Atchka Takes Manhattan —

This is a reprint of this fucked up version, now in a fully readable format!

I just flew in from Newark last night and boy are my arms tired

Well, not last night, but a week ago tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ve been enjoying some family time, which means limited access to the internet.

I have two travel stories to share, and just 45 minutes to share them, because when the girls get up we’re going to the pool, then it’s back to the daily grind tomorrow.

So, about a month ago I got tagged for this project in a New Jersey town just outside New York City. The project itself was rather large, but the trip itself was primarily to acquaint the team, which suggested the possibility of a trip to the NYC. I haven’t been there since around ’98 or ’99 when my oldest brother (Shamus) was graduating from college.

My middle brother (Shantung), my cousin (Mikey), and I were free to visit the city one afternoon. We were advised to stay together, but Shantung and Mikey wanted to spend their one afternoon in New York City at a Mets game (seriously, what the fuck? Who spends the only day they have in New York City sitting on their ass watching sports?)

So, I tried to visit the Empire State Building and failed somehow (it may have been too early), so I decided to take the subway somewhere and finally settled on Coney Island, where I rode the Cyclone, ate a Coney Island Dog, went to a sideshow and had my fortune read (nope, don’t remember what she said… should have wrote it down… I’m sure she was right, whatever it was).

Now, a decade older, I had a greater idea of what I wanted to see and just needed a good afternoon to accomplish it.

I had a 6 am flight on Monday, which my boss later told me was the worst time of the week to fly.

I wish I had known this prior to that morning because I got there at 4:45 and stood in the security line for an hour and missed my flight by three minutes and a puddle of sweat.

Thankfully, I was able to catch a 9:30 standby and spent the entire trip talking to a delightful elderly gentleman who told me all about his data processing business in Mexico and finishing my work. Despite being concerned about seating issues going into the trip, I just fit within the confines the seat (although I do have broad shoulders), but the trip home is another story.

Monday was a solid block of work, but Tuesday I was the first one in and escaped relatively early: 5:00 pm.

My first destination closed at 7 p.m. and I had basic directions, but no idea how long it would take at rush hour, let alone figuring out how to buy passes and finding the correct train. And once I reached my stop, I had only a hand-drawn map given to me by pirates passing through the cafeteria at high noon on a search for treasure (okay, I was too lazy to hook up my printer, so I tried to draw it myself… so I’m a complete moron… big deal).

So, I waited for the bus to Penn Station, but was kindly pointed to the subway shuttle instead, due to traffic, and with after a series of fortuitously timed stops, made it to Jay St. at 6:45.

I ran in some direction, then into a Sprint store to find the right direction, and finally found Boerum.

Sprinting, then hobbling, then sprinting my way down Boerum, I reached a kink in the street and got confused by big buildings and many steel elephants.

With some help from the NYPD, I finally found the street and the block and, finally, Re/Dress!

And why the hell is a 32-year-old guy interested in Re/Dress? Because his wife can never find any clothes in her size that she likes and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could find something that she’d never seen before.

With the help of this lady (I don’t know her name! I’m sorry!), I found two shirts, a pair of brand new Avenue jeans for 10 bucks and a dress within 10 minutes.

Soaked with sweat, I emerged onto the street victorious!

… and drunk as well, apparently.

I trudged gleefully (yeah, I know, how the hell does one trudge gleefully, but damned if I didn’t) back to the Jay St. station, requiring several assists along the way.

Once the final stranger guided me to the correct platform, I sank into my seat and at the next stop was serenaded all the way to 4th Street.

I had already planned on visiting Bob Dylan’s old stomping grounds with the help of this walking tour guide, when I realized that Tuesday was also Bob Dylan’s 70th birthday.

With a spring in my step, I leapt up the steps (carefully avoiding the greasy bannisters) onto 4th Street and found Bob’s first New York apartment, which currently houses the adult boutique, Tic Tac Toe.

I asked a stranger to take a photo of me on the stoop and with me grinning like an idiot, she obliged.

Then I turned to the corner of Jones and 4th, and asked another stranger to take my photo in the middle of the street, which was the location of the iconic “Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” cover.

Had Veronica been with me on this trip, the photo might not be so awkward.

Now, a few of you may be looking at these photos and thinking, “Shannon, you say you were drenched with sweat. It was May 24 and hot as hell, and you’re wearing jeans and a fucking coat. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Okay, here was my logic: if I wore shorts and t-shirt, then I would have less places to stash my wallet, keys, bus passes, shit that shouldn’t get stolen or lost. So, I could wear my jeans, so I’d have relatively secure front and back pockets, then a jacket so I’d have breast pockets for my camera and phone.

Now I understand why at some point in a man’s travel career he just has to say fuck it and wear a fanny pack.

Anyway, I search for MacDougal and Bleecker, the heart of the Village (or so someone told me). Once again, I got lost and meandered past Washington Square Park.

But eventually found the bustling shops, where I had an incredible shawarma sandwich from Mamoun’s, bought Dylan’s first album (“Bob Dylan”), and got a ton of souvenirs for the family.

Sufficiently burdened, I made my way back to Penn Station, where I found out I had to go another ten blocks to the bus depot to get back to my hotel.

Not realizing exactly what “ten blocks” meant, I ignored the cabs and decided to walk.

I wish I could say that the next thing I knew I woke up in my bed the following morning, but instead, I slumped through the darkening city and finally returned to my room sweating like a first-time smuggler in customs.

I wish I could say the trip back was uneventful, but after a run-in with the TSA over my daughters’ snowglobe, I watched a friendly pigeon (who had lived in the terminal for a year) get chased by a little girl.

Finally, we boarded and I sat next to a women who looked like my 8th grade teacher, who loathed me (the feelings were mutual). But that lady was dead and this lady was smiley and nice, so I didn’t think much of it.

Now, keep in mind, I’m within the confines of my seat, but with the way she was sitting, each time I turned (which wasn’t often), my arms would brush her elbow, which made me totally self-conscious. But our arms were both running parallel with the armrest, so it’s not like I was rubbing all over her the whole flight.

Well, we took off and about 10 minutes into the air, she asks the stewardess if there are any empty seats. The stewardess finds one and the lady taps me on the shoulder and says, “Did you hear that? I’m going to switch seats so you can spread out.”

But here’s the thing… had I known there was an extra seat up front, I might just have wanted to switch with her because the woman smelled like dog food and she kept watch me play my PSP, which is irritating as all hell. But did I complain? Nooooooo…

Well, the girls are awake, so I will have to save my second vacation story for tomorrow. This one will have a great recommendation for both parents and fatties in the midwest.