When Stupidity Stumbles into New York
I pulled over the the side of the road. I had just spent four days on the road, driving from Los Angeles to New York in a beat up Fiat Spider my sister had given me so I could drive to Fordham law school in Manhattan. The car had no radio. There comes a time, after driving by yourself to a place you've never been, when loneliness shrouds you and you break out in song. "Country road, take me home, to the place I belong. West Virginia. Mountain momma. Take me home. Country road." I'm not proud of it. But John Denver had been burned into my brain in my youth when my mother spun that record over and over and over again.
As I drove across country, death followed me. My first night, I drove to my friend Ami Solomon's place in Provo, Utah. She was a dead-head, with her dead-head husband. Unfortunately, the day I arrived, Jerry Garica died, and I had to attend a dead-head mourning is some park in Utah. A lot of beating drums and gnashing of teeth. I left Ami, and continued on to Omaha, Nebraska, where a college friend of mine was recovering with his parents from a deep depression that caused him to drop out of Berkeley. From there, it was two more days until I arrived in New York at about 10:00 p.m. I arrived in New York on the day Micky Mantle died.
I crossed the George Washington Bridge in heavy traffic. With the convertable top down, I looked over the edge of the bridge to the New York City skyline, which I'd never seen before. I'd never been to New York. I knew nothing about it. Once over the bridge, I found an off-ramp called "Fordham Road." I couldn't believe my luck. Here I am, going to Fordham Law School, and here is a road that will take me right there. That was my first mistaken assumption. Well, Fordham University is in the Bronx, and Fordham Law School is in midtown Manhattan. I pulled off the highway onto Fordham Road, and got lost in the Bronx. I knew it was a bad situation when I looked back and saw a kid on roller blades hanging off the luggage rack of my car, as I pulled him along. I remember throngs of people out on the hot summer night. I was aghast as I watched people, including small kids...toddlers running up and down the street at 10:30 p.m. I turned onto a side street, and pulled to the side of the road. I pulled out my large map. Two black kids approached me, an adolecent boy and girl. The boy turned to me and said, "I wouldn't park here if I were you. You'd better get on a main street. It's not safe."
I found Broadway, and followed it south, out of the Bronx and into Manhattan. I drove south on Broadway. I was dressed in rags. I smelled. So I decided it was the right time for a drink. I stopped at a bar. I figure that the bar was somewhere around 82nd Street or so (years later I tried to find that bar, but never did see it again) It was a nice place. Not like a sports bar or an Irish bar, but a place where you'd find attractive, yuppie women. I ordered a Martini. I've always regretted that. What the hell was I thinking? A fucking Martini. Why didn't I order a Manhattan. I don't know what I was thinking. I drank the martini, realized that I was out-classed, and headed back to my car. By this time, it must have been about midnight. I was dehydrated, so the drink went right to my head. I was having trouble driving the car. I stopped the car near a west side hotel that was right off of Central Park West. I tried to sleep in the car, but the lights from the hotel entrance were to bright, and the activity was to intense. I started up again and stopped near a deli. I bought a sliced turkey sandwich and an orange juice. It was one of the worst meals I've ever had. It made me naughteous. I got back into my car, drove south on Broadway, until I came to 60th Street, where Fordham Law is. I drove past the school, and down to West End Avenue, right behind some projects. At about 62 Street and West End, I found a parking space and tried to sleep in the car. Some cab driver was parked right in front of me, doing the same thing. I didn't know anybody in New York. I had no place to go. I had a few hundred dollars on me. I wanted to save that and try to get a room somewhere. So I had no place to live.
The next day, I wandered around New York, trying get my bearings and find a room. Of course, I hadn't realized how high the cost of living was there. The only rooms in my price range were owned by people with funny accents, who demanded to know if I had a job. Well, I didn't. The next day school started its orientation. I had to get cleaned up. I asked someone if they knew where a cheap motel was. Someone pointed me in the direction of the Liberty Inn in the meat packing district. It cost me something like $75 dollars for my love motel room, with no bathroom and shared shower and toilet accommodations. The television spilled out porn. I can still remember the look of a white girl, sucking some black guys cock, and looking up at his face, pearing down from up there was the camera. I looked out my window over the Hudson River to New Jersey. I could see "The Vault," which I did not know at the time was a Sex Club/Fetish Venue (it's now gone, since they put a road over the block where it once stood). I knew something was amiss because of the seedy dudes hanging out the front, waiting to get in. I cleaned up and went to bed.
The next morning I went to check out. A young couple...kids really, were tying to negotiate a room past the noon hour with the limited funds they had. The guy behind the window was apprehensive about taking my American Express Traveller's check. He didn't really have a choice. It was take it or don't get paid. Your choice, dude.
Stay tuned for "2L" - my vinnettes about being a homeless law student.
As I drove across country, death followed me. My first night, I drove to my friend Ami Solomon's place in Provo, Utah. She was a dead-head, with her dead-head husband. Unfortunately, the day I arrived, Jerry Garica died, and I had to attend a dead-head mourning is some park in Utah. A lot of beating drums and gnashing of teeth. I left Ami, and continued on to Omaha, Nebraska, where a college friend of mine was recovering with his parents from a deep depression that caused him to drop out of Berkeley. From there, it was two more days until I arrived in New York at about 10:00 p.m. I arrived in New York on the day Micky Mantle died.
I crossed the George Washington Bridge in heavy traffic. With the convertable top down, I looked over the edge of the bridge to the New York City skyline, which I'd never seen before. I'd never been to New York. I knew nothing about it. Once over the bridge, I found an off-ramp called "Fordham Road." I couldn't believe my luck. Here I am, going to Fordham Law School, and here is a road that will take me right there. That was my first mistaken assumption. Well, Fordham University is in the Bronx, and Fordham Law School is in midtown Manhattan. I pulled off the highway onto Fordham Road, and got lost in the Bronx. I knew it was a bad situation when I looked back and saw a kid on roller blades hanging off the luggage rack of my car, as I pulled him along. I remember throngs of people out on the hot summer night. I was aghast as I watched people, including small kids...toddlers running up and down the street at 10:30 p.m. I turned onto a side street, and pulled to the side of the road. I pulled out my large map. Two black kids approached me, an adolecent boy and girl. The boy turned to me and said, "I wouldn't park here if I were you. You'd better get on a main street. It's not safe."
I found Broadway, and followed it south, out of the Bronx and into Manhattan. I drove south on Broadway. I was dressed in rags. I smelled. So I decided it was the right time for a drink. I stopped at a bar. I figure that the bar was somewhere around 82nd Street or so (years later I tried to find that bar, but never did see it again) It was a nice place. Not like a sports bar or an Irish bar, but a place where you'd find attractive, yuppie women. I ordered a Martini. I've always regretted that. What the hell was I thinking? A fucking Martini. Why didn't I order a Manhattan. I don't know what I was thinking. I drank the martini, realized that I was out-classed, and headed back to my car. By this time, it must have been about midnight. I was dehydrated, so the drink went right to my head. I was having trouble driving the car. I stopped the car near a west side hotel that was right off of Central Park West. I tried to sleep in the car, but the lights from the hotel entrance were to bright, and the activity was to intense. I started up again and stopped near a deli. I bought a sliced turkey sandwich and an orange juice. It was one of the worst meals I've ever had. It made me naughteous. I got back into my car, drove south on Broadway, until I came to 60th Street, where Fordham Law is. I drove past the school, and down to West End Avenue, right behind some projects. At about 62 Street and West End, I found a parking space and tried to sleep in the car. Some cab driver was parked right in front of me, doing the same thing. I didn't know anybody in New York. I had no place to go. I had a few hundred dollars on me. I wanted to save that and try to get a room somewhere. So I had no place to live.
The next day, I wandered around New York, trying get my bearings and find a room. Of course, I hadn't realized how high the cost of living was there. The only rooms in my price range were owned by people with funny accents, who demanded to know if I had a job. Well, I didn't. The next day school started its orientation. I had to get cleaned up. I asked someone if they knew where a cheap motel was. Someone pointed me in the direction of the Liberty Inn in the meat packing district. It cost me something like $75 dollars for my love motel room, with no bathroom and shared shower and toilet accommodations. The television spilled out porn. I can still remember the look of a white girl, sucking some black guys cock, and looking up at his face, pearing down from up there was the camera. I looked out my window over the Hudson River to New Jersey. I could see "The Vault," which I did not know at the time was a Sex Club/Fetish Venue (it's now gone, since they put a road over the block where it once stood). I knew something was amiss because of the seedy dudes hanging out the front, waiting to get in. I cleaned up and went to bed.
The next morning I went to check out. A young couple...kids really, were tying to negotiate a room past the noon hour with the limited funds they had. The guy behind the window was apprehensive about taking my American Express Traveller's check. He didn't really have a choice. It was take it or don't get paid. Your choice, dude.
Stay tuned for "2L" - my vinnettes about being a homeless law student.
posted by vicioustwist at 9:09 PM
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