Snow.
I can recall many a blizzard wrecking my holiday from my days in NY. Much like the storm they are enduring there this weekend. On the other hand, most birthdays in California, while weather-calamity free, were largely ignored due to uninterested friends (except for one person) and/or COVID.
But I go back to one particular year which was perfectly horrific. Indeed, the title of today's piece could have been...
What Was I Thinking?
Why The Hell Did I Do This?
Kill Me Now.
Happy F-ing Birthday!
Enjoy the photo above. I took it from my terrace during one of two dozen snowstorms that I experienced in New York. It's beautiful coming down. Ten seconds later, not so much.
And, for some unexplained reason eight years back, I thought how nice it might be to spend my February birthday with the East Coast cadre of friends. This decision was helped along when some business meetings popped up for the same week. It all seemed to fall together perfectly.
Ahem.
The entire trip was so disaster-laden that even Irwin Allen would have thought it was too unbelievable to produce. One calamity after another. Every lousy step of the way, I kept thinking to myself --- "I ditched 80 degrees and sunny skies for this???"
It actually started to go downhill before I even left the tarmac at LAX. Our flight out was delayed because the crew needed to rest. Once they got their union-dictated catnap, we boarded the plane only to sit for an hour while Maintenance tried to fix a buggy computer chip. Ultimately, we were told that the plane was not going to be used. In two basic words, "get off."
We trudged back to the terminal and were instructed to stick around because they needed to find us another plane. I guess American Airlines doesn't have them in reserve. After forty-five minutes, we got the surprising announcement.
"We fixed the problem."
Ummmmm.......
More than one person worried as they reboarded the aircraft and assumed their former seats. Had the Geek Squad at Best Buy been called? As I walked by the open flight cabin, I peeked inside to see if I could some duct tape hanging off the console.
I settled into my coach seat and probably shouldn't have. I was approached by one of the flight attendants. My upgrade to Business Class had cleared when two business travelers never made it back to reboard. Okay, I was going to be four hours late arriving in NY but, at least, I'd be eating freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies on the way.
I nestled into the comfy seat 9H. The guy in 9G smiled at me. And then sneezed. And coughed. He never stopped. From Nevada all the way to Long Island. My seat had been upgraded and my health was being downgraded at the same time.
By the time I plodded into my New York apartment, my sinuses felt like they were full of cement blocks.
My so-called birthday weekend was full of Sudafed doses, swigs of Robitussin, and Ricola drops. If there was a cake with candles, I would have needed an oxygen mask to blow them out.
Back in the part of my life that was New York-based, I was prone to getting at least one cold and two sinus infections every year. In California, I have been phlegm-clean. On this trip, the winter radiator heat immediately had me so clogged that I suddenly felt it was 1992 all over again. Colors were coming out of me that I didn't even know existed.
Yeah, what the hell was I thinking???
Meanwhile, in the days prior to my arrival, there were two separate snowfalls of nine inches each. This crap never melted because the temperature hadn't gone above 25 since Christmas. Walking on my clumsy knee joints became a life-altering experience.
Once I had to go on my business rounds in Manhattan, I made a new discovery. In the past, major snow accumulations always seemed to disappear from the sidewalks of New York the very next day. I have no idea where they put the snow, but it was always magically gone. Not that February. Perhaps this is due to the then-new boob that was the NYC Mayor. (Yes, I am looking at you, Bill DeBlasio). The streets of Gotham City were still dotted with snow and ice. I looked for the nearest wall and held on.
For two days in Ice Station Zebra-like temperatures, I dragged myself from one business appointment to another. From Wall Street to uptown. Sliding in and out of cabs. Up and down subway steps. Sneezing and coughing at every turn.
On the morning of my actual birthday, I relished the comforts of my shower. That would clear out my sinuses for at least one hour.
Except, on the anniversary of my existence, the hot water in my building decided to take the day off. I washed my hair in the kitchen sink. I cleaned myself with a washcloth. A Parisian bath. As I dressed, I noticed the hem on my pants leg was ripped. Flat hair and now this???
My neighbor did a quick sewing job. I was finally put together for another round of Manhattan wind tunnels. Sneezing and coughing. Coughing and sneezing.
My plans for a birthday dinner with one of my good friends was upended by his work schedule, tied very much to the prospects of an impending blizzard.
Oh, yeah, that happened, too. Ten more inches of snow on the day I was scheduled to fly back to Los Angeles. Wisely, I switched my flight plan early. I'd be headed back home, but making a stop.
In Columbus, Ohio.
Yes, it gets a lot worse. Naturally, my original flight back to LAX left only 15 minutes late in the middle of the Thursday arctic blast. But driving to the airport would be treacherous. I had made the right choice. Friday. From JFK to Columbus to LAX. Simple?
The 315 PM flight from JFK to the bowels of Ohio was supposed to land at 530PM. The Columbus to LAX plane was supposed to leave at 605PM. I didn't think this provided much wiggle room, but I was assured that, in Ohio, the gates were adjacent. There would be no problems.
Of course, 315PM came and went and the plane didn't. We were still in the terminal waiting to board. The plane needed some maintenance. As I surveyed around, I noticed about twenty other people nervously looking at their watches or phones. We were all LA-bound. And soon to be connected in more than one adventure on this Friday.
Ultimately, we left JFK an hour late and there would be no need for an in-flight manicurist on this flight. Everybody was chewing down right to the cuticle. Word circulated that the flight from Columbus to LAX was being delayed. How thoughtful.
The reason became crystal clear as we approached Columbus. Or what we could see of it. There was a blinding snowstorm all around. The runways were coated with flakes. This was the last fifteen minutes of "Airport" all over again. Was Dean Martin flying the plane?
As we finally touched down and skidded a bit, we could see our next conveyance nestled at the gate. We had time. I ran as fast as the knees could, which was not very fast. But, indeed, our next departing gate was right there for us. I scanned the board and stopped instantaneously.
I had cleared for an upgrade! Okay, things were looking up. Or as much as things could look up when visibility was down to three feet.
As we scampered gleefully onto the plane, one of the twenty LAXers asked the flight attendant if our luggage would make the transfer.
"Of course."
You could see this truck coming a mile away.
We did depart Ohio, but first sat on the runway for a plane de-icing and then a plane anti-icing. Somebody will have to explain to me why this was done in the less logical order. But, moments later, we had left Columbus, Ohio behind.
Along with our luggage.
Yes, the twenty of us gathered one more time at American Airlines' Baggage Service. All on line to speak to the next available attendant.
Okay, truth be told, I can't quibble with this hiccup. I've flown this airline exclusively for the past 17 years. I have over 1.5 million miles logged. This is the first time I have had a luggage snafu. And, of course, the tried-and-true adage is that, if you want to lose your suitcase, book a connecting flight that gives you less than an hour to make the transfer. When it was my time, I didn't choose to yell at the other side of the counter. My fellow passengers were not so understanding.
"I have a wedding tomorrow and there's a six hundred dollar dress in my bag."
Okay, Stupid, don't blame American. Talk to your dopey friend who booked a wedding in the middle of February.
"My medication is in my suitcase."
And you stowed it away, Moron?
"My child's favorite toy is in the suitcase and she won't go to sleep without it."
Try Children's Nyquil.
I heard it all. But, perhaps after my week, I had grown numb to it all. I figured my bag would show up eventually.
At least, I was away from New York. My hometown. A city I have now grown to despise unless it's one week in May and one week in October. With its weather on steroids, I choose to spend the rest of my life under a constant and boring sun.
I send a note to all my friends in Southern California. If you ever hear of me longing to spend a birthday week in New York, you are hereby encouraged to slap me vigorously.
And often. I'm open to any plans you have for me....in Los Angeles.
Dinner last night: Sausage pizza from Maria's.
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