Volume 13: Pete in NYC Part 3 - Occasionally going to sleep in the city that suggests you shouldn't
Day 3 – Why holding a press conference can save you time
I woke up exceptionally hung over at 11am by the sound of my phone alarm. When I’d set that alarm the day before I went out for “a beer”, it seemed almost like an unnecessary precaution, but thankfully Past Pete had anticipated Future Pete would need it. I was governed by the clock today as I had to catch a bus out to New Jersey to catch up with an old friend, Danielle, from a 2003 Contiki tour. I’d affectionately nicknamed her “Jersey Girl” (which worked really well as she was the only girl I knew from New Jersey at the time I coined that nickname. Would have been an element of confusion if I knew 20 other women from New Jersey and gave them all the same nickname), and I hadn’t seen her in 12 years. I had a lot of love for Jersey Girl because she was present at my 30th in NYC those 12 years earlier, and had named her first born Peter. I was off to catch up with her at her house for a first birthday party for her second born son (sadly, not also named Peter. If George Foreman can name all five of his sons George, I could see no reason as to why she’d settled on Jack and not Peter for her second born).
Happy that Past Pete had set this 11am alarm for Future Pete, who was now Present Pete who had breakfast before making his way to the Port Authority Bus Terminal to catch a 12pm Lakeland Bus out to New Jersey. As I waited at the gate for my bus I noticed a sign that highlighted the Lakeland Bus company did not discriminate based on race, color or national origin. So, still cool to be sexist and discriminate against chicks (what are they doing out of the kitchen anyway? Can I get an amen fellas?).
Once on the bus I noticed the emergency exit sign was in both English and Spanish, so read it carefully in hope of learning more Spanish in case the events of the previous night repeated themselves at some stage while I was in New York. The PA used by the driver to announce upcoming stops was crackly and largely inaudible to the point the bus driver using semaphore to communicate next stops by waving flags would have been more useful, with the only minor problem being I don’t understand semaphore and the obvious dangers of the driver having both hands off the wheel as he waved those flags. But still more useful than that bus PA.
With an inaudible PA, and no sign of the bus driver reaching for some flags, I instead turned on roaming on my phone and deferred to the exceptional accuracy of modern GPS technology delivered to Google Maps in real time. Turning on international roaming was going to cost me money, but you can’t put a price on knowing where you are in a far-off country riding on a bus line you didn’t know existed 48 hours earlier.
About an hour and half into the bus ride Google Maps suggested I head reached my destination of Rockaway. Rockaway looked like a sleepy old town with no obvious bus stops, and judging by the force and immediacy of the bus driver jumping on the brakes as I pushed the button for the next stop, I had pushed the button about 100 yards short of the stop.
Jersey Girl had organised for her husband, Scott, to pick me at the Quick Chek, a store I’d managed to catch a glimpse of only moments before the bus had stopped like the driver had dropped an anchor. I’d never met Scott before, so I had anticipated this might be a difficult pickup as neither of us recognised each other. I had suggested to Jersey Girl I could do some breakdancing out the front of the Quick Chek to make it easier for Scott to find me, but instead settled on her more practical suggestion to look out for a white SUV.
At Jersey Girls house, I was greeted by the family dog Bernie. I’m not sure what breed he was (people always sound like they’re making up a breed. Dog owners be like “It’s a Cocker-Shepard. It’s half Cocker Spaniel, half German Shepard”) but it seemed like a breed bred from a long line of dogs with ADHD and crotch hunters. Bernie greeted everyone that entered that house my ploughing his face directly into their genitals, which sadly seemed to only amuse me, and was forced to wear a muzzle when he went outside as he had a habit of eating everything. He was recovering from a random eating incident, and Jersey Girl’s bank balance was recovering from associated Vet costs.
As Jersey Girl was essentially the only person I knew at the party (although by now, I felt quite close to Bernie given he was now familiar with my genitals) much of the day was spent for me answering the same questions upwards of 15 times. “What part of Australia are you from?” (with my initial thought being you come from a country where a significant number of people can’t find Canada on a map, I don’t think this answer is going to matter). “When you get in?” to which I always replied with “Only 2 days ago. Just flew in for the party. Flying home tomorrow”. Don’t get me wrong, I ask similar questions whenever I hear an international accent in Australia so I had no issue with the questions, but I couldn’t help but feel we could have held a press conference after everyone had arrived and I could have answered these questions once and saved everyone a bunch of time.
Late in the day the man of the hour, little Jack, got his birthday song, birthday cake and the best part of the day when you’re a kid; the opening of presents. For those playing at home I got him a small toy kangaroo, whilst thanking Jersey Girl and Scott for welcoming me into their home by giving them a bottle opener in the form a kangaroo scrotum. Truly the gift that gives all year round.
With rain falling and light fading along with everyone’s energy, Jersey Girl drove me back to Rockaway bus stop to catch a bus back into NYC just after 7pm. I may not have 2 young children, but felt like I had had as much sleep as the parents of 2 young children the last 24 hours so it proved quite the challenge to stay awake on the bus. As I entered NYC I saw a toll sign indicating it was $15 to enter the Lincoln Tunnel. For that price it really is only economically viable if you’re driving a bus or if you’re driving a clown car packed in with 20 clowns.
I got back to the hotel sometime after 9pm. It was Saturday night, but I was absolutely spent (these 1 year old’s and their cocaine stripper filled parties are tiring) so just crashed into bed early.
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