Results tagged "Transportation"

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

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This just makes me want to park in this space that much more.

But you see, I can’t  – I can’t because I drive an enormous car. A huge SUV. A monster gas-guzzler that could literally crush any fuel efficient vehicle in its path. I know this, not only due to the laws of physics, but also because I recently witnessed a car accident in Bridgehampton where a buzzing little bee of a low emissions car pulled out of a space on 27 West and rammed directly into an SUV that was minding its own business… just driving along… The SUV remained unscathed while the weenie of an environmentally acceptable car had it’s hood up over the roof, lost front bumper and two front tires rolling down the street… Air bags popping all over the place. The driver was fine, a few bruises, but whoa. We were walking on the sidewalk when this happened right in front of us… I froze for a second, then grabbed my son and ran back to our SUV – - Yikes. What if another tiny car was to pull out of somewhere… And please get me out of there before the traffic reaches murderous levels. Witness? What? I didn’t see anything Officer… please move your little car… just, just GO!!!

Now, I don’t have anything against saving the universe, greening the planet or drivers of little cars… I’m quite for all of it, actually. I recycle, I buy organic–And you should just SEE the non-plastic shopping bag collection that I have compiled. I TRY….But I also prefer to have my family locked and strapped down in the most aggressive looking tank of a monster vehicle… especially when faced with putting ourselves in the hands of other drivers. Accidents happen, I’ve been there… and I would much rather clean the other car off of my SUV with a baby wipe than deal with the unthinkable.

And so, similar to that of handicapped parking–I will not park my massive car in the space reserved for fuel efficiency… because those drivers are clearly in need of special attention. I will not park there despite the fact that there are no special parking signs up, right against the new Southampton Post Office, for working moms that have to carry their 30lb–often wiggling to not be carried–children across the dangerous and poorly planned parking lot. The parking lot that contains massive SUVs as well as tiny cars that can pull out of somewhere at any given second and destroy themselves by brushing past other vehicles…. But oh, the overwhelming need to park in this space. The Boiling Blood that this sign was written and exists despite the fact that we sought out the safest possible car to drive our child around in. I’m sorry, did you say selfish? Did you say environment? I am parking here. I am parking my massive, gas devouring SUPREME UTILITY VEHICLE in this specially reserved, fuel efficient, move to the back of the bus, space… and I welcome your eyes of silent judgment. Come on, say something to me… it will be fun.

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