Recently, business took me out of the tri-state area for the first time in a year. The idea of it initially delighted me- an entire night without bathing, scolding, carrying or dressing a kicking and screaming child? Whatever will I do with myself? And ultimately, that ended up being the question and the problem...
It all started Wednesday morning with a car ride to the Newark, NJ train station. Since I rarely travel anywhere, I arrived at the station a whopping 2 1/2 hours before my departure time. So I sat and read a book. Now, if you've never been to Newark, NJ, how should I put this? Well, Disney World's slogan is "where magic happens." Newark's should be, "where tragic happens." The place is an unmitigated disaster. So after sitting and reading for nearly an hour, I got up and ordered a coffee and donut. It felt pretty good only to have to worry about my own ravenous appetite for American cuisine for once. But no sooner did the sugary coating touch my lips when I was approached by the man my father had always warned me about.
"Hey man," he whispered forcefully. "These other fools don't know nuttin'," he continued, waving his hands toward the rest of the waiting folks around me dismissively. He looked like a shorter version of Samuel L. Jackson. "Listen, I don't mean no disrespect..." Historically, any sentence starting with that phrase is like a warning sign that screams, "Run the other way! Fast!" Because, more often than not, disrespect is imminent. "I just got out of prison for murdering the man who raped my daughter." Clearly, I'd hit the jackpot.
As the words "rape" and "daughter" were enunciated into my ear as forcefully as a dagger through the heart of a Newark resident, my eyes desperately scanned the area for a policeman. I saw one, about 20 feet away. Then it occurred to me, what would I tell them? "Excuse me, officer, but a freshly released convict and/or seasoned local actor has passive aggressively threatened to murder me?" That would be like complaining to the zookeeper because the cow just mooed.
It was somewhere in the middle of his sales pitch when I stopped listening and started reaching into my pocket before he could even utter the word "money." Trying to do the hand-off as gracefully as possible was a failure as I ended up pulling out my license and Visa card with the singles I was coughing up to him. I'm sure he wouldn't have minded had I simply emptied my pocket into his. As I was folding the dollars to donate to his Jack Daniels fund, he sheepishly laughed and said, "I feel like a fuckin' bum." I can't possibly imagine why.
The surrounding beggars must've seen this as an opportunity as I was then targeted more often than Jerry Rice from that point forward. I couldn't help them. I'd given all my singles to the murderous father of a raped child. Pretty good excuse, I thought.
So after the two-hour train ride to Baltimore, I arrived at my hotel. I stared up at the building, cutting into the night sky. The next morning I would be taking a car service from the hotel to the office, so I decided to take a stroll and see if I could scan the area and maybe even spot the office. I took two steps to my right and looked up again. The hotel and my office were pretty close to each other, as it turned out. So close, in fact, that they were attached. They may have even shared a heating and cooling system. The hesitation in the operator's voice when I booked the car service was starting to make a whole lot more sense. Hey, at least I wouldn't face much traffic.
Soon thereafter, I sat down to the most awkward, boring dinner of my life. I went to this place called Kona Grill and sat by myself, as the waitress peered over at me sympathetically from time to time. Being so used to having to shovel food down my throat so I could tear the antique vase out of Antonio's mischievous hands, I had completely lost the ability to execute this foreign concept known as "savoring your food." In fact, indigestion set in before I even got the check, the sounds of nearby crowds joyfully giggling serving as the backdrop to my solitude. Sonia called as I was paying the bill. She put Antonio on to say goodnight.
"Hi!" Antonio shouted into the receiver.
"Hey, buddy! I miss you!" I yelled back.
"Hi!" Antonio shouted again, in the exact same timbre.
"You being a good boy for mommy? Are you all dressed in your Curious George PJs enjoying your milk and cookies?" I asked, trying to move the conversation forward.
"Hi!" I could see this was going nowhere, so I asked him to put mommy back on. Wanna guess what his response was to that?
As I stumbled around the hotel after dinner, I found myself desperately vying for the attention of other humans who might interact with me. I made some pedestrian remark on the elevator to a guy in his 50s about the weather. It was fucking pathetic. I felt like crying into a pillow. This feeling increased exponentially when I realized my team, the New York Jets were playing on the hotel bar TV screen, only to lose embarrassingly in the last minute of regulation. It was as if God himself was an event planner and organized this night just to kick me in the balls.
It's lonely without someone to bother the shit out of meI went back to my room about 11:00 pm and realized immediately that I had no idea how to fall asleep by myself. I was used to either a wife and at least one child's needs to dictate when it was time to sleep. Alone? Damned if I knew. So I regressed to what I used to do when I was single. I put on a DVD I'd already seen a thousand times and checked my text messages every 30 seconds.
I turned on the TV and was instantly met with an advertisement for porn, with the promise that "the title NEVER appears on your hotel bill." But I just don't trust that. Sure, the title won't appear, but what will it say instead? MISC- IN-ROOM PORN ORDER- $29.95? No, thanks. I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself (after I'd ordered the movie, of course). I literally opened all the drawers in the bedside nightstand to see if there was a Bible I could read and ultimately settled on doing something I couldn't really do at home with my in-laws- I got naked and ironed. It was awesomely liberating.
Anyway, I slept a few hours and got to the office the next morning by 8:30. I met with a co-worker there who set me up with a laptop I needed. Having not allowed myself enough time to eat breakfast, I dug into my pocket as I approached the vending machine. I realized I had no cash. Why didn't I have cash? Well, because I'd given all of it to the murderous killer of a man who'd raped his invisible daughter! That's why! I sheepishly turned to my co-worker (who I'd just met a few minutes earlier) and told her about my problem. She shrugged her shoulders and went back to her desk. Thanks for the hospitality (and dollar), you dolt.
Hours later, I buried my face in a book at the train station and before long, I was back home in New Jersey, eagerly striding into the house to see my family, who were already eating dinner. Antonio greeted me with a big smile and hug. It was fantastic. I felt like I was in one of those "Soldiers Surprising Loved Ones" videos on YouTube, but minus the months away from home and noble occupation. Then, I met eyes with my youngest son, Nate. He was sitting in my mother-in-law's lap. I was expecting a wide-eyed grin, but instead he bawled uncontrollably. Sonia said it was because he realized he wasn't in my arms. Nice cover, wife. It was a more heartwarming story than what I assumed, that he had already forgotten me and thought I was a stranger.
Seconds later, Antonio was entrenched in watching Team Umizoomi, right back to ignoring me, while I changed a dirty diaper of Nate's that would make most third-world countries jealous. It was great to be home.
I realize this entry was a bit different from my past kid-heavy ones. But I felt it necessary to convey just how odd it feels to be on your own once you're used to literally not having an arm free. In the end, I prefer the chaos to the boredom.
Till next time, be strong and stay sane. And as usual, feel free to share!
-Joe DeProspero
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