A Little Sympathy, Please

I should warn you: if you don’t want to hear complaining, then log off the blog and wait for another day. I’ve had a bad week, and I need to vent. Then again, if you want to hear about our trip to NYC, then sift through the complaining and you'll find some of the fun things we did.

Last week this time, I was super stressed with the preparation for our trip to NYC. I was hurriedly getting out photo shoots, packing, and dealing with Meg and an injury-laden few days. (She stubbed her toe, scraped her finger to the point where some of the nail was lost, and scratched her nose . . . all in about 48 hours time.)

“You’ll make it . . .” I told myself. “It’s all worth it. A few days in NYC with Jim will be so much fun. Just look forward to that.”

Then Thursday came, and the trip to NYC was upon me. The airplane ride was totally uneventful and fantastic, thanks to Jim who put me in first class. The hotel let me check in as soon as I arrived (no delay, even thought it was an hour before actual check-in time), and I wandered NYC for a while . . . enjoying the sights, the sounds, and the solitude.

Jim joined me, we had a terrible $75 dinner (undercooked hamburgers and fries with a yucky spice to them), but salvaged the night by journeying to the top of the Empire State Building to view New York at night.

Friday started off okay . . . I’d decided to take a bus tour all over Uptown Manhattan because I’d really never experienced much of the city north of Central Park. My plan was to hop on and off the tour bus . . . taking pictures of brownstones and interesting people on the Upper East Side.

Well, I had to wait in line about 45 minutes just to get ON the bus. Then, once I was on, I had no choice where I sat . . . I got crammed into the front corner, under the windshield so no picture taking was really possible from the bus. The city north of Central Park was not really the area of town where a pregnant lady should be wandering by herself . . . Harlem, Spanish Harlem, etc. And, I didn’t see any brownstones on the Upper East Side . . . and I was too nervous about being alone to wander around by myself and find them. Plus, I had to get in line for theater tickets at 2:15 pm, so my time was running out . . . traffic plus the 45 minute wait had made the bus tour WAY longer than the 2 hours sited on their brochure.

New plan – just ride the bus the entire route, then hop off and get in line for theater tickets. And that’s what I did. Off the bus in Times Square at 1:30, with just enough time to grab a $15 panini and head to the discount Broadway ticket office.

The best part of the trip is coming up – don’t miss it! Here it is: when I showed up at the
TKTS line to wait for theater tickets, the security told me that I didn’t have to wait. I could come back at 3pm (when the box office opened) and go straight to the front of the line. Why? Because I’m pregnant! Whoppeee!!! I took full advantage . . . wandered down Restaurant Row and found some places for our post-theater meal, then came back and got in line with the people in wheelchairs. Hooray for being pregnant . . . I’ll take any advantages that come my way because of my ‘condition.’ I got tickets to
‘A Chorus Line’ – starring Mario Lopez.

After picking up tickets, I took the subway (by now I’d gotten good at taking it!) to meet Jim in Union Square. I found a Babies-R-Us to kill some time in, and then Jim and I had a delicious Mr. Softee Ice Cream from the truck parked just off the square. Then we headed back to the hotel to rest and dress for our theater night.

The show was pretty good . . . I liked it, Jim thought it was all right. He liked seeing AC Slater in the play . . . but there are no big set changes, no fancy lights, and no chorus of dancers. It’s a bare-bones kind of show, and I think Jim wanted a bit more flare to his Broadway experience.

The restaurant I’d picked on Restaurant Row was, of course, booked . . . so we settled for an Italian steak house. Another $150 dinner that was just OK. Jim wasn’t crazy about his steak, and I was so-so on my duck. Oh well. The night was still a lot of fun (until it started raining!).

Saturday was going to be our day to do whatever we wanted . . . take it easy, enjoy the city. I wanted to go to a Flea Market I’d read about in Greenwich Village. Our plan was to hit the flea market for the morning, then go to Central Park for the afternoon. We found our way to Grennwich Village on the subway . . . 170 vendors, or so the tour guide read, turned out to be about 10 vendors selling nothing of interest to us. BUMMER. So, back uptown we traveled to spend some time in the park. The park was great . . . we wandered and enoyed the people watching . . . but then we got hungry and it became a desperate search to find some way OUT of the park and INTO a place to eat.

Earlier that morning, Jim had a great idea to see if any tickets to the Saturday night showing of ‘Wicked’ – the hottest show on Broadway – might be available on Craig’s List. I thought that was a GREAT idea. That would be an easy place to find last-minute stuff, surely. And, sure enough, someone who had last-minute tickets and couldn’t go was offering them for sale at face value. We emailed the person . . . then we didn’t hear from anyone until about 2:45pm, just as we were leaving the park.

The guy sounded so ligit – I’m so damn gullible. He had tickets he couldn’t use, tried to sell them earlier in the day but the original buyer fell through . . . so they were ours if we wanted them. We arranged to meet him at 43rd and 9th at 5:30pm that afternoon to pick them up. Two tickets, $125 each, so $250 total. Sounded GREAT. Jim and I were excited . . . it was a bit of a splurge for us since we’d already seen a show the night before, but it was our last ‘hooray’ before Kate . . . so why not. I know that Jim wanted to see it because I wanted to see it.

We found some food ($50 lunch, yikes!), spent the afternoon in Rockafeller Plaza, then over on 9th avenue meeting up with the thief, then back at the hotel resting (again) and dressing for the show. At 7:45pm we entered the Gershwin Theater on 51st street, all excited by the festivities before us, looking forward to getting to our seats to enjoy the show.

As soon as we handed the tickets to the greeter, she said, “Oh, honey . . . these are fake.” I could NOT BELIEVE it. The guy that sold us the tickets was so nice . . . a regular guy, about mid-30s, flying out of town that night and not able to use the tickets that someone had given to him. He said he was a doctor . . . the tickets came in an envelope from a theater company that had ‘Dr Danny Kirkwood’ written on it . . . he was just such a nice, regular guy. He even told us the story about the flakey buyer who didn’t purchase the tickets earlier in the day.

“These are totally fake tickets. See? They won’t even scan.”

I must have looked like a she had just told me that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were having triplets . . . or that George Bush had decided to resign from office . . . I was totally and completely shocked.

“We have people outside here all day to prevent this kind of stuff from happening . . .” she said.

Jim asked the manger to take a look, and he conceded that we had fakes. Jim asked if there was anything we could do. The manager was totally unsympathetic.

“You bought them on Craig’s List? Yeah, never buy anything there.”

Not that I expected him to give us tickets or let us in, but . . . a little sympathy, please.

We cabbed it back to the hotel so that we could call the THEIF that sold us the tickets . . . I had his phone number in my cell phone (which we’d left at the hotel). Amazing, but the guy didn’t answer. We reported him on Craig’s List, tried to email (again, the account no longer exists!) . . . then pouted and moped. The guy never called back.

I wanted to believe it was a mistake. The guy was a GREAT actor . . . he had me so duped that I thought it was a mistake and that HE had been sold fake tickets. I thought surely he’d give us our money back. I really and truly wanted to believe that.

Now that 48 hours have gone by, I have texted him some nasty notes because I KNOW he was just a lying slimeball.

The worst part is not that we lost $250 . . . although, trust me, that STINGS. The worst part is that it ruined our night. We’d talked about seeing another show, but we couldn’t because by the time we found out we were NOT going to ‘Wicked’ it was too late to try and see anything else. It was too late for just about any normal plans . . . too late to make dinner reservations, too late to regroup and make a whole new night. Jim and I both felt terrible.

We stayed in our room for about 2 hours, wallowing in self pity and a bit of self-hatred for being so stupid as to buy from a stranger. WE KNOW BETTER. I KNOW it was a stupid thing to do. It was. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

But, I’m still looking for that sympathy that the Broadway manager didn’t give us . . . that none of our family seemed to feel for us . . . that ‘How could he! What a jerk’ response that makes me feel a little less stupid and a little more like this wasn’t our fault.

Can I get a little sympathy, please? Even this ridiculously solicited sympathy will do. I want someone to help ME feel less like a total dumba$$ for what we did.

Anyway . . . we went for pizza at about 10pm. It wasn’t very good . . . no sauce on it at all. Who makes pizza without sauce? And the sauce they gave me on the side was a bit like Chef-Boyardee. At least Jim had a yummy, piping hot Calzone.

We wandered up 8th avenue and had coffee and desert. Then we wandered back to the hotel down SHADY 7th avenue amidst a bunch of loud, obnoxious teenagers that were a little intimidating to me.

Thank God Sunday morning came, and we could try to move on and get HOME. We slept in, grabed a bagel (mine tasted like ONIONS because the guy was cutting onions when I ordered my bagel . . . he didn’t bother to change his gloves before cutting and toasting my bagel), then went to H&M and Old Navy. Retail therapy. Didn’t really work, but Meg and Kate got some cute H&M duds none-the-less.

I could not wait to get home. I didn’t get to ride back first class . . . just coach, but at least an exit row so I had some leg room. I was so happy when we touched down in Atlanta. I made it out to the car as fast as I could and even had some help loading my bags (thanks ATL Airport shuttle guy!).

And then I cried. I hugged the steering wheel and cried. I was so relieved to be home . . . I missed Meg so much . . . . I just wanted the entire weekend to be behind me. I don't really even want to look at the pictures I took (I hardly took any, anyway). I just want to forget it ever happened.

A new week has begun, but I still find myself mopey and bitter about the occurrences over the last week. Meg is a real handful today . . . she's spoiled ROTTEN from Grandaddy and Nana, which resulted in a full-out temper tantrum at Publix this morning. I'm sure my poor attitude is not helping things at all.

So, again . . . can I get a little more of that solicited sympathy? Please? I need to get over this all and move on. I need some help.

Again -- repeated from yesterday -- the moral of the story is NEVER buy ANYTHING from Craig's List. And stay away from New York City. I have no desire to go back for a long, long time.