About two-thirds through the flight from Detroit to New York, the "captain" came on the intercom and announced heavy air traffic at JFK. "So, we're going to be in a holding pattern here for maybe thirty or forty minutes. As we get updates from JFK we'll pass them along. Thanks for your patience."
Martha and I just looked at each other and rolled our eyes. What else could we do at this point, really? We were committed to this course of action, and we'd get there eventually, but I was starting to wonder if we'd see any of the concert.
A brief aside... why are airline pilots called "captains" anyway? Are commercial pilots worthy of military rank? Is Tennille up there in the flight cabin with them? I'm just saying.
It suddenly occurred to me we needed to check into the hotel. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to roll luggage into Radio City Music Hall during a concert, and then roll it six blocks down the sidewalks of New York to our hotel. Sure, it was just one bag (we had packed light — something we would later discover was a detriment), but I didn't know anything about the neighborhood, and I really didn't think the Radio City Music Hall personnel would favor a bag potentially full of recording equipment getting rolled into their facility.
"We're going to have to check into the hotel first," I said to her. "We can't take our bag to the concert."
"No no no," she said. "The cab will drop you off at the concert. I'll go check us in and walk down and meet you there. I want you to see as much of it as you can." She said this like it wasn't optional and there would be no further discussion of the matter. Still, I asked her if she was sure... and she said she was.
"Ladies and gentlemen, looks like traffic has cleared at JFK so we're leaving our holding pattern and we should arrive in New York in about twenty-five minutes. Sorry for the delay... we'll have you at the gate around 7:45."
And they actually did. By 7:55 we were in a taxi on the way from Queens to Manhattan. I'm thankful for this cabbie, and I don't know if he's a typical New York cab driver or not, but he was one of the most skilled drivers I've ever seen. He weaved in and out of the traffic like he owned it, and though it wasn't heavy traffic by any means, it was tightly packed and moving fast. My guess is he does this every day and it's just a job for him. Better him than me... I might go back to New York one day, but I'll never ever drive there.
At just after 8:40, we arrived at Radio City Music Hall. Martha and I
exchanged a quick goodbye, and as I got out, I heard her saying to the cabbie,
"If you can take me six more blocks to the Sofitel, I'll give you a big tip."
I realized again at that moment that I'm pretty damned lucky.
I rushed up to the ticket taker and got scanned in. "Have they started yet?"
"They sure have. Take these stairs up two flights, go left, and go all the way to the end."
And when I finally got into the concert hall, I saw Steven Wilson onstage playing the last part of "Even Less" — and caught the faint smell of pot in the air.