sat around for an hour until the flight boarded. Me playing with my new ring, the first piece of jewelry I’ve owned, and still feeling weird. 

The flight was uneventful. I tend to go to the bathroom right before boarding so I don’t have to figure out how to get to the aisle and down the way to the bathroom on the plane, then try to figure out how to go in a room that is smaller than me. Wife is a different breed, and is guaranteed to get up at some point during the flight, even if it’s only 2 hours. Different strokes for different folks.

We got to LaGuardia, and made our way to the transportation counter. Our travel agent had secured something called a “supershuttle” for us. We did not know what this was, but it was paid for. I gave my voucher to the guy, and he put in our name. After waiting for 20 minutes, the shuttle arrived. A blue van that has three rows of seats for passengers. A group of French people were already inside, which left us the far back seat to ourselves. The driver then took off, and stopped at another gate to pick up four more people, their stroller, and about 6 bags of luggage to cram in the back. He asked wife and I to separate so the four people could have the back seat. “No” said wife, flatly and with finality. The group of four broke up into different seats, and we all wedged in. I put my shoulder bag on the floor to make more room.

Then began the death ride to Manhatten. Us with broken seatbelts and holding on to each other for perhaps the last time. Seatbelts would have been useless anyway with all the luggage directly behind our heads ready to lunge forward and end us quickly in the event of a crash. I’ve seen videos of Calcutta drivers, and they have nothing on New York. Holy shitstorm!

So after two stops, and an hour after getting on, we arrived at the Wellington to check in for 6 nights. This is where the fun really began. 

You should know this about Wife. She spent two years in Boston, which taught her polite midwestern self that she had to become a bitch to get things taken care of. I never got that, and am rather accepting of getting screwed by companies. This is why it’s nice to have her on my side, because we were told upon arriving at the Wellington that a large group of people had missed their flight that day and were staying another night, and therefore there was no room for us. The wellington is a large hotel, by the way, so there was no way that every room was taken by this group, just a lucky few picked, including us. Instead, we would be getting a room for the first night at the Blakely, just across the street and down the road. It's the thin brown building with the blue banner.

Wife: And what will I be getting in compensation for this?

Clerk: The Blakely is a four star hotel.

Wife: But it isn’t this hotel. And we have to lug our shit over there and back?

Clerk: It’s a very nice hotel with a free breakfast.

Wife: And will you be upgrading our room? (She asks questions, but they come out as statements. It’s amazing.)

Clerk: Yes. We’ll be upgrading you to a King.

Me: So if there is a lag between check out there and check in here, what do we do?

Clerk: We should have a room available for you by then. As long as you don’t come back at 7 a.m. or something.

Me: That’s good.

At this point, I realized I had left my shoulder bag on the Supershuttle. It had our laptop, our itinerary, my keys, my cell phone, and several books, including “Catching Fire” book two of the Hunger Games. SonofabitchwhatarewegoingtodoI’mfreakingout! At this point, I stopped being happy-go-lucky and bat shit insane. To my wife’s credit, she took control and said we would get it back. I couldn’t stop the visions of people finding the bag and keeping it.

We lugged our shit over to the Blakely. Wife said she had two issues, One, I had forgotten my bag, and two, that we were told to check in by the Wellington. The clerk said something vague about having someone look into the bag and started to check us in. Wife left to go 411 the supershuttle herself. I told the clerk that the bag was more important than checking in right now, and she sort of goofed on her priority. She was unfazed. As I checked in, Wife stood outside calling Supershuttle. They were less than helpful. They had no record of us being on the shuttle, even though they had put my name in the computer at the airport. I took our bags up to floor 13 (a hotel with a floor 13!) and brought them into the room, a smoking room, and smelling deeply of it.

I went back down to the street, where Wife was spewing venom into the phone, telling them that yes, we were indeed on a supershuttle, it had stopped at the Millenium hotel, then a second stop for the French people, then at the Wellington, even though we were no longer at the Wellington and I had forgotten my bag because of how tightly crammed in we were on the shuttle and it was likely under the second row of seats where I had left it when we crawled out, thankful to be alive. Wife was given a different number to call, and in any event, they wouldn’t be able to figure out who drove us until tomorrow morning.

Wife then did the best thing possible, she called our travel agent and left a message. We spent the night in our smokey room of this four star hotel. The extra star I guess means you get a sink and a coffee maker. Other than that, it was a pretty gross room and we dreamed of bedbugs.

The next morning, Wife got back on the case, this time with a travel agent fighting on our side. In a few hours, they located the driver, but it would cost $50 for us to get the bag back. RANSOM! We sucked it up and paid for it.

At noon, after the free breakfast, and a horrible first day behind us, we walked over to the Wellington with our bags, where Wife tried once again to check in. Our room wasn’t ready.

Wife: Not ready? We were told it would be ready as long is we didn’t come by 7.

New clerk: That’s ridiculous.

Wife: I have to say that this has been a pretty aweful experience so far for our honeymoon.

Clerk: You can leave your bags with the bellpeople and come back at 4.

Defeated, roomless, and crabby, we decided to leave our bags and try to make the best of the day. Wife had left her walking shoes at the wedding, and only had some uncomfortable boots to wear. But, our day started to turn around. On Friday, the day before the wedding, she had gotten a call from the Late Show with David Letterman and we got seats for Monday’s show. The theater was only 3 blocks away, so we walked over to The Hello Deli, she got a picture with Rupert, and we shared a delicious sandwich. 

Biff, from the Late Show, walked in and talked to Rupert a bit. I pointed him out to Wife.  At 2, we lined up as asked outside the theater, got our tickets, and then went to a bar for an hour to wait to go back to the theater. Celebrity sighting: In the line with us was Tony nominated actress Margo Martindale, you may not know the name, but you will recognize her. She was a few people up, but I knew it was her and stared a lot. She seemed pleasant.

Watching Letterman was an experience, especially I think on this day. He started late, and had to restart segments several times due to technical issues and other things. That morning, many of them had attended the funeral of their long-time make up person, who died from a long fight with cancer. Letterman had to restart his tribute to her three times before he could get it right. It was touching. Then Mitt Romney showed up to do the Top Ten List, which explained the security guys in the balcony watching the crowd like hawks. Then Tom Cruise came out, and it was sort of awkward, but fun.

We had a great time, then back to the hotel. We got our room keys, our bags, and trundled up to the fourth floor in the back building. Down the narrow hall to our room, where the keys didn’t work. Last straw for Wife.

Wife: If I go down, I’m going to be bitchy.

Me: Go for it.

She came back with vouchers for four free breakfasts and two working keys. I love her.

The room was adequate. Nothing special that you would expect, and lacking a coffee maker as we have grown accustomed to in the midwest. All in all, it was Meh, but liveable after having me search for bedbugs.

Wife: So the clerk from last night was there.

Me: Oh?

Wife: She said that she wouldn’t have ever said we could check in at 7 a.m.

Me: That’s not what we said she said.

Wife: She said that she said we wouldn’t be able to check in before 7 p.m.

Me: That makes even less sense. She said we, alone, couldn’t check in until 7 p.m. when anyone else can check in at 4 p.m.?

Wife: Yes.

Me: That’s fucking nuts.

Wife: I know.

Me: So, we’re checked in now. I’ve got my bag back. Why don’t we start this whole honeymoon over?

Wife: Agreed.

Next time, Part two, where things start to go right.

Got hitched, now pulling the cart *rimshot!*

It’s been 8 days since the wedding. The crazy began about 5 days before, Fiance waking at 5 in the morning with a new detail she needed to get taken care of RIGHT NOW SO GET OUT OF BED AND HELP ME. The real test of marriage is the week before the wedding. Emotions are on a knife edge. And as the guy, all I can do is try not to let my jaw drop too much each time she comes up with some new thing to obsess about and flip out over and just quietly follow orders in order to appease the voices now in control of her head.

It was all I could do not to constantly hug her friend who came two days before the wedding to stay with us and divide the crazy appeasement. It was like having a fellow POW, where you look at each other and you just know you are both thinking, “OK, this is nuts, but we are both going to act like she is completely rational and take care of this new problem.”

The best weapon in a wedding arsenal is to have two completely trustworthy and awesome people. People who aren’t the best man and maid of honor, so they can work behind the scenes and kick ass. Fiance gave these two people the power of delegation, a battle plan, and let them take charge. So when the day came, all we had to do was enjoy it.

And we did.

I got to have breakfast at Mickey’s Diner in St. Paul with my buddies. Then I went to get a scalp massage and quick style, my caterpillar eyebrows were trimmed, and then I had 3 hours to sit around waiting.

The wedding was wonderful. Fiance wrote the rough draft, and our last-minute change officiant took it and made it perfect. We included a smudging ritual, a hand wrapping, we all walked down the aisle to “Falling Slowly.” Her father, a pastor, gave us a lecture during the service about how we weren’t doing enough for Christ, but even that didn’t derail the fact I got to hold hands with my honey and look into her eyes for 30 minutes with friends and family watching. Then we did our first dance to “One and Only” by Adele. We’d practiced a few basic moves in the weeks prior, yet still managed to goof a bit here and there (It’s an incredibly slow beat!). 

We invited about 250, and 100 showed up. Some were surprises, like my college roommate who drove up from Chicago just for me. But most were friends of our parents, and not into dancing. About 10 altogether were not married. When the time came for garter and boquet tosses, the DJ made it clear for any supporters to get up and participate. Still only 4-5 people did. I danced alone for several songs, or tried to wrangle my 3 year old niece into dancing when I could peel her away from the tossed boquet she was having fun pulling apart.

Wife told me later how she came upon two of my mother’s friends in attendance as they were discussing how if they wouldn’t let their sons marry a woman they hated.

That one stung. Particularly after I had sent my mother a heartfelt letter explaining why we moved, why I love my fiance, and why I need her support. The only response so far is that she has always supported me and we’ll talk after the honeymoon.

On the plus side, my uncle and aunt (on dad’s side) came with their children. Things were touch and go there, since her father is doing very poorly. We heard they weren’t coming the day before, then on the day they called to say they would be able to make it. Wife and this aunt have a special bond born out of a common shunning by my mother, and are very close because of this. My cousins on that side were the only ones who came, and it was because of my wife. My wife opened my eyes to how my family had always been off with theirs. Ours was the only bridal shower they were invited to of three kids. I’m glad to have a new closeness with these family members because of how accepting and open my wife is.

People were leaving, and things died down at 10 p.m. enough for me to ask the DJ for one last song. We walked back to the St. Paul Hotel, and the next day, we were off to New York. More on that soon.

By the way, if you need photography services, you can’t go wrong with Bill Alkofer. He’s amazing.  The food was through True Tastes with Chef Jeff, another awesome dude.

Horrid Torrid

Torrid is a clothing outlet for women who have difficulty finding clothes that fit in ordinary stores. Stores like Torrid and Lane Bryant meet a need that can be a savior for people like my fiance, who battle the war to find clothes that make her feel good. The prices are often higher, which is accepted because there is little alternative. 

However, the service has much to be desired.

Last winter, we first visited Torrid in the Mall of America. Fiance spent 90 minutes trying on various clothes with help from the staff. I spent 90 minutes wishing I wasn’t there, because I’m a guy, and getting me into the Mall of America in the first place is a major coup. Sitting outside the fitting room while fiance tries on clothes is about the most boring part of being a couple. I bring books, or my podcasts, to pass the time.

Fiance finally found several items that worked, and we went to the counter. However, she then discovered that she had misplaced her wallet. The clerk behind the counter went blank, an unconcerned manner that couldn’t care less about our predicament. Fiance and I searched all over the store, all the fitting rooms, anywhere it might have been. The clerks went about their business. I asked if there was some security they could call. The clerk said there was a number, but wouldn’t call it. Instead, fiance and I walked out of the store to go find an information station. The security person said that the wallet had been located and turned in at another station.

I nearly peed in relief.

We got the wallet back. A nice mother and daughter had found it on a mall chair and turned it in. They left no names. Everything in the wallet was in order. 45 minutes of panic was eased, no thanks to Torrid. We didn’t go back to purchase the items.

After 10 months, fiance had put the incident behind her enough to return. This time, however, she figured she would bypass the store and just order the clothes online. She was down to one pair of useable jeans, which would not last through the upcoming honeymoon, and Lane Bryant no longer carried her brand. We got the order in the mail. She tried on all the clothes, about $700 worth.

While a few things worked, most of it didn’t. The jeans sometimes fit around the waist, but were about a foot too long. In any case, they didn’t fit, and could never fit due to the fact that we are done growing taller.

So we returned to the Mall of America last night to return the items and give Torrid another shot. I left fiance to do her thing while I searched the Mall of America for an oil candle wick we need for the wedding. 

Candle wicks are the one thing you can’t find at the Mall of America I discovered. You need magnets? There’s a magnet store. You need oxygen? You can go to a store and pay them for the pleasure of breathing fresh air. But you can’t find a candle wick. Even at the Yankee Candle store, which only carries wax candles and accessories.

I came back to Torrid after my fruitless search. Fiance was at the counter, she beckoned me over.

Me: Hey

Fiance: You need to go outside, or you will just get mad.

Me: OK.

Later, fiance would recreate the story for me. Here’s how it went...

Clerk: Some of these clothes can’t be returned.

Fiance: What?

Clerk: Some of this is on clearance, and can’t be returned or exchanged.

Fiance: But there was nothing on the website that said that. I woudn’t have risked it had I known.

Clerk: I know. The website doesn’t let anyone know what is non-refundable.

Fiance: But you can’t return it?

Clerk: Correct.

Fiance: I bet people get really mad at you about that.

Clerk: Yes, but I am just a clerk. I can’t do anything about it.

Fiance: So how much is this stuff?

Clerk: $147

Fiance: I have to just eat that?

Clerk: What?

Fiance: So I have to just throw away $147 on clothes I can’t wear or return because your website doesn’t indicate what is clearance and what is returnable?

Clerk: Yes.

Fiance: My fiance is unemployed. We don’t really have the ability to just let that go.

Clerk: You are welcome to call customer service.

Fiance: I’ll do that.

Clerk: I hate my job.

So congratulations Torrid! You have successfully created a business to cater to larger clientele who depend on you to feel good about how they look. They pay more for this service, which is understandable. But that wasn’t enough. You had to go ahead and set up a system that allows them to buy things that can’t be returned, that can’t be exchanged, to take away more of their money. Please, take some more of our money as we try to go on a honeymoon, as we try to find me a job, as we go over budget on clothes because we’ve been wearing our old ones so long they have holes and finally had to come crawling back. Please, take our money. God knows we don’t need it for things like food and such.

The interview

On Nov. 18, I interviewed with a major health provider in Minnesota. The job basics were exactly what I have been doing over the past 10 years. I haven’t seen a job offering that matched me closer. 

Her: Tell me why you want to work here.

Me: Well, if I can get a bit personal, I’ve had a long history with healthcare as a patient. I’ve also worked with teens with mental or behavior issues at a group home, so I am very familiar with the issues that can arise in providing care. More than that though, my fiance was on the North Dakota state health care for the past two years. Between nearly 500 in premiums and 500 in medications each month, we were in a dire situation. With her new job, and your health care plan through them, her medications were $108 for three months. I understand exactly how important health care is to people, and I want to use my skills to help your company communicate that to members and stakeholders.

Her: How do you feel about writing articles for newsletters?

Me: That’s been my main job for the past five years. I am well versed in working with diverse groups of people and clients to deliver key messages.

Her: What do you not like about your last job?

Me: Well, most of the time when you are working with subject matter experts, when you give them the copy to look over, they will change a word or sentence here and there. But every now and then, you get back your piece and it’s been completely changed, and for the worse. At times like that, you take a breath, put it away for an hour, then come back and go through the changes one by one to see if it is a necessary change for accuracy or a change for their personal preference. I’ve never had an issue with subject matter experts once I go over the changes and explain the need to create readable pieces for a general or specific audience.

Her: What did you enjoy?

Me: I love working with experts in their fields, learning new things, and sharing the cool things they do with others. I love taking complex information and making it understandable, which is probably why I enjoy teaching as well. I love meeting people with different points of view and finding out how they approach the world. I get jazzed working with other writers on communication issues and how best to approach them in new ways.

Etc.

I sent a thank you letter three days later, the Monday before Thanksgiving. Today, I emailed the recruiter/screener who first talked to me before the in person interview. I got this back.

“Thanks for reaching out to me in regards to the Sr. Communications Consultant position.  At this time, the manager is pursuing interviews with additional candidates who more closely match the needs of the department.  I apologize that you had not been notified sooner. Please let me know if you have any questions and I wish you luck in your job search.”

I emailed her back.

“Thanks for getting back to me! As I have been doing everything required of the job for longer than the requested length of time, I was wondering what area I was seen to not meet. As I continue to apply for jobs, I would like to be able to address such misconceptions before they arise. Thanks for your help, and best of luck with your search.”

I’ve sent similar requests in the past, without the slight aggressiveness about meeting the needs of the department, but about 50 percent of the time, I don’t hear back. The other 50 percent say I did nothing wrong.

I’ve ranted about this before, but it’s SOOOO frustrating to be doing everything right, to interview well for jobs I’m more than qualified for and would kick ass in. After 3 months off the job, I am anxious to tear it up, kick some ass, and work my butt off for whoever hires me. As it is, I had such a good feeling about this job, I don’t know what to do now. I feel like I wouldn’t be qualified to do my old job at this point.

I’m getting married in less than two weeks, have less than 40 bucks to my name. I got a call from a recruiter to send my name to another organization for a job that starts next week. At this point, it’s hard to get my hopes up.