This morning, on three hours' sleep, I trekked into New York City to attend the Asian American Journalists Association New York chapter's "East Coast mini-conference."
AAJA is a professional journalists' organization which - although I like to say I joined to meet girls - has added an interesting sidelight to my career.
I love professional conferences because, frankly, there's plenty I have to learn about being a journalist, and I enjoy the professional development aspect of such confabs.
(This should all culminate this summer in my trip to the national convention in Hawaii.)
Anyway, I was a volunteer at the convention in the afternoon (manning the "hi, can I help you?" table at the entrance) and the seminars I wanted to attend were in the morning, so despite working past midnight Friday night, meaning I got home after 1 a.m. - three days in a row of late nights thanks to breaking news Wednesday (which a superior spotted and we busted ass to get in) and Thursday (which I spotted, to much applause later) - I staggered out of bed at 6:45 and headed for the train into NYC.
Now, I was pretty freakin' tired, but I was still alert enough to drop my jaw in shock at the singular event that transpired when I arrived at New York Penn Station (Madison Square Garden for you sports fans).
I was en route to New York University, which is somewhere down in the Village near a place called Washington Square (it's a park).
So, not knowing my way around the Village (once the N.Y. streets stop their Theatre District numerical grid, I'm lost, to my Bronx-native father's everlasting disgust), I hopped in a cab at the Garden.
New York University, I said. The Silver Center, 100 Washington Square East.
Do you know the cross-street, the cabbie replied.
Huh? I responded.
And then he told me the damndest thing. He didn't know where it was. He wanted a cross street so he could figure it out (i.e. Washington Square and ...).
It's a park. It's Washington Square North, South, East and West. Four streets, a square, around a park. (I know that, because I was at the mini-conference last year, too.)
I might point out Washington Square Park is on the little maps in the back of the freakin' cabs.
I ended up getting out of the cab and into another one.
Do you know where New York University is, I asked THAT driver.
Of course, he replied. It's over there. (Pointing in the right direction.)
In fact, it's less than a 10-minute ride "over there."
I've been going into New York City, I'd guess, since I was maybe 5 years old. Maybe even earlier, I just don't remember. But in all those years, I can never, ever, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER-NEVER-NEVER remember a cabbie who didn't know where the hell he was going.
Never.
I'm still startled, and it's about 18 hours later.
I told everyone I hung out with at the convention, and none of them could believe it either.
Was it a yellow cab? one asked, or a livery cab?
Yellow cab. You know, the real cabs. The ones that line up outside Penn Station.
It's not like I wanted to go to Biff's House of Barbecue, "somewhere in the Village."
I wanted to go to New York Freakin' University.
I realize, as a Carnegie Mellon alum, I probably don't hold NYU in the respect it deserves - they're athletics rivals - but I mean, it's a freakin' college.
It's on the damn MAP!
In.
The.
Cab.
And the guy didn't know where he was going. I should've gotten his medallion number, just to do humanity a favor.
But I was so stunned, I didn't even do that. I just stared in frustration as he kept saying, I don't know where that is. Until I finally just got out and got that second cab.
The third cabbie of the day, by the way, got me back to Penn Station just fine.
I might point out, the first seminar I went to was on blogs - I meant to go to one more tailored to my full-time journalistic job, but they switched rooms on me and I was in the front row by the time I discovered it was the wrong seminar, and getting up and walking out seemed like it would be a rude response to "you're all in the right seminar, right?"
Especially since I was a volunteer, after all.
Whether my participation will mean any improvement in this here blog, I don't know.
(Aside, my colleagues at the paper probably wouldn't recognize me at the seminar - by virtue of the train schedule, I inevitably wind up excessively early for AAJA events, whereas as I've made clear, I'm late for everything else on a near-fanatical basis, including work. I got to NYC so early, I had not one, but three cups of coffee AND an iced tea before the 10 a.m. start time. I had to pee in between each seminar. Literally. I must've set a convention record for trips to the men's room. But I stayed awake through the entire thing despite my three hours of sleep last night, not dozing off until the train ride home, 12 hours and four after-party Coronas later. And, I might point out, it's 2 a.m. and I'm a dreadful mix of completely exhausted and wired as all get-out.)
Links:
• AAJA
• AAJA New York
• New York City cabs
• New York University
• Washington Square Park
• Directions from Penn Station to the Silver Center
By the way, for those keeping track, the movie's almost done and the (private) premiere is slated for early June. Yay!
