New York Part 1: Alternate Routes

What follows was originally posted on a different blogging platform. I know I don't check in at SWP as often as I used to, so I wrote it up for that audience, but it's important to keep this as part of the narrative. One or two people still read this business and it'd be weird if I did come back later and didn't acknowledge this. So if it seems like there's a gap, it's because it's not originally part of the narrative of SWP. Even though it's... y'know, my life. I posted these in five installments between Tuesday and Friday after I got back Sunday night the 11th.

I'm attempting to wrap my head around what I've just done this weekend. I rode the bus away from New York City in love with myself and my world and thinking only "Thank God or whatever that I'm not a normal person. A normal person would not have sought the experience I've just had." A normal person takes a plane to New York (or sure, a bus,) stays in a hotel for four days or a week, and plots out their days based on the numerous attractions available. Empire State Building, Village, Central Park, Museums, Statue of Liberty, tours, whatever restaurants get good Zagat's ratings... shopping, souvenirs, maybe a Broadway Show. I've done that trip, when I was 18 years old. I was on a school trip and though there is plenty of "wandering around" time built into any NYC trip, it was also structured so that we were always on to the next thing. Normal people do that all the time and it's fun. I could easily have and enjoyed it. But because I'm not normal, I also had this alternative. I'm mild, I'm shy and quiet and introverted most of the time, and very, very comfortable in my own little world, but that doesn't mean I can't recognize a good opportunity when it comes up. That's what's abnormal about me.

I have this philosophy that anything could happen in this world. And I don't mean Earthquakes and Hurricanes (although clearly, yes, even in New York.) I mean you could meet anyone and they could tell you anything, so you've got to be game. You've got to adapt and deal. You can't constantly be stymied by things from outside your little world.

I have a whole bunch of stories from this past weekend (and beyond) and some pick up others' dropped threads, some overlap, some are complete tangents. This whole weekend has been made of tangents. It's easy to get distracted in a strange city. In more than a few conversations we'd find ourselves getting far off topic then backtracking, "Wait, what were we talking about?"

Many of the stories are not interesting except that they are a deviation from my normal existence of work and home, and by virtue, hopefully, of how I tell them.
I write this not merely to write a long journal entry (entries) about my trip, but as a writing exercise, because of how many different ways I could tell this story. I used to write like this all the time on less worthy topics. I can't promise it'll be entertaining or worthwhile to read, but it will definitely be thorough.

There's a bunch of reasons why I took this trip. It first occurred to me back when I thought I was graduating in April not August that it would be the ideal time to take some time off and go on a vacation. When I learned I would be spending a further four months in school it became a finish line promise to myself. It was harder getting through the winter knowing I'd have to take summer school, than it was to actually go through the summer. I had a great summer: my classes were enjoyable, work got a lot better after the change in management. I sought adventure with strange women (and familiar ones.) But all the while I was looking ahead.

It was all pretty abstract until August. I didn't have my Passport, I didn't have any plans, I just knew I wanted to go. I had to get my wisdom teeth out and I had to go to a wedding on Labour Day weekend. After that I was whatever, but I only had so much time until the weather got lame and I have to work hellish retail holiday. It was my secret happy thought, though: my first real time away from home, away from family, from responsibility, from anything that bothers me about my life. At some undetermined time in the future. I didn't talk about it.

Then one day at family dinner, my Grandma asks what my brother is up to and he says "Oh, I'm planning a trip to New York." My jaw drops. "Uh... no, you're not. I am."
I hadn't realized I never mentioned it. And now my brother -- a minor part of the reasons I wanted to go -- was cramping my style. I was actually really pissed off. I felt like the only two options were to go along with him, or to not go. Both sounded awful. It wasn't just that I wanted to get away from him, but I did want to go alone, and I didn't think I wanted the trip he was taking. I wanted my own. And we both had our eyes on the same vague period of early-mid September. I'm the youngest, so I have a complex about things that I consider "my own." I rarely put importance to those traits, but there's some truth there.

After I came down from my somewhat uncalled-for private hissy-fit, I briefly considered going along on his trip. It wasn't out of the question; I could get away from him and his buddy Steve, I could do my own thing and meet up with them at the end of the day. Share flights, split hotel room. From what I gathered, he did not object to this because he knew I'd probably be doing my own thing with or without him, and I'm sure he understood my need to get away. Then my cheap ass started pricing hotel rooms and thought "Fuck it, I've got a better solution."

Somehow it happened that I was on this site and I came into contact with these two crazy chicks who kept urging me to come to their city even to the point of claiming Meg would put me up for a weekend. I think a normal person would get an offer like that and say "That's really nice, but let's be serious." I'm words on a screen. I'm a few random gpoys. But after whatever contemplation, and an irresistible sense of adventure took hold, I said "Yeah. If you're serious. Let's go."

The trip came together quickly after that. Passport, tickets, plans. Dad would tell people at the wedding that my brother and I were going to New York and I would clarify, "We're both going. They're separate trips we're planning at the same time." Then came questions like "Wait... who do you know in New York?" Even at customs, they asked "Why are you going?" (Tourism.) "Who are you staying with?" (Friends.) "How many times have you met them?" (Uh... never...) Cough cough. Somehow, the officer just rolled his eyes and shrugged. He was more interested in the fact that my name is so common that when he looked me up he got someone whose information didn't match mine. "Has your passport ever been stolen?" "No. You're probably looking at the wrong Williams." "Oh, here you are. Okay, go ahead." I'm sure mom spent the entire weekend assuming I was in the process of being brutally murdered.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto