Travel Is for the Young*

*True story of Al Zimbler’s life as it appears in his sixth short story humor book MORE DATING AND MATING SECRETS OF SENIORS AND OTHER HUMOR SHORT STORIES.

As our plane lands at La Guardia and we exit the United aircraft, I can hear the loudspeaker blast out the recorded message “Welcome to New York.” That’s all well and good, but after three hours of being in that plane I need to find a restroom. La Guardia is not known for having a surplus of restrooms, but never mind, there is one in sight. Oh, no! There are about 20 people in line outside the one and only men’s restroom in this area. I’ve landed at this gate before so that I know this is a usual occurrence.        

However, I know there is a men’s restroom near the baggage area, and I hope I leave no wet trail until I get there. I’m in luck. No one is outside, and in fact, no one is inside. So next my adult son and I make it to the cab line outside in the 30-degree windy weather. Again, a long line waiting for cabs, but this being a New York airport there is an even longer line of cabs waiting to pick up passengers and earn a healthy fare transporting us to the Tribeca area of the city.

The Gansevoort Hotel is a large and well-known hotel in this area. “Your room is not ready yet,” we are informed. “Give us a few more hours, until about three, and it will be.” The hotel receptionist takes our luggage though, and a few minutes later we are joined by my granddaughter. She is the reason my son flew into Chicago from Los Angeles to accompany me to New York to see the co-op he has helped purchase for his daughter.

It’s not as if this co-op is so large and beautiful and one of a kind. No, the reason for our trip is for me to see the fifth-floor walk-up of just over 500 square feet of living space his daughter now owns. A walk-up means that there is no elevator service. The good part of this five-floor walk-up is that the main entranceway is the first floor, so there are only four flights of stairs to get to that fifth floor.

My granddaughter arrives, and we start our tour of the area, which was formerly the meat packing area of New York City. In my opinion the streets still look like they did in the early 1900s. Lots of brick work and not too many paved streets. In order to avoid falls, my granddaughter recommends that I walk with my head down looking at the pavement and she will inform me of approaching autos.

We visit something called the Chelsea Market. It is not an open-air market, just an enclosed area with foot traffic going north and foot traffic going south. Keep walking or you’ll be pushed in the direction you are walking. Looking for a restaurant is no problem. Plenty of these but all are full of customers, and all have a wait line. The numerous gift shops are not for us as we are not looking for souvenirs. We exit and head for the other market in the area. This one is the Gansevoort Market and is closer to our hotel. It is a large restaurant area selling souvenirs, coffee, teas, and what have you. We finally end up at a diner for lunch, and we then take another long walk to my granddaughter’s co-op.

The co-op appears to have been built in the 1920s but it is in good shape appearance wise. I take a deep breath and start the climb. I make it to the second floor, and with a nod to my son and granddaughter that I am okay, we proceed upward and onward. It is now the third floor and I am doing great. Two more flights to go. The fourth floor is now a memory, and now with a big intake of air we are ready to finish the climb up Mt. Everest.

I plant my two feet at the entrance and smile. My heart is not racing, and I am still breathing normally. The co-op flat is nice. It does have modern plumbing including a shower, and it has a bedroom, a fireplace, and lots of closet space.

An hour later my son and I leave my granddaughter and go out to get a cab to the hotel, with a dinner date for the three of us in a few hours.

 Dinner is expensive. We share one steak for the three of us at a cost of $149 with no sides included. The three of us return to the hotel and are able to gain admission to the rooftop bar where only the hotel guests and visitors who have checked in at the front desk are approved for entry.

My son is the only drinker in the bar. A cocktail is $18. If you desire to sit in the special area simply called “The Room,” you are required to spend $500 for a bottle of fine wine. We don’t choose to take this deal. My granddaughter takes a cab to her co-op, and my son and I retire to our hotel room.

 We discover that this $600-per-night hotel room does not have a shower. You must get into the tub and use the so-called shower part.

The towels were soft, the bedding was clean, and the view from our hotel room was a display of lights, cabs driving all around, and people still walking the streets at midnight. My son informed me that the Gansevoort is not considered an expensive hotel for New York City.

 The next day the three of us have brunch, and then my son and I take a cab back to the Delta terminal with a plane ride to Chicago for me and to Los Angeles for my son.

I needed two days of rest after that trip to New York. However, I managed not to need the restroom at La Guardia or during the flight to Chicago, and I was happy to see the available men’s rooms at O’Hare.