the scribbler

Thank you Larry.

LarryU

As promised, here is the rest of the report.

Born at the Right Time

Me and my buddies we are travelling people
We like to go down to restaurant row
Spend those Euro-dollars
All the way from Washington to Tokyo
I see them in the airport lounge
Upon their mother's breast
They follow me with open eyes
Their uninvited guest

Never been lonely
Never been lied to
Never had to scuffle in fear
Nothing denied to
Born at the instant
The church bells chime
And the whole world whispering
Born at the right time

- Paul Simon


Me and my buddies we are travelling people and we like to go down to Cité. And that's where we found ourselves later that evening, reunited in celebration of life in a time of so much death and loss. It was both energizing and cathartic, rendered even more so by the attendance of Gaynell, the purser from my prior night's flight and now an honorary FlyerTalk member. I have to admit, after attending to a VIP (Very Irritating Passenger) such as myself, I was almost a little surprised that she showed up. But for several hours that night, every one of us could think happy and peaceful thoughts and distract our wounded spirits and consciousness from the recent tragic events, at least for a while.

After a wonderful evening of food, wine and friendship, we dispersed into the drizzly midtown evening, a few of us wandering in the direction of the NY Hilton, where I had booked a room that night. Once in the lobby, a security guard politely asked to see my ID and room key before granting me permission to enter the nearly empty 2000 room hotel. As a result of myriad cancellations in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attack, the normally bustling lobby seemed like a ghost town. The hotel's occupancy had dwindled to a mere 20% and the executive lounge was now closed indefinitely:

Exec Lounge at the NY Hilton is Closed

Quite frankly, I have never really much cared for the staff or rooms in this rather mediocre hotel and the offering of a fairly decent executive lounge was its primary raison d'être. Shortly after I checked out the next morning, I canceled an upcoming reservation for Monday and called Starwood customer service and offered to book a room at the Sheraton Russell as long as they agreed to waive their ludicrous $5.81 per day energy surcharge. At the NY Hilton, I figured, the official attendance on Monday would be 20% minus one. By the time I ventured outside, there wasn't much of a taxi line and I was soon picked up by Mohammed the Tax Driver, who was more than amply protected by a huge American flag emblazoned across his rear window and somewhat smaller ones adorning each side of the cab.

Paranoia Blues

I fly into JFK
My heart goes boom boom
I know that customs man
He’s going to take me to that little room
Oh no no
Oh no no
There’s only one thing I need to know
Whose side are you on
Whose side are you on
I got the Paranoia Blues
Knocking Around in New York City
Well they know you for a nickel
and they stick you for the extra dime
Any way you chose
Your bound to lose in New York City
Oh I just got out in the nick of time
Well I just got out in the nick of time

- Paul Simon

After a very busy week of work and a very boozy week of play, it was finally time to flee suburban New Jersey and head back to Westchester to rendezvous with my driver. For those of you familiar with the region, I typically drive along route 287 north and then traverse across the beautiful and serene Seven Lakes Drive through Harriman Park towards the Bear Mountain bridge. While en route, I could see that some of the leaves were just beginning to reveal a tinge of their other underlying pigmentation. As is customary, I was alone in the park, my drive witnessed only by a small flock of wild turkeys, a few white tailed deer, and I presume millions of black-legged ticks and their spirochete symbionts.

I have navigated this pastoral conduit every few weeks for the past seven years and it usually takes about 70 minutes to cover the 60 miles from Parsippany to Croton-on-Hudson. As in most of my earlier drives, I was making some very good time but this time I ran into problems when I crossed the Hudson river and arrived in the vicinity of Peekskill. Route 9 southbound was completely blocked by police and all traffic had been funneled into a small side road, seriously ill-equipped for the mass of cars and trucks that quickly began to create a mile long backlog. After an additional half an hour of uncertain negotiation along unfamiliar back roads, I finally completed what would ordinarily have been a mere five minute journey. I reached my destination at about 10:15, a bit tight for my planned 10:30 pickup. But my driver was also somewhat delayed and I soon grew a little antsy when he failed to show up on time.

When he finally pulled up at about 10:50, he explained that he had also been stuck in traffic on northbound route 9A. As we drove south, I could now see the opposing traffic backed up for miles as we sped past. Near Pleasantville, I watched as the police were pulling trucks off the road for closer inspection. Boy, I am certainly glad cars cannot have bombs. As I thought back about the impediments of Peekskill, I finally figured out the cause. These detours were triggered by fear of an attack on Indian Point, the nuclear power facility that had been erected in northwestern Westchester many years ago when I was growing up.

They say nobody's ever beaten the Van Wyck

- Elaine Benis

We encountered two other monumental roadblocks along our journey to JFK. One was a multi-mile backlog comprised of northbound traffic approaching the Whitestone Bridge. It occurred to me that the Long Island Expressway's reputation as the "world's longest parking lot" was now in serious jeopardy.

We were actually doing relatively well until, of course, we reached the Van Wyck. Even during the best of times, this sluggish little excuse for a highway has proven to be a nearly insurmountable challenge and today was no different. But at least it was not in the worst shape ever; that record is still held by a trip six months ago in which it took us nearly an hour to crawl along the five mile approach to JFK. I figure all our government needs to do is to trick all the terrorists into using the Van Wyck; they would probably be trapped there forever. And perhaps they could do something about the AirTrain boondoggle too.

We were confronted by a final roadblock at the threshold to JFK but inbound traffic was relatively light at that time of day. In addition, the detoured trucks were all directed off to the side towards the nearby Ramada so they were not much of an impediment to traffic. Before arriving at terminal 7, I asked my driver how much his business has been affected by the recent tragic events. He told me that I was his first customer in two weeks! How very sad, I thought; when do the little guys get their bailout?

The last time I flew out of terminal 7, I waited in line for over fifteen minutes at an empty check-in counter staffed by a solitary agent, who yacked on the phone the whole time and refused to make eye contact with me. I eventually became so perturbed that I finally shouted out "Is everyone at this airline on strike?", much to the amusement of the nearby BA personnel. After another ten minutes of customer disservice, I was ultimately permitted to check in.

This time, things were different. I was still the only passenger in attendance but now all check-in stations were fully staffed and I had some difficulty choosing amongst such a huge plethora of check-in options. Today's check-in agent was very pleasant to deal with and it turned out she even knew Gaynell, seemingly everyone at UA does. I told her that I was astonished to see so many people on duty today, especially in light of my experiences at this terminal several weeks ago. I was also quite surprised to see that my flight to SFO was scheduled to depart from terminal 7 because all SFO-bound flights typically depart from terminal 6. She explained that UA was in the process of abandoning terminal 6 and all of the agents had been consolidated here that very morning.

UA Pulling Out of JFK Terminal 6

As UA continues its seemingly inexorable slide into a pale shadow of its former self, this certainly seems like a wise and logical move but I was still a bit stunned nevertheless. I quickly realized that things had come full circle. I remember flying out of JFK on the very day UA first opened terminal 6 and now I was flying out on the very day it was being vacated. I fondly recall the lavish festivities organized to commemorate the momentous occasion several years ago. The area by gates 1-3 were filled with throngs of happy customers and the party was serviced by wait staff plying all in attendance with copious amounts of food and drink. It was quite a classy affair, hosted by a once classy airline. United was rising and the skies were still friendly. There hasn’t been much cause for celebration lately and it was especially so today.

I passed through a nearly empty security checkpoint, casually observed by bored-looking college kids outfitted in camouflage paraphernalia, calmly toting unloaded M16s. Boy did I feel safe. The entrance to the RCC was a hectic scene of bustle and commotion. The area by the front desk was filled with throngs of people but none of them were customers. Four concierges sat in attendance but there was nobody to check in. Two employees worked quietly on some of the terminals installing new software. A few of the formerly carnation-adorned first class concierges were today dressed in jeans, scurrying around stacking boxes of junk recently evacuated from terminal 6. Several management types were huddled together, presumably to decide for whom the axe tolls. There was a bit too much hubbub in my club so I slipped into a vacant conference room where I could seek the sound of silence and await my flight in peace and solitude.


[This message has been edited by LarryU (edited 11-02-2001).]

LarryU

Have a Good Time

Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland
But I think it’s all overdone
Exaggerating this exaggerating that
They don’t have no fun

I don’t believe what I read in the papers
They’re just out to capture my dime
I ain’t worrying
And I ain’t scurrying
I’m having a good time

CHORUS: Have a good time

Maybe I’m laughing my way to disaster
Maybe my race has been run
Maybe I’m blind
To the fate of mankind
But what can be done?

So God bless the goods we was given
And God bless the U. S. of A.
And God bless the standard of livin’
Let’s keep it that way
And we’ll all have a good time

- Paul Simon

By about 1:45, I finished up my third G&T, which I had mixed myself in a nice tall beer glass. For some reason, I was feeling very relaxed at this point. As I exited the club, I gave my favorite UA concierge ever, Barbara Turner, a very warm hug and steered myself in the direction of my departure gate, where flight 7 to SFO beckoned. I was soon settled into seat 2F and began chatting with my seat mate, a somewhat older nonrev FA in uniform. Throughout the bulk of the flight, she spent about half of her time chatting with me and intensely scrutinizing stacks of printouts detailing her upcoming flight options so she could best strategize her bidding. As is my habit, I stuck in my two cents as much as I could until she finally fled to the galley to consort with her compatriots.

I learned later that there were a total of eight nonrevs inhabiting the 10 seats in employee class, pretty much par for the course on this slimmed down version of what was once a very fine service, that I now refer to Premium Transcon Lite ®. I thought to myself that if UA continues to degrade service in the front cabin, perhaps the nonrevs would no longer wish to sit there.

I sipped several more G&Ts, whilst otherwise engaged in pleasant conversation during the first hour of the flight. My FA seat mate consumed no ethanol at all, explaining that nonrevs are not permitted to consume alcohol while in working attire. Having already been fairly well lubricated before boarding the plane, I soon perceived an irresistible urge to undertake what would constitute my third visit to the lavatory.

I guess I must have read one too many news stories about innocent passengers subjected to overly suspicious glances from fellow passengers when they undertook journeys to the lav that proved to be somewhat excessive for someone else’s tastes. “This fellow has to expurgate much more frequently than I do therefore he must be up to no good,” must be the basis of this line of illogical reasoning. I even remember reading of an incident in which a passenger was actually removed from a plane for further interrogation evidently because his bulging and burdensome bladder had unwittingly piqued another passengers suspicions.

Not wishing to be embarrassed (at least any more than usual) by such an unfortunate incident, I figured I had best warn my fellow passengers in the F cabin about what I had in mind. Better to be forewarned than foolhardy, I figured.

So I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up very slowly, carefully concentrating on making no sudden moves. And then I delivered my carefully thought out announcement to the entire cabin:

“Hi everybody, I am about to go to the bathroom and yes, I know that is my third such visit within the last hour. But I had several drinks in the RCC before I got on the plane and I really have to go. I sincerely promise all of you that I am not doing anything suspicious and I can assure everybody here that I am mostly harmless unless, of course, the plane hits turbulence while I am inside.”

There was a few nervous titters and then my seat mate burst out in laughter and was soon joined in by the others. Having thus secured safe passage for my journey up front, I proceeded to go about my business with a clear conscious and, ultimately, a very clear bladder.

I don’t recall very much about the meal service itself but I do remember being quite impressed by the fact the UA had very generously furnished me with a total of three plastic knives, one more even than my inbound flight into New York the prior week. This way, I figured, if I broke two of them I would still have a spare. My seat mate and I began to playfully duel with our knives but the grip and weight in our hands didn’t feel quite right for either of us. After each of us managed to lose a knife, we soon escalated to good old fashioned metal forks. I very quickly earned the upper hand and my seat mate ultimately conceded defeat and slipped up front to secure my prize.

She returned about five minutes later with a very special desert, which she and the other FAs had lovingly crafted especially for me. The plate was adorned with two first class deserts (ice cream), one business class desert (cheese cake) and assorted cookies, carefully arranged on the plate to form a happy, smiley goofy face. I was quite touched at the effort, the result of which was clearly a warm and friendly portrayal of yours truly, constructed entirely of sweets. I never before realized I bore such a resemblance to Shrek.

After successfully achieving an on time arrival in SFO, I explained to my seat mate how this flight has been traditionally docking at a gate deep within the international terminal over the last few months. This disturbed me at first, but I had grown accustomed and somewhat dependent on the idea, especially so because the munchies always seemed better in that RCC. This is why, of course, UA had to prove me wrong and pull up to the nether regions of terminal 8.

Just to teach them a lesson, I decided to dump off my gear in the transcon lounge and traipse over to the international RCC anyway. There were very few passengers gathered by the terminal 9 security checkpoint and as I handed the attendant my ID and boarding pass, I briefly wondered whether he would object to the fact that I was seeking egress to the international terminal by presenting a boarding pass listing a sh*ttle flight to LAS. But he didn’t notice or didn’t care and in I went.

As it turns out, the munchies presented by the RCC were no better than the offerings available in the domestic version of the club. Secretly pining for sandwiches but finding only healthy fare such as celery and carrot sticks, I opted to beat a hasty retreat back to the domestic terminal. One unanticipated problem was that the my traditional reentry point was closed, attended only by a very bored looking guardian, who sleepily pointed me further down the terminal when I asked where I could once again regain admittance. By the time I got back to the transcon lounge, I only had just enough time to retrieve my carryons and run back to gate 72, at which boarding had already commenced.

Being a person of somewhat dubious sanity, I was once again flying to LAS rather than home to Portland, which is where I would much rather be. I don’t gamble, gag at cigarette smoke and I am hypersensitive to noise, yup Las Vegas is the place for me! In reality, what draws me to undertake all of these extraneous pilgrimages to LAS is my ability to obtain full fare employee class transcon seats for half price from that point of origin.

Half Price Premium Transcon fare in F

It also provides me with additional opportunities to visit the LAS Hilton and make sure that they are toeing the line. So, later that evening, having finally been delivered to the LAS Hilton via a shared ride for $3.50. I foolishly made yet another fruitless attempt to obtain a nonsmoking room as per the specifics of my reservation. And as is my custom, I was once again unsuccessful. The desk clerk very carefully explained to me that none of the “lanai suites” are smoking rooms. However, guests can smoke there if they want to. How can I argue with logic like this? Boy, if this hotel wasn’t so inexpensive ...

I was booked on an early afternoon flight the next day, which gave me a little time to sleep in and obtain my free morning meal at the buffet. As many you know, I don’t much fancy breakfast but I do enjoy lunch so the plan was for me to arrive there late enough for the breakfast service to be waning and for lunch food to materialize. Indeed, that is exactly what happened 10 minutes after I sat down. “Real food, at last”, another fellow joyously exclaimed to his wife at the next table.

My flight from LAS to LAX landed on time so I spent an hour or so working in the 1K room before stopping in the RCC for a soft drink. After downing a diet coke served to me in a plastic cup by an expressionless bartender, I decided to trundle over to the sh*ttle zone over in terminal 8. As I rounded the corner, an electric cart stopped by to offer me a lift and who am I to turn down such a generous offer? My seat mate was an elderly woman who was in the process of querying the driver about the location of her gate and the likelihood that this really will be the gate for her upcoming flight, three hours hence. Hearing about the poor unfortunate woman’s plight, I volunteered to have the driver turn around and deposit the woman safely within the RCC as my guest. But she refused! Oh well, I tried.

The New Colossus

Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

- Emma Lazarus

My PDX-bound flight was scheduled to depart from gate 80, situated by the threshold of terminal 8, the very same one that I had vacated two hours ago. The area by the gate was literally packed with waiting passengers, thanks mostly to the fact that this flight represents the consolidation of several extinct flights, many of which have been canceled as part of UAs dramatic system wide retrenchment. Just as boarding was about to commence, I observed two Islamic-looking fellows quietly waiting in the queue. I also noticed several passengers staring at them intensely; one of them looked like he were about to have a stroke.

The Horror! The Horror!


Colonel Walter E. Kurtz in "The Heart of Darkness"

- Joseph Conrad


I paid the imaginary terrorists no further attention, boarded the plane as directed, settled into seat 2D and proceeded to mind my own business. After a more or less on time departure, I looked up when the seat belt chimed in as we attained cruising altitude. To my shock and utter horror, I was dismayed to witness one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen. The man in 2B had taken of his shoes and socks and was proceeding to walk into the lavatory without any protection for his feet!

The New Colossus (size 12, triple D)

Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled toenails yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shoes. Send these, the sockless, temper-lost to me, I lift my leg beside the lavatory door!

- Emma Lazarus and LarryU

Can you imagine exposing your skin and pores to the nasty liquids and exudates that typically permeate the floor of an airplane lav? In these troubled times, I am not terribly frightened at the prospect of people boarding planes with dangerous nail clippers and lethal underwire bras but the thought of sharing a sh*ttle cabin with a man in such a dubious mental state profoundly troubled me. Perhaps a test of mental acumen should be added to the ever-growing security check list. I remember reading of other instances in which bare footed passengers have actually imposed their noxious fumes on poor unsuspecting victims sitting one row ahead. This certainly seems like assault to me.

I eventually turned my attention back to my work, in my vain attempt to catch up. In fact, I didn’t even consume any Tanqueray during the two hour flight; instead, I slowly sipped the tonic and pocketed the little gin bottles to add to my collection at home. I am in the process of redecorating my Lake Oswego apartment by constructing a little green wall comprised entirely of the diminutive Tanqueray bottles. I have currently amassed about 500 such bottles and hope to have it completed sometime next spring.

Pilgrim

Pilgrim, how you journey
On the road you chose
To find out why the winds die
And where the stories go.
All days come from one day
That must you must know,
You cannot change what's over
But only where you go.

One way leads to diamond,
One way leads to gold,
Another leads you only
To everything you're told.
In your heart you wonder
Which of these is true;
The road that leads to nowhere,
the road that leads to you.

Will you find the answer
in all you say and do?
Will you find the answer
In you?

Each heart is a pilgrim,
Each one wants to know
The reason why the winds die
And where the stories go.
Pilgrim, in your journey
You may travel far,
For pilgrim it's a long way
To find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
To find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way
To find out who you are

- Enya


By about 6:30PM, we pulled into gate E2 at PDX about 15 minutes early, so I was able to make a brief pit stop at the RCC, which generally shuts its doors promptly at 7:00PM. By 6:45 I was on my way out past security, looking forward to a much needed travelling hiatus that I had planned for October (little did I know at the time that it wouldn't quite work out that way). As I walked past the checkpoint, I quickly surveyed the multiracial and multi-cultural melting pot of my little Pacific Northwest town. Folks of many nations arriving and departing, some going about their lives, others seeking new ones. My country and my community have evolved into such a unique schizophrenic paradox, both deplored and coveted at the same time.

As I approached the escalator for my descent to ground level, I noticed a large assemblage of newly arrived Russian immigrants destined to add to the 50,000 already purported to dwell amongst Portland’s growing population. My country’s latest huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Ironically, I thought, my grandparents had originated from some of the very same regions 90 years ago. I am a second generation descendant of eastern European immigrants. Born at the right time, indeed.


[This message has been edited by LarryU (edited 11-05-2001).]

jja34-1

LarryU, this is a great trip report! As a native New Yorker, I was definitely moved by the quotes throughout the recounting of your trip.

BTW - I couldn't help laughing trying to imagine your speech to the entire cabin on the JFK-LAX leg...and your "duel" with your seatmate must have been a truly interesting contest

doc

"I never before realized I bore such a resemblance to Shrek."



Just in time, and surely well worth waiting for! Thanks for the great report, Larry!

Hunki

AWESOME REPORT! A Pulitzer awaits you.

tigertiger

I laughed. I cried. I fell down. It changed my life. It was good.

QuietLion

kanebear

Ya know, you think you can write a decent trip report... and then... well it's kinda like something I read in a book called "Snow Crash" by Neal Stephenson. To paraphrase : at some point in your life, you think you could possibly be the baddest mofo on earth. Then someone comes along and does something that shows you the light and you know there's just NO way you'll get there. Seriously, great trip report, thank you!

Catman

Better than late buddy! What a fine postscript to remind us all how 9-11 affected us all.

Nice collection of music. When is the CD coming out!

Eight Paws up! (One of the few trip reports I think I have EIGHT PAWS UP WAS PREMEX'S TIME IN WENGEN. And I think one or two of Mr. Lion's! )