Getting to NYC is hard

I’m on my way into the city this morning for a fun-filled day of meetings. I’m excited about it, primarily because I haven’t seen Kelly in forever and we’re going to have some drinks after work.

But honey, it ain’t easy.

I got up extra early this morning (5:30, to be exact) to make sure I could be ready to go a few minutes before seven.

I was right on track … nice hot shower, dressed sharply, well fed (bagel with 1/3 less fat cream cheese and a glass of pineapple juice, thanks to Paul), and out the door!

The roads were clear and smooth, and I pulled into the parking lot at the Metro North New Hamburg station with about five minutes to park and get to the platform. (It’s the same distance from my house as the Poughkeepsie station, but because it’s further south it means I can spend ten fewer minutes on the train each way, and that’s a good thing.)

There were no parking spots!

Absolutely no metered spots available. Miles and miles of empty permit spots, but of course I don’t have a permit … it’s not like I schlep to NYC every day.

I drove around, checked each nook and cranny of that stupid lot, and generally expressed my exasperation in healthy and appropriate ways.

And then I called Paul, who surely would be able to fix this for me. (After all, he is my fixer, right?)

He said, “just park in the permit spots, and if you get a ticket we’ll worry about it later.”

Okay, but seriously, I shouldn’t have to. (This is where reality and I part, graciously.)  They should clear the snow out of the fifteen parking spots that are covered. I mean folks, it’s only 7:15 in the morning, and every spot is gone?

Oh, and Allright Parking is really not all right. It’s not good. It’s downright bad. I called them four times trying to see what to do, and three of those times, they hung up on me. The fourth time, I managed to speak with the lovely Christine. Her talent, charm and skill were evident from the moment she answered … I mean, folks, this is a woman who loves her job. She said, “Go to the next station. We can’t do anything about snow. Tickets are $12-25, depending on how many tickets you’ve had before.” Um, thanks. So I can drive down to Beacon and miss the next train too? No, thanks.

I left a nice note on my dashboard in the hopes that the MTA police don’t ticket me. Pretty please?

Kelly, have that drink ready pronto.