Customer Service: The Big Apple challenge: Too tired for Sex and the City
I recently had the pleasure of accompanying my good friend Susan Taylor Glasgow to Manhattan. We were heading to the Big Apple to attend the opening of an art exhibit of Susan’s work, which was being held at Heller Gallery. Heller is an exclusive New York gallery that showcases emerging and established artists, mainly in the medium of glass. The VIP reception would be the perfect chic event to punctuate our whirlwind trip to NYC.
The thought of a girls-only getaway to the big city was exciting, to say the least. We opted to leave our husbands at home so we could enjoy the experience our way. I’d been to New York, but I’d never done New York. And Susan was the perfect partner to make the trip memorable. I pictured us dolling up in our fanciest clothes and our highest heels and sashaying into exotic restaurants and swinging nightspots, just like the women in the TV hit Sex and the City.
What I didn’t picture was the subway. Our underground adventure began when the airport shuttle dropped us off at the iconic Grand Central station. With our many bags of finery in tow, we entered the marble edifice. One movie scene after another flashed through my head as we scanned for signs of our quest — a train to take us to Lexington. I’m not sure what signaled we were tourists, but I don’t think it was the luggage. Regardless, a local couple let us follow them very, very quickly to the steps leading to our destination.
Rolling luggage is great until you find yourself in the middle of a bustling crowd at the top of a flight of steps. Make it three flights of steps. I got the sense that we were descending into the bowels of hell.
At the bottom, our clueless expressions compelled someone to direct us to a machine so that we could purchase a Metrocard. It was frustration that motivated the next person to help us make a selection and complete our purchase. It’s difficult to decide how much of something to buy when no information is given as to how much it costs.
Our next dilemma actually made me laugh. Susan got the handle of her rolling suitcase locked around the pole of the turnstile as she went through it. We surely looked like country bumpkins as we struggled to disengage it. Finally, I swiped my Metrocard, and we were able to release the bag. But then a new dilemma presented itself. As I swiped the card again, planning to walk through, the display indicated it would not be accepted. Apparently, it is not allowed to swipe the same card twice in a row at the same terminal. It is a device to limit theft — and to inhibit my passage to the other side to join Susan and catch the desired train. Fortunately, another New Yorker came to my rescue. With a muttered, “Here, I’ll do you a favor,” he swiped his card, pushed me through and disappeared into the crowd before I could thank him. Who says people in New York aren’t friendly?
So, we were both through the portal, with our luggage. But that didn’t mean we were at the train. No way. We had another quarter mile to walk. (No, I’m not exaggerating.) And in between twists and turns, there were stairs. Really, I think we walked the entire length of the island before we reached our train. (Okay, this might be an exaggeration but not much.)
When we eventually caught the train, it wasn’t bad. I enjoyed looking at the sights and the people. One of my favorite things about traveling is seeing people who look different from the folks I see at home, or even anywhere in the Midwest. I like to imagine what life experiences brought them to this city of international diversity.
Moment of peace shattered; time to get off the train. But do you think we were there yet? Think again. More walking. More stairs. Fortunately, though, no more turnstiles.
Another train, another rest. And finally, we were at our desired stop. Boy, was I ready to escape the heat and the noise. Of course, the world outside was nowhere near the train. It was three flights up. As we hefted our ridiculously over-laden loads up step after step, Susan told me our hotel should only be three or four blocks away. Of course, that was assuming we walked in the right direction.
When we did check into our lovely and welcoming hotel room, I unpacked my bags and stowed my high heels at the very back of the closet. My dreamy visions of mimicking Carrie Bradshaw and the girls in their jet-setting ways were shattered. No way I’d be skipping around town in to-die-for shoes. In fact, thinking back, I had not seen one single person in a pair of heels since we hit the city. New York was not a city of high fashion. It was a city of running shoes, and I’d left mine at home.
As I crawled into the fresh sheets of my bed for a rest, I pushed the button on the remote. Finding my old friends, I settled into yet another re-run of sassy girls in a swinging city. I knew it was all a lie, but I figured I better enjoy it. After all, I was way too tired to go out and experience it on my own. Truth be told, I was asleep before the end of the half-hour episode. At least my husband, at home in Columbia, was glad to hear that I was too tired for Sex and the City. He has never really been a fan of the show.
Lili Vianello is president of Visionworks Marketing & Communications, a Columbia-base, full-service advertising, marketing and public relations firm. Contributions to this article were made by Visionworks staff members. Visit them online at www.visionworks.com.