My daughter, the New Yorker
On June 15th I arrived in New York's Laguardia Airport
(named after Fiorello Laguardia. Mayor of NYC from 1934 to 1945. A fiery and devoted reformer. Son of a Jewish mother and a lapsed-Catholic-turned athiest-Italian father.) for a 4-day visit with Ms. Nora.
I was under STRICT ORDERS to not set foot in a cab until 5:30 to ensure that Nora would be at her apartment to greet me.
According to Nora, her apartment is a $10 cab ride and just minutes away from Astoria. (an early village of Queens named after fur tycoon John Astor.)
Cell Phone conversation:
Nora: Where are you?
Me: Getting my baggage.
Nora: I'm leaving work. Don't leave there until 5:30. I mean DON'T even get in line for the cab until 5:30.
Dutiful mother that I am, I sat around, then que-ed up for my cab. Told the "GrandMaster Cabbie" my destination and off I went with my elderly Sikh cabbie. Like many drivers in many cities, he had a limited command of the English language. I was unsure if he knew where 30th Avenue and 43rd Street was.
Seconds later:
Nora: Where are you?
Me: In the cab.
Nora: No. What street are you on?
Me: ummm. Somewhere on a ramp exit. I'll call you when I get closer.
7 minutes later:
Me: Hello.
Nora: Where are you?
Me: Hmmm. Let me see. Wait. OK. Street Sign. 83rd and Astoria Blvd.
Nora: WHAT! Why is your driver taking the longest way from the airport. He's just pissed that he didn't get a Manhattan fare.
Me: Shhhh. It's ok. I'm on the way.
Nora: What does the meter say.
Me: $7.40
Nora: YOU"RE KIDDING! Ask him. NOW. Why is he taking the long way. TELL HIM that you're not paying more than $10 bucks.
Get his license number.
Me: *in a hushed tone* Nora, he is simply trying to make a living. I'll be there shortly. Just wait somewhere so I can see you.
Nora: TELL HIM HE"S GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME when he gets here! What's the meter NOW!
Luckily at that moment the heavens opened and the rain poured down. I'm certain that Nora took shelter somewhere.
We pulled up in front of St. Joseph Catholic Church (nor sure if Fiorello attended or not) on the corner of 30th Avenue and 43rd Street.
I paid my turban-wearing driver. Gave him a $2 tip in spite of Nora. Wished him a lovely day. And waved at my lovely daughter who was just crossing the street.
Listening to: New York State of Mind, Billy Joel
Enjoying: Sicilian Olives
(named after Fiorello Laguardia. Mayor of NYC from 1934 to 1945. A fiery and devoted reformer. Son of a Jewish mother and a lapsed-Catholic-turned athiest-Italian father.) for a 4-day visit with Ms. Nora.
I was under STRICT ORDERS to not set foot in a cab until 5:30 to ensure that Nora would be at her apartment to greet me.
According to Nora, her apartment is a $10 cab ride and just minutes away from Astoria. (an early village of Queens named after fur tycoon John Astor.)
Cell Phone conversation:
Nora: Where are you?
Me: Getting my baggage.
Nora: I'm leaving work. Don't leave there until 5:30. I mean DON'T even get in line for the cab until 5:30.
Dutiful mother that I am, I sat around, then que-ed up for my cab. Told the "GrandMaster Cabbie" my destination and off I went with my elderly Sikh cabbie. Like many drivers in many cities, he had a limited command of the English language. I was unsure if he knew where 30th Avenue and 43rd Street was.
Seconds later:
Nora: Where are you?
Me: In the cab.
Nora: No. What street are you on?
Me: ummm. Somewhere on a ramp exit. I'll call you when I get closer.
7 minutes later:
Me: Hello.
Nora: Where are you?
Me: Hmmm. Let me see. Wait. OK. Street Sign. 83rd and Astoria Blvd.
Nora: WHAT! Why is your driver taking the longest way from the airport. He's just pissed that he didn't get a Manhattan fare.
Me: Shhhh. It's ok. I'm on the way.
Nora: What does the meter say.
Me: $7.40
Nora: YOU"RE KIDDING! Ask him. NOW. Why is he taking the long way. TELL HIM that you're not paying more than $10 bucks.
Get his license number.
Me: *in a hushed tone* Nora, he is simply trying to make a living. I'll be there shortly. Just wait somewhere so I can see you.
Nora: TELL HIM HE"S GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME when he gets here! What's the meter NOW!
Luckily at that moment the heavens opened and the rain poured down. I'm certain that Nora took shelter somewhere.
We pulled up in front of St. Joseph Catholic Church (nor sure if Fiorello attended or not) on the corner of 30th Avenue and 43rd Street.
I paid my turban-wearing driver. Gave him a $2 tip in spite of Nora. Wished him a lovely day. And waved at my lovely daughter who was just crossing the street.
Listening to: New York State of Mind, Billy Joel
Enjoying: Sicilian Olives
posted by MadgeMc at 10:35 PM
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