After a nice, long flight, I get to JFK where “a car” will be waiting for me. So I’m thinking I’ll impress all the airplane people when a driver is waiting with great anticipation that he’s picking up somebody famous – wah waaah! Except 20 drivers are trying to pick people up. Wow, so many famous people.
I go outside and call the company. The keep asking me where I am and I say, “Uh, outside? I see taxis.” Then, this nice man in a suit comes running over to me, “Miss Kane? Miss Kane? They said you don’t know where you are.” That’s the understatement of the century. “I’m here to pick you up.” Oh, THAT car. Okay. He explained that there are two “pick up rules” (Write this down, Single Guy Mike.) An “outside” pickup where you find the car and an “inside” pickup where the dude stands there with a sign.
Hours later, I’m at my super-nice-for-letting-stay-in-her-place friend Barb’s super cool apartment feeling so “Sex in the City” without the sex part. Got sushi and cold sake. Then, talked to Livvie who started crying, then I started crying, then people started staring and a bull dog peed on a plastic bag near my foot. Anyway, I told her I’d bring home Disney World, so everything’s fine now. (For the record, I did talk to Steven earlier who yelled: “Where’s my present?!”)