I figured fate might offer up an exciting chance “blackout meeting” in the city.
Fate and I have a tricky relationship.
I’m all for it when it comes to the idea of walking into a bar and bumping into the man of my dreams. I accept all invitations to random events just in case fate should deal me a life-changing card.
But when it comes to fate standing in the way of something I want to do, I fight like a crazy woman to defy it.
It’s much like being suddenly desperate to get into a crappy nightclub when a doorman tells you you can’t. Or falling madly in love with no-good ex-boyfriends because they don’t want to go out with you anymore, or wanting the one dish on a menu that’s run out.
I can’t deal with “can’t.”
But it was with surprising calmness that I accepted fate’s intervention on Thursday.
I was supposed to go to a wedding on a beach in Florida – just the kind of crazy “what-does-fate-have-in-store-for-me?” type invitation I love.
But when the blackout hit on Thursday afternoon – which made me miss my evening flight – I was so grateful that I wasn’t stuck on a subway, elevator or airplane – that I didn’t mind.
I figured I’d get on a plane the next day. I also figured fate might offer up an exciting chance “blackout meeting” in the city.
So Thursday, after leaving work late, I strolled with some friends through Manhattan to enjoy the carnival-like atmosphere and the freaky darkness.
We ended up at the Other Room on Perry Street. I checked the place out for “Mr. Blackout” – but, alas, everyone looked pretty ordinary. So I had a few glasses of Chardonnay instead.
Then, when I got home at 3 a.m., I booked myself on a 9:05 a.m. flight that morning out of Newark.
I got into bed and tried to set my alarm clock for 6 a.m., got confused to see it stuck at 4:11 p.m. and then realized it was electric.
So I set the alarm on my watch as well as my roommate’s mini-alarm clock. Shortly after, it seemed, I woke up and sleepily turned over to look at the time.
Four minutes later I was sprinting down 14th street to the PATH train like a woman possessed.
I had slept through both alarms. It was 7:45 a.m.
Most people who had just one hour and 20 minutes to get from Manhattan to Newark – in the middle of the biggest power-outage in this country’s history – wouldn’t have bothered trying.
Not me.
Fate was not going to cheat me out of this one.
With my hangover kicking in, I ran for my life.
“Hey lady! Today is not the day to hurry!” cried one man when I bashed into him at Eighth Avenue.
“Man, in times like these we’re supposed to be kind to each other.”
“Get out of my way!” I screamed.
Down at the PATH train entrance I practically snatched a man’s ticket out of his hand (the machines weren’t working).
“Let me use that – here’s two bucks,” I screamed.
“Sure,” he replied. “After all, we have to help each other out today.”
I shoved past him to jump on the train.
Once at Newark station, I nearly took out a toddler as I barged straight to the front of the taxi line.
“Look, I’m really sorry but I have got to have this taxi – I’ve got to catch a plane,” I shouted at a woman standing at the front of the line.
“Sure,” she said. “What difference does another few minutes mean to me – I’ve been stuck here all night trying to get back to Brooklyn.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” I said, slamming the taxi door in her face.
The taxi pulled off – slowly. It was 8:40 a.m.
“Look, can you just step on it please, sir,” I shouted as Mayor Bloomberg’s voice came over on the radio, thanking New Yorkers for staying so calm through the crisis.
I got to the airport at 8:50, just in time to hear the “last call” for my flight.
I looked at the long check-in lines, and began to charge to the front of them, ready to produce crocodile tears if I had to.
Then I stopped in my tracks. Fate was fate. There was no way I was getting on that flight.
As I slowly made my way back into the city, I cursed for a good half hour.
Then something more important occurred to me.
Forget fate – New York was living a piece of history. Why the hell would I want to be in Florida?
