DAN’S PAPERS
Page 26 May 16, 2014
Litch
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So we went back to 94th Street, this time on the FDR because the blue traffic-jam line wasn’t there anymore. DeLuca, but it wasn’t there. Then we called the Hertz dealer and asked the woman there if the smaller car was there, and she said it was, and so we asked if she could look to see if there was a black shoulder bag in the backseat of that. She said she was with a customer. We waited. After a while she came back to the phone. Yup. She had it in the office. It was
1:30 p.m. So back we went to 94th Street, this time on the FDR because the blue traffic-jam line wasn’t there anymore, and at 2:30 p.m. we were happily reunited with the bag. But this time, in spite of advice from the phone, we headed up Second Avenue to the new Willis Avenue Bridge and back to the Major Deegan, where—all phones were out and in use—there was still another unnoted traffic jam. “Why don’t these map people get these right?” the wife asked. Things went well after that, but then around 3:30 p.m. we got stuck in an absolutely massive traffic jam on 684. It lasted an hour. And by that time, practically all the phones in the car were
either dead or dying. The wife said she had calls to make and decided her husband should take the cigarette-lighter charger out of his bag. He looked, but it was not there. It was still in the lighter hole at Hertz. But we could buy another one. “You can get them for about $12,” the husband said. It was also decided not to call Hertz and tell them it was there, as that would consume further battery life from one of the already nearly dead cell phones. Just let whoever found it keep it. “It would be a charitable thing to do,” the wife said. At 4 p.m., the wife wanted to stop for coffee. She asked if either of us had been to Chappaqua or Bedford, which were nearby, and we said we hadn’t, so we headed for one or the other, failed to find a café open, but did find an old movie theater that was open, sold coffee at a counter downstairs according to the ticket taker, and was in the middle of showing its 2 p.m. matinee movies. We weaseled our way in without paying and went downstairs to the lobby below and drank coffee and ate $6 popcorn for half an hour. Playing were The Amazing Spider-Man 2 and The Grand Budapest Hotel. Sounds of fighting and explosions emanated from the theaters. I peeked in. Nobody was in either of them.
A minivan directly in front of us blew its right rear tire. We almost hit it as it wobbled its way over onto the shoulder and to a stop.
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“Isn’t this exciting?” the wife said. “The Clintons live here.” Soon after this, in another terrible traffic jam just before Danbury on the Grand Army of the Republic Highway, we saw that, on our right, we had just lurched past, about 100 feet back, the entry driveway for an auto parts store. We couldn’t back up. But we could turn into the driveway of the yoga barn next door and go through the bushes to the auto parts store. At this point it was 5:30 p.m. and we all remained in the car while the husband trotted through the bushes, to soon happily emerge holding up the charger plug like a prize, after which the wife insisted on being the first to use it. At this point, a call went out to a restaurant in Litchfield, because it looked like we were going to be another hour before getting there and the reservation was for 6 p.m. “They said just get here when you get here,” the wife said. “So Litchfield.” Just past New Milford, a minivan directly in front of us blew its right rear tire. We almost hit it as it wobbled its way over onto the shoulder and to a stop. “Seatbelt check,” wife said. It was 7:30 p.m. when we finally arrived in Litchfield. Dusk was settling in. So we went directly to the restaurant for dinner, where, after ordering, I fell asleep sitting up. It’s around 10 p.m. now. Dark. We’ll get a tour of Litchfield in the morning.