Ask me anything
So anyway… Washington Square Park. We concluded by approaching a guy with an “Ask me anything” sign. This seemed like a good idea at the time, but I just ended up telling him about our secret mission to dump the remains of my mother in law around the planet. We pretty much established that he’d never heard of Giuseppe Garibaldi or indeed the infamous biscuits. He also knew nothing about the hand of god incident at the 1986 World Cup. What a loser this guy was. And as if that fact needed confirmation, confirmation arrived with the revelation that he was in fact a student of Computer Science and Art. As if my chat to date had not been patronising enough, I went on to ask him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said “Porn star”…. But you know I’m lying. He actually said “Web Designer”. I punched him. We wandered off in search of a statue of Marco de Oreo, or perhaps Gerry Ginger Nut.
The rest of the day was lost to the exciting things you might expect a 50 something bloke to do on a bastard cold day in New York City. I found a warm cafe and had soup. However, as boring as it was, I did do it in Manhattan, as yellow cabs whizzed past, steam issued from the pavements and the buildings around me towered to unfeasible heights. Today, I had walked more laps of Central Park and had eventually strolled down to Times Square. I pondered on life, the universe and all sorts of shit as I dunked another chunk of bread into the hot bowl of goodness in front of me. We probably spent the best part of an hour sat watching New York life go by. In that time, you were probably reading another email from Brian about abuse of the photocopier or perhaps you were watching Bargain Hunt. My ‘boring day’ in New York just kicked your day’s ass without even trying.
Later that evening, I may have ventured out to have one last burger. Mrs Steve didn’t fancy one but I made her come and witness the religious experience anyway. I ignored her protestations about the fact it was -15C in the shade. She’d got a coat and everything. I say “everything” she doesn’t have a hat or gloves, but it’s not her birthday yet.. and my burger was fantastic. I offered the little lady a bite but she refused. Apparently, burgers aren’t vegetarian. The bloody wokies have indoctrinated her too! With my stomach full of lard I slept like a hog, dreaming of the breakfast that awaited me in the morning before we headed off to the airport.
And so it came to pass, after bacon and lard, we just had time to visit the Grand Central food court for coffee and cake, and then headed up to the Rockefeller Centre to visit the Lego shop. It is after all one of New York’s most iconic tourist venues and who doesn’t need yet another Lego key ring?
After some negotiation with Hamilton on the concierge desk. Our taxi was booked for 2pm. Hamilton was a lovely guy. Clearly naturally friendly and happy. Clearly he just wanted the biggest tip he could get. This level of capitalist fuelled insincerity is at the heart of the American service culture. The locals just love an employee being subservient to them. Not so long ago this was the foundation this ‘land of the free’ was built on. It just makes for very 'awkward' feeling interactions at times. Wow this got very serious just because a (suspiciously) friendly guy ordered me a cab. Christ Steve, tell us a joke about burgers!
Anyway, soon it was 2pm and we started our journey out to JFK. Our cab was actually an Escalade. Yeah yeah, I’ve done alright for myself. Also, I double checked. Using the hotel’s posh cars was slightly cheaper than calling an Uber. We soon got chatting to our driver, he was originally from Pakistan but now living the American dream. Feeling brave I started a discussion about the somewhat negative portrayal of Asian Americans in the American media. I’m really fun at parties y’know.
I'm not really sure why I bothered. After far too short a period, the orange clown president was mentioned and he confessed that he’d voted for Trump. God Bless America, where the abused vote for the abuser! Stockholm syndrome is apparently a real issue.
In his view, any problem from the drains being blocked to gun crime was the fault of illegal immigrants. The gun problem was down to illegal guns. His main issue was the fact he was a Christian, who had not exactly been welcomed in his home country, and now had developed a hatred of all Muslims. In between his sometimes well reasoned but basically xenophobic opinions, he lectured us about Christianity and the teachings of the bible. He eventually told us how Christianity had taught him to treat everyone as equal blah blah blah but he still hates Muslims. Jesus Christ!
Oh the time absolutely flew by!! Eventually, I checked if he was a real man. No I didn’t goose him, that would have been wrong. (Oh dear now I’ll have to explain to my mother a) what goosing is and b) How the hell I know what goosing is!) Only yesterday, I had to explain BDSM to an 80 something lady who likes nothing better than baking a nice cake. Now her and my old man are considering buying handcuffs and whips off Ann Summers. (Shudder)… ah back to his “real man test”
Was he a fan of Cricket or some cheap American alternative? The guy voted Trump, he 100% preferred baseball to cricket. God give me strength, this was the final insult. He’d given up his Pakistan passport and looked down on anyone who didn’t believe in his particular god and in the ultimate betrayal, he’d turned his back on cricket!! Indeed, he confessed he used to follow it but supported the West Indies. I’m not one to judge but this guy was 100% a fucking idiot.
We managed to keep the conversation civil as I probed deeper into the mind of a moron. I guess he was pleasant and articulate enough, but he was also brainwashed and misguided. This was a perfect example of the moron American who voted for Trump. After an hour which felt more like Question Time than a trip to the airport we escaped. I even tipped him. But I confess I tipped the guy who served my soup more. Because HE wasn’t a fucking idiot.
We escaped into JFK Terminal 8. Like many a US airport they are trying hard but ultimately failing. In the UK, an airport is a resort, a shopping mall, you have bars, restaurants and hot and cold running hookers. You want to spend time there. It’s part of your holiday. In the US. It’s like a fucking bus stop. You go to catch a plane. They have a time table and a shelter that someone probably pee'd in recently. If you want food and entertainment, bring your own.
JFK T8 is in the midst of a refurbishment. Unlike sane nations they have just closed EVERYTHING to refurbish it. No Starbucks, no burgers, no sit down dining at all. They had a newsagent and a bar that was smaller than the newsagents, and that wasn’t large. It took some time for me to realise the root of the problem. My epiphany came with an “Are you ok hun?” text I received from uninvited child 2. Just checking that I was coping with not being in the Business Class lounge. I wasn’t coping. But I guess in Trump’s Britain this is how you treat people who are having a hashtag mental health crisis!! Bloody ungrateful kids!
Well my USA adventure is over for another year. I’ll probably just sit at home and cry about all the insanity, injustice and inequality in the world for a while. Maybe I’ll just cry because the burgers in Shake Shack in the UK are just not as good as in America.
Where will I go next? Maybe I’ll do some missionary work in a far off land. Maybe I will do that, but first Business Class Birthday in Bermuda BABY!!
You’re only 57 once so why not celebrate it. But Steve, what is special about being 57? Nothing at all my friend. But I am special!! And you knows it baby girl!
Until the next time!