Warning! Never Offend the Gods of Travel

Last Thursday, my friend and I made our bi-annual pilgrimage to NYC by train, and in the process, somehow offended the gods of travel.

Oh, things started out well enough. We got to the station early enough to have breakfast, we got two seats together that were not in the quiet car (which was a lucky break for everyone in the quiet car), and we arrived in Midtown with just enough time to have lunch before our 1:00 appointment (clearly, we live in great fear of missing a meal).

I should have known our luck was too good to be true. Maybe we weren't appreciative enough, or maybe we just took it all for granted. Either way, we were about to pay for it.

Going directly to our "usual" Italian restaurant, we discovered that it didn't open until 11:30. Hmmm. This was new. Oh well, no problem. We would just take a little walk around, do some window shopping and and still have time to stuff ourselves before 1:00.

Unfortunately, we soon found out that they considered that 11:30 time more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule. At 11:35, the door was still locked, and the waiters were all sitting at the tables folding napkins. At 11:40, they were unpacking bottles of wine from crates littering the main aisle. Meanwhile, we stood outside, tapping our toes, pointing to our watches and glaring at them through the glass windows, all to no effect. At 11:45, we gave up our intimidation tactics and decided to explore our other options.

Since this was a mostly high end shopping area (ever see Dolce and Gabbana haute couture on someone over one hundred pounds?) there weren't a lot of them. A few doors down, there was the Four Seasons (anyone for a thirty-eight dollar hamburger?), and next to that a sushi place (fifty dollars for a plate of raw fish?). On the other hand, we could go to the take-out place (Yummy. Pre-packaged sandwiches fresh from yesterday!), or how about some chestnuts and hot dogs from the cart on the corner (yes, but what would we tell them at the ER when they wanted to know exactly what had caused the food poisoning?).

While all of this was tempting, we decided to give the Italian place one more chance, and this time, we weren't taking no for an answer. Returning to the restaurant, we banged on the door until one of the waiters (undoubtedly, the one who drew the short straw), grudgingly let us in and seated us at a tiny table in the front window.

After serving us bread and water, he informed us that the regular menu items would not be available for another five to ten minutes, and the specials for at least another ten after that. He then attempted to make his escape. The fool. Did he really think it would be that easy? Apparently, he had never dealt with women suffering from low blood sugar before (hey, it had been almost four whole hours since we had eaten!).

After a quick game of "torture the waiter", we did get our food (which I'm pretty sure they spit on), and made our appointment in time. Then, the gods struck again.

Emerging out onto Fifth Avenue at 4:20, we attempted to hail a cab to take us back to Penn Station for our 5:00 train. Since there were about ten cabs scattering the block waiting at the red light, we thought it would be easy enough. Wrong.

The first cab rolled down his window just enough to refuse us. The second cab pretty much had the same response. Odd. When the third cab inched away from us as we approached, we began looking around for the hidden cameras and Ashton Kutcher.

As the light changed, we decided to walk over a block or two and try our luck there. Coming upon a cab just letting people out, we went to jump in, but the driver yelled something in a language neither of us spoke and took off. Now, it was getting really weird. Maybe we should be looking for a tourism office and bowing down before it, trying to appease the gods instead of hailing cabs. The next cab didn't even slow down, but I think it veered toward us a bit before zooming off.

This was pretty much the pattern for the next twenty-two blocks until we reached the station at 4:50, hot, sweaty and a little bit cranky from doing the two minute mile, only to discover a long line of cabs happily letting people out and picking new people up as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Fortunately, we made our train, but the gods were not through with torturing us yet. The only two seats together were at a table for four with an older gentleman who alternated between telling us jokes even older than he was (and I'm guessing he entertained the troops at Valley Forge with the same jokes) and paying us what I'm sure he considered to be compliments, but which would probably get him sued in the workplace.

By the time we realized what we were dealing with, every available seat on the train was taken (don't think we didn't look), and, of course, he stayed on until the very end of the line.

I'm still not sure what we did wrong, but next time, I'm not taking any chances. I am going to find the nearest tourism office to Penn Station and pay a visit before trying to eat or catch a cab. Maybe I'll even buy one of those I love New York T-shirts or baseball caps just to be on the safe side.