My usual mode of transportation involves grabbing my keys and hopping in my Mom Car. Not to be confused with “my mom’s car”; it’s a Mom Car by many standards. It’s a six seater Pacifica with a hatchback. She’s navy blue, and I even named her Pam. For over sixty dollars every time I fill her up, she takes me where I need to be in peace and quiet. Except the quiet part, and my idea of peaceful might be slightly different than the typical definition. I roll my windows down and crank the stereo, but since I listen to Cities 97, I feel more at peace than anywhere else in the world.
But as soon as I stepped foot in NYC everything changed. The plane was exciting on the way there because I get that feeling of anticipation whenever I’m going to a new place. As seen on TV, we jumped in a yellow taxi and were on our way to the city of tall buildings, flashy lights, and unforgettable people. You know how in the movies they’re always in major traffic so they have to hop out of the taxi and weave through cars to get to their destination? Yeah, it was nothing like that. Talk about afraid for your life. Every time we got in one of those death traps I thought, It’s been real. Thanks, God. I’ve had a good life. And now I’m about to die in a germ ridden yellow vehicle with a driver that has a name I cannot pronounce. See ya soon. The subway was another story. But you’ll have to tune into another post for those adventures.
Our first dining experience took place in none other than a quaint restaurant called Toast. And let me tell you about their toast. My BLT had not one, not two, but three slices of bread to accompany the bacon, lettuce, and tomato. Nothing was lonely—including my stomach. The sandwich scraped the roof my mouth as I tried to take a bite. I even thought of taking some of it out to transform it into an ordinary sandwich. But you should reread that last sentence if you have to evaluate whether or not you think I actually took the road last fattened by.
In the next few posts, I will clue you in on everything five people can experience in four days of New York City. At times you might be scared, at times you’ll be amazed, and at times you’ll wonder if I’m even telling the truth. But if there’s one thing you didn’t already know about me, I don’t lie.
For starters, we saw both a naked cowboy and naked cowgirl—or rather, cowwoman. Old woman. The cowboy wore tight white underwear, and the old lady had just enough to cover what she was supposed to. But one of my favorite parts was when we saw a lady of the night and my ten-year-old step-sister turns to her cousin and says, “Oh, look! She must be one of the dancers from the musical walking home.” Her sweet innocence is adorable.