Like a couple of girls who used to live next door to each other in college, we stayed up late chattering and rehashing the extreme shortness of Sonny's cutoff jeans. The next morning we slept late and took our time getting ready. We decided to go to the Moondance Diner for brunch. Kristin wasn't entirely sure how to get there so she looked it up on the Internet and informed me that it was in Wyoming. No, I'm not even kidding. The Moondance Diner, where Jonathan Larson once waited tables, was the last free standing diner in Manhattan. It was moved by big rig to LaBarge, Wyoming so that condominiums could be put in its place. We took a moment to mourn its passing and then headed to the Life Cafe.
We ate out in the garden. After a long leisurely brunch that was actually more like lunner we got back on the subway and went over to Bleecker Street for the cupcakes. I think we waited in line for about 25 minutes to obtain the teeny tiny bits of heaven. As we chatted we heard people walking by saying things like:
Oh my gosh! Look at that line! Who would wait in that for a CUPCAKE?
We would smile knowingly in their direction and, when they were out of earshot, someone in line would say, "Obviously you have never had a Magnolia Cupcake." Or someone else would say, "Good, keep walking. That makes more for me." Even though, everyone knows, the limit is a dozen. We bought six. Kristin ate one. I ate one. I put four of them in my Tupperware and stuck them in my suitcase. Mine, unfortunately, fell on the ground, frosting side down. Goodness knows what kind of hepatitis and other such substances live on the ground in Greenwich Village but you can bet I flicked the dirt particles off and proceeded to consume my delectable morsel. They're $2.25 a cake for crying out loud. And, really, it collected very little dirt. I feel alright about it. I don't have symptoms of anything yet. We sat in a little park and ate our cupcakes and talked. Before I knew it, I had to catch the subway to the airport.
I said goodbye to my friend and boarded the E train bound for Sutphin Blvd. It pretty much took forever to get to the AirTrain and then the stupid machine at the airport told me to go wait in line because it had encountered an error. Then, after waiting in line, the guy behind the counter told me that I would not be able to fly home that day. I was well aware of the fact that I had a ticket so I just looked at him, smiled, and said, "Oh darn, so I have to go spend more time in New York?" He laughed and said something about the fact that I hadn't bought it for even a second. I used to be really gullible. Maybe I still am. Maybe I just wouldn't have minded another day or two in the city. (Although by that point I was about ready to super glue my toddler to my own arm in an attempt to never be separated from him again.)
He printed out my ticket and I followed the signs telling me that a shuttle would take me to my terminal. What? It was all very strange. I boarded a shuttle bus and drove all over the airport for about five minutes. I was finally deposited in this makeshift building that seemed more like an airport terminal set than an actual airport terminal. Between the long subway ride and the stupid machine and the shuttle, I only had about ten minutes before boarding. There were a ton of people trying to fly standby to Salt Lake City so the place was a zoo. When they began boarding, I walked slowly down the tunnel and couldn't help but overhear the conversation going on behind me. This is where the fun really began. I promise you that none of what I am about to say is exaggerated.
Woman: Honey, you have to. You have to do it. Do you understand me?
Daughter (maybe 5): Mommy, I don't want to do it. There are germs!
At this point my interest is peaked because I am always fascinated by little people with an irrational fear of germs. I'm just so curious as to how they came by this obsession. In this case, it was clearly not passed on from the mother.
Woman: There are not germs! On the outside of the plane? You need to do it.
Man: (very hushed): Stop it. You are embarrassing me.
Woman: (very loud) How am I embarrassing you?
Man: (whispers something I cannot understand)
Woman: (very close to crying) You know how I feel about flying.
Man: You need to stop this right now.
Woman: This plane is going to crash!
This is the point where my nerve endings start to tingle and I am suddenly very aware of my senses. I am not really superstitious and I certainly don't think that the woman behind me in line had the ability to predict whether or not my plane will crash but it's just not the thing I wanted to hear right before getting on it.
Man: (With that hushed tone that says, "Oh my gosh if we weren't in a public place there would be a very very big fight right about now.") Shut up!
Woman: (crying or very close to crying): Make her do it. Please make her do it.
Man: I'm not going to make her kiss the plane.
Woman: (bends down to her daughter--yes, at this point I am pretty much staring at them): Please kiss the plane. Please, do it for mommy. This plane is GOING to crash. If you kiss the plane there is a chance that it MIGHT not.
At this point I am already on the plane and they are behind me, still in the tunnel. I glance over my shoulder and see this full grown adult woman fling herself against the outside of the plane. She rammed her lips onto it as though they'd just been pronounced man and wife and kind of caressed the side of it with her hand. Then she hisses to her daughter...
Woman: DO IT! (The little girl gets wide eyes and I couldn't see what happened next because I needed to move forward. But I did hear the mother exclaim) THANK YOU! (so I'm guessing she did it.)
I called my husband and my mom. I told them both to just please pray that my plane wouldn't go down. Then I rehashed the situation over and over again in my mind. I should have turned around and told her to shut up because she was going to start scaring other passengers. Namely, me. I could have pulled a Pheobe Buffay on her by kneeling down, looking the little girl in the eyes and saying, "It's true, sweetheart, this plane is missing one of its left phalanges." I decided that, though I lack any semblance of confrontation skills, if I saw her when we got off the plane I was going to say something along the lines of, "Must have been the kiss. But, in the future, I suggest not scaring the crap out of your daughter. Mother of the year you are not." I didn't see her. I think that is probably a good thing.
Oh no wait. Post script. Um. The cupcakes made it. The frosting melted in my suitcase but they still looked and, most importantly, tasted like Magnolia Cupcakes.