Stupid Teenagers in NYC
May 27, 2013 23:51:00 GMT
Post by htmb on May 27, 2013 23:51:00 GMT
Kerouac's photographs from the seventies and eighties have reminded me of the only trip I ever made to New York City.
During the summer of what I believe was 1966, I was invited to spend two weeks traveling in a camper with my good friend, her parents and her little brother. The camper was adequate, but certainly not a deluxe affair. It was the type that dropped into the back of a truck bed. It had a kitchen area and could sleep five, though not comfortably. My friend and I spent most of the trip riding in the back, while her parents and little brother rode in the cab of the truck.
We drove from Tampa to Vermont and back over those two weeks, and would occasionally stop at motels and rent one room where everyone could get a hot shower and we two girls could have access to television and comfortable beds.
We were never privy to the itinerary for the day, so I'm not too sure how far ahead my friend's parents planned. One night we camped in Stamford, Connecticut and the next day Mr. and Mrs. Camper announced that we would be taking the train into New York City. We were so appreciative we showed our gratitude by walking several steps behind the family, pretending we were in NYC on our own.
Mr. Camper worked for a company that kept a suite of rooms in a Park Avenue hotel and since no one was using the suite it was decided at the last minute that we would be staying there for the night. I don't remember the name of the hotel. I doubt it's there now, but it was across the street and one or two blocks down from the Waldorf Astoria.
A very heated family discussion ensued once my friend informed her parents that she had failed to bring her asthma inhaler into the city with her. I'm still baffled to this day to think that those parents sent their daughter, who was totally out of her element, to Stamford and back, all by herself via the subway and the train, to pick up her inhaler. It took her most of the day. What I was really angry about at the time was their refusal to let me accompany her. What if she got lost? No cell phones in those days. What if she had an asthma attack, which happened frequently, before she could get to her inhaler? Sheesh!
So, fast forward to late that evening; actually about two in the morning. My friend and I sat staring out the window, wondering about the big world just out there waiting for us. Already ticked off at her parents, we decided to sneak out of the hotel just for the heck of it. Since her parents and brother were staying in the bedroom part of the suite, we slipped out the sitting room door, carefully leaving it cracked behind us because we had no key and we were idiot 14/15 year old girls. We were also dressed in our pink, shorty pajamas with trench coats pulled over the top.
We walked straight out the front door of the hotel, around the block and down to Madison Avenue. I guess we chickened out once we saw how deserted the streets between Park and Madison were, not to mention the drunk staggering down the sidewalk, because we hot-footed it back to the hotel at that point. I cant imagine we were gone more than 45 minutes. Once we reached our room we thought we were home free until we realized the door was closed and locked. There was also a nice note attached to the knob from hotel security stating that our door had been found open and would we please come to the front desk to ask for help getting back in. Busted!
In hindsight, I'm sure the hotel night staff was on to us. Thank goodness they didn't tell the Campers because the father, who was a real unhappy fellow, would have probably put me on the next Greyhound to Florida. Later that fall, when my friend wrecked the car we were riding in, Mr. C really showed his true colors, but that's a whole other story.
During the summer of what I believe was 1966, I was invited to spend two weeks traveling in a camper with my good friend, her parents and her little brother. The camper was adequate, but certainly not a deluxe affair. It was the type that dropped into the back of a truck bed. It had a kitchen area and could sleep five, though not comfortably. My friend and I spent most of the trip riding in the back, while her parents and little brother rode in the cab of the truck.
We drove from Tampa to Vermont and back over those two weeks, and would occasionally stop at motels and rent one room where everyone could get a hot shower and we two girls could have access to television and comfortable beds.
We were never privy to the itinerary for the day, so I'm not too sure how far ahead my friend's parents planned. One night we camped in Stamford, Connecticut and the next day Mr. and Mrs. Camper announced that we would be taking the train into New York City. We were so appreciative we showed our gratitude by walking several steps behind the family, pretending we were in NYC on our own.
Mr. Camper worked for a company that kept a suite of rooms in a Park Avenue hotel and since no one was using the suite it was decided at the last minute that we would be staying there for the night. I don't remember the name of the hotel. I doubt it's there now, but it was across the street and one or two blocks down from the Waldorf Astoria.
A very heated family discussion ensued once my friend informed her parents that she had failed to bring her asthma inhaler into the city with her. I'm still baffled to this day to think that those parents sent their daughter, who was totally out of her element, to Stamford and back, all by herself via the subway and the train, to pick up her inhaler. It took her most of the day. What I was really angry about at the time was their refusal to let me accompany her. What if she got lost? No cell phones in those days. What if she had an asthma attack, which happened frequently, before she could get to her inhaler? Sheesh!
So, fast forward to late that evening; actually about two in the morning. My friend and I sat staring out the window, wondering about the big world just out there waiting for us. Already ticked off at her parents, we decided to sneak out of the hotel just for the heck of it. Since her parents and brother were staying in the bedroom part of the suite, we slipped out the sitting room door, carefully leaving it cracked behind us because we had no key and we were idiot 14/15 year old girls. We were also dressed in our pink, shorty pajamas with trench coats pulled over the top.
We walked straight out the front door of the hotel, around the block and down to Madison Avenue. I guess we chickened out once we saw how deserted the streets between Park and Madison were, not to mention the drunk staggering down the sidewalk, because we hot-footed it back to the hotel at that point. I cant imagine we were gone more than 45 minutes. Once we reached our room we thought we were home free until we realized the door was closed and locked. There was also a nice note attached to the knob from hotel security stating that our door had been found open and would we please come to the front desk to ask for help getting back in. Busted!
In hindsight, I'm sure the hotel night staff was on to us. Thank goodness they didn't tell the Campers because the father, who was a real unhappy fellow, would have probably put me on the next Greyhound to Florida. Later that fall, when my friend wrecked the car we were riding in, Mr. C really showed his true colors, but that's a whole other story.