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.