Weekend Escape 2: The “Seattle Show.”
It was 4:00 P.M. and the subway ride was getting long. Ronald Reagan International airport, despite its name and location, isn’t the friendliest or cleanest airport I’ve been to, but, compared to JFK International in NYC, it was pleasant. I was departing a day and a half early from the SACA group’s NCLC trip to Washington D.C. where we took a walk up Capital Hill to tell a few people the chiropractic story. I left my friend Kaliff with an Irish terrorist we met at one of the museums the previous day. Ha ha ha. “Good for him,” I thought as I made my way onto the plane.
The past few days of walking up and down the Hill was a workout. As much as I enjoyed the historical and political value of the trip with my colleagues, I really felt it was a solo adventure. It was a rare occasion to find NW students during the day and sporadic at night as “tradition” had given way to individualism. Exploration of the city dominated the trip. Not a big deal. It was, overall a descent experience, but it was time to get the action.
I was going to attempt to find two people; Sierra the Seattle girl who had began her college career at NYU last Fall, and an old friend and actress named Liz who had moved to the big city to see if she could do it her way…blah, blah, blah. I had 23 hours to find both of them in no particular order but at least one of them so as to avoid paying an outrageous price for a hotel room or being homeless.
As you might expect, the airline lost my bag (why I never check bags), or as they put it, “the bag didn’t make the plane ride up (as if the bag randomly developed a personality of its own), but it’ll be in tomorrow.” Nice. My bag apparently decided to have a personality of its own and took the scenic route up. I had the clothes I wore into town, no camera and I was leaving in less than 21 hours. I was really hoping my bag might join me for the trip home. “No worries,” I thought because subway riding in NYC is a little more hazardous then in Europe or other places in the country. Traveling light was the better option in light of my bags disappearance.
Now approximately 9:00 p.m., I was on my way to lower Manhattan to find the Coyote Ugly bar. It’s where my friend Seattle (Sierra’s nick-name.) had been working. She managed to meet someone who knew some guy’s girlfriend that got her the job as one of several bartendering superstars. Hard to believe, so I had to see it for myself.
We met on my last trip to Europe in Venice, Italy where Major, a former classmate, met me during our Spring break vacation. Seattle and I kept in contact and eventually met up again at summer’s end. The Seattle trip was an awesome experience that contributed to a certain number of other events ending a dodgy relationship last Winter with a gal I kindly refer to as “the blond terror.” Now seven months later, we decided to take a crack at meeting up again. All I had to do was catch her or visa versa. Up until that point, I had gotten one message indicating she would be working the night of my arrival, and if I was going to find her, it would have to happen on-the-fly. It was a small challenge.
So, there I was on the subway making my way to a small piece of hell or a whole lot of heaven depending on your religious take on things. Arriving at the infamous bar, I passed the line of waiting people making my way to the entry. The doormen in NYC pick who they want in their bar and make everyone else wait giving the place a certain level of ambiance. As a Lord of the Nightlife (something one of my patrons would call me), I would accept cash bribes and overlook some things for the right dead-president. Knowing this, I gave the guy a smile and an Italian handshake. With a bit of banter, I was in. A quick pan of the room lead me to one of the back bars where I found I had missed the ‘Seattle show’ by some number of minutes. Now, I needed to make the call, “ the actress now—requiring me to leave the scene. Or, the actress later—sticking it out a bit longer on the lower end possibly catching Seattle.” I thought.
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It was 12:30 p.m., and I had yet to hear from Seattle. Polishing off another cocktail for the evening, I made my way to the subway station; it was time to meet Liz at a Columbia University bar in Uptown. Meeting Liz would at least secure me a couch for the night but would really cut Seattle out of the picture. It was either a couch or a subway bench. Having had a similar experience in the Netherlands, I opted for the couch.
I wanted to catch the girl. She was still interested in the ‘people arts’ learning. Her study was progressing much faster than I anticipated considering her place in life and age, but it was what I had hoped. “The framework,” is a number of topics on human behavior and the things that have evolved from it since the dawn of time. There is nothing new under the sun, says the Psalmist. Topics from conversational hypnotic methodologies to behavior analysis, cultural assimilation and the necessity of self-exploration were its matrix. Her mastery of the material would make her dangerous and able to command anything she wanted from anyone and likely get it with a smile. All the books I gave her to read or recommended to her couldn’t give her experience. She was a sleeping.
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After a few more cocktails and getting lectured on my necessity to live in NYC, I finally made it to the sofa. As time and thoughts of my life drifted by, my phone rang. It was 4:00 a.m. when Seattle decided to call. “Lotus on 10th and 14th, 15 minutes,” is what she blurted out and then hung-up. The Lotus was on the other side of Manhattan. It was 30 minutes by cab and impossible by train. “Do I go back to bed and find her tomorrow and risk missing her all together, or do I get my coat and get to it?” Tough questions that aren’t the easiest to answer half asleep. So, I made the call, literally, and got Seattle back on the line. No deal. She opted for the next day meet and greet. I went to bed knowing it was going to be some other trip somewhere else in the world before we would meet up again. I was content to find a place to camp out for the rest of the night.
The next day I spent at one of Liz’s performances and brunch with a few of NYC’s working actors. I shopped at Century 21, saw the World Trade Center site, mailed a few postcards out to friends and family and sat in what seemed the center of the world. I gazed a gazeless stare at all the millions there. I must have died alone a long, long time ago. It was an experience I hoped to share, but no deal. I made my way back to JFK to find my bag waiting for me as I was mistaken for some actor on E.R. Yeah. Funny. There it is.
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