NYC has enough patina to send a Torontonian hipster into overdrive. It’s like a carefully crafted outfit where a Moschino dress is styled with a vintage fur coat, Forever 21 accessories & a pair of old sneakers. I love it.
Immediately upon dismounting the plane, I try to exit through the wrong doors setting off an alarm resulted in hair flips and dirty looks from the girls walking in front of me. I follow them for fear of going the wrong way - again - until they duck into the washroom. “Here I go again on my own…” plays back in my head. Alas! I see a sign with an arrow. “Kiosk,” it reads. I follow.. put my passport in the machine, only to receive a message that says “sorry, you’re not a member”. NO SHIT! I have no idea where I am or where I’m going! There are tumbleweeds going through this airport right now! So I mosey on through to the next checkpoint where the security guard asks “did you see a guard upstairs?” NO I DID NOT! There wasn’t a damn soul in there! She kindly brought me back upstairs, I got my passport stamped, went back full circle, and I asked “does that happen often?” “No,” she says, “it doesn’t.” GREAT so I’m just naturally good at sneaking through airport security then. I guess I could make some good money carting drugs over the border… SIGN ME UP!
After a brief walking detour, I finally get to my AirBnb. I should note here that the apartment is on the 5th floor and there’s no elevator. The best part is that I’ve decided to wear my heels on the flight so as to leave more room in my suitcase. Idiot.