Jersey Revisited

It’s a warm and sunny afternoon and I once again find myself stuck in New Jersey. After so many trips down to this Godforsaken place, I seem to have not learned that the 3:30 flight out of here is ALWAYS cancelled. If there’s a bright side to anything and everything, it was the fact that I checked in this morning and only had to drop off my bag. Oh the advantages of being able to use the empty web check in line! It was as I was dropping off my bag that they announced they were cancelling the flight and the clerk immediately booked me onto the next one. When she handed my ticket, I was already seated at the back of the plane. I turned to look at the regular queue and wondered if the 20 people there would be able to fit onto the next flight. I asked the clerk and said that it didn’t look too good.

Oh how I’ve missed New Jersey.

The worst fucking airport in the world. Quite literally.

Quite honestly, there’s nothing like waiting out a 4 hour delay with the people who should have been on your plane, and the people who will be on your flight. As each minute passes, the camaraderie builds, and everyone is united in the end by a common bond of bitterness for Newark airport and travelling for business.

Despite that, I can’t say that I don’t have fun here. At the end of the day it isn’t all that terrible here—good shopping, especially when our dollar is par with the American, daily marathons of Law and Order, and fantastic fantastic Italian food. If I had the CBC here, then my life would be complete. Bha ha ha. Perhaps deep down in my heart I really did miss this place.

However, one thing I did not miss was New Jersey men. At the beginning of my trips they sound pretty flattering in a corny and lame way, but by the end of the trip, their compliments become borderline creepy and pervy. It doesn’t matter if they’re 15 or 55, they have no problem saying lines such as, Hey baby, you can ride my train any time; Honey, my day was going to hell until I laid eyes on you. Now my life is complete; Baby, why don’t you come over here so I can tell you something special; or even better, Baby, how old you are? I could give you some serious loving. The ones who feel they can grab me get a slap. In general, men outside of the GTA seem to be more forward and are definitely not shy about voicing their inner most thoughts (or what I prefer to describe as expressions from the loin). I wish I could strike up the same kind of reaction in men back in the T-dot, although if that were the case I’m sure I would be equally disgusted. I must admit, it certainly is a self-esteem picker upper when there is some place in the world where you can turn heads. Whaaaat? I need to look at the positive side-- if I'm doomed to attract the scary people, at least I'm attracting someone. If it’s in New Jersey and New York, all the better. I keep my fingers crossed that I’ll meet someone in fashion or the media who will sign me to this insane contract, do a blitz of whatever it is they do, and retire young with millions to my name. Bha ha ha. A ha ha. [sigh].

I do hope this is my last trip to New Jersey though. I know I said camaraderie builds as everyone waits out the flight together, but the creepies also emerge from the crowd. And most often they gravitate towards me. Well, what can I say? I have the great fortune of being able to meet a lot of married business men when I travel. They’re all “nice” of course. The latest was a round and rather loud man who kept on insisting that he buy me a drink, while spitting all over my sad looking grilled chicken Caesar salad (say no to the TGI Fridays at Newark terminal A). With a sigh I took my chances finished everything I thought could be spit free and waited until we were told to board… which was a mere 1 hour later.

Lessons learned:

a) Stay away from pervs and creeps.
b) Slowly back away from the ones who approach you and repeat over and over again how beautiful you are.
c) If they touch you: slap them.
d) Slurred speech and grabbing motions equal trouble. Run away.