Subject: Foxyscribe's Trip Report (I Love New York - You Have No Idea) From: foxyscribe@aol.com (FOXYSCRIBE) Date: 22 Jun 2003 15:13:14 GMT Newsgroups: alt.fan.letterman First, many thanks to Helen for writing up such a thorough report (as usual.) It will be one week tomorrow since DaveCon2003; I've had an unusually busy week since that extraordinary day (both of my children have graduated from various levels of education) among other stuff, and I know already I've forgotten too much. So read Helen's report first; it'll fill in the blank spots I leave here. As usual, I take the bus to and from New York when I'm traveling by myself; that way I don't have a long drive back home when I return. It always amazes me how difficult it is to get out of the house and to the Greyhound station on a weekday morning...there are a million things to take care of first. As usual, I was speeding down the highway at 8:55, praying to God I would get there in time to purchase my ticket and get myself on the 9:10 express to NY. I found my traditional parking space located approximately eight miles from the ticket counter. After doing the eight mile sprint in heels, I arrived at the ticket counter, panting and victorious. At this point, the ticket guy continued his yearly tradition of messing with my head by telling me if there weren't enough seats on the 9:10, I'd have to take the 10:00 bus. I played along by pretending to worry about it, but, as usual, I climbed aboard the 9:10 (with seats to spare) and I was finally on my way. The temperature on the bus was at least 50 degrees, preparing me for the refrigerated Ed Sullivan Theater. We arrived at the Port Authority right on time. The day was miraculously beautiful - even slightly chilly. I walked the ten blocks to the Ed Sullivan Theater, relishing the sunshine and the blissfulness of having an entire day to myself. Karen Lynch and Kathie were in front of the theater; Kathie was trying to get a ticket for the show, but due to Hillary Clinton's immense popularity(?), it didn't look hopeful. Karen suggested I go across the street to purchase a sweater; I was wearing a sleeveless top and my arms were still numb from the arctic conditions on the bus. I still had the frigid theater to face, and by nightfall it would even be colder. I purchased a lovely pashmina-type wrap (cheap) for which I would be grateful much later, not only for its warmth. There are many special moments during this yearly pilgrimage, and one of those is climbing the stairs of the Manhattan Chili Co., knowing what awaits you is a second floor full of those crazy Dave lovers. I met N.E. Ohio Bob for the first time: "Hi, I'm N.E. Ohio Bob!" Me: "Oh, hi N.E. Ohio Bill" and Finchen - . also Mark Leckner, and Ken; more faces to put with familiar names. Traci passed out the buttons, candy necklaces and wax lips kindly provided by Pat Fleet. I brought pizzelles for everyone, but let me make this perfectly clear: they were made by my mother. I only get credit for transporting them to New York. We got in line to "register" for the show, the number written on my ticket was 12. No dots this year; it made me wonder where in the theater our group would end up. Hopefully not the dreaded balcony. I know everyone says it's a great spot...I have been to the Big Show perhaps 15 times and even though the first rows are not visually superior, what with all the camera equipment, etc., there's that energy bouncing through the atmosphere the closer you are to the stage. As Dave would say, "It's palpable." If I were to be escorted to the balcony, it would be too far from the excitement. But, truthfully, it doesn't matter - the best part is just being there. We had some time before we had to return to get in line for the show, so we basically just hung around 53rd street. I bought my husband a Hello Deli t shirt and a diet Coke for myself...I was starting to get sleepy and there was nowhere to sit down and take a nap. Finally, we decided to join the line that was forming in front of the theater- we were told to line up according to the number on our tickets. Like clockwork, that "guy" (you know, the one who gives Dave the finger every day) walked past the waiting crowd, shouting unintelligible obcenities at us. Another of those heartwarming traditions. We then were directed into the theater. We were not part of the inner sanctum of dotted people - they were behind closed doors. But we could occasionally hear a roar from behind that door as we knew they are being revved up for the taping. We, outside, were given our preshow prepping by a pleasant young lady who was perhaps slightly overwhelmed by our enthusiasm. Many others in line began asking questions about our group, and Traci, our ambassador, began an AFL recruitment. Once again, it's starting to feel like a religious experience to me....Traci is preaching the gospel, Marilyn is passing out the communion. I make the sign of the cross as I place the traditional Altoid on my tongue. Oh boy......here we go! The doors are pushed open and we (well, I) dance into that marvelous theater!!! Another moment like no other. Your senses are crackling - the blast of cold air (thank goodness for my wrap!), the blaring music, the sparkling beauty of the stage, the taste and smell of the almost-melted-away Altoid. It makes me giddy every blessed time I experience it. We are summoned down, directly in front of the CBS orchestra! Wheee!!!!! I am seated next to Dave Sikula, who is on the aisle seat. Cathy is to my left. Oh...the anticipation of Dave's presence on the stage in front of us. The music adds to the excitement, and for me, it's a feeling of pure joy. I always sense that everyone - from the pages to the the janitors to the musicians - absolutely love what they're doing and wouldn't want to be anywhere else at that moment. I know, I'm naive. "Ladies and Gentlemen....... MR. DAVID LETTERMAN!" Here he comes! We applaud wildly. Dave has GOT to feel the LOVE!!! After talking about the weather and Father's Day: "Are you like me? Don't you feel like it's a bullshit holiday?" Dave asked if anyone had any questions. I, recognizing the lameness of mine, (which I had spent a good part of my bus trip trying to think of), kept my hand down. I was happy he called on Micah; cool, calm and prepared as he asked about the dogs and ponys. Hillary really, really loved the CBS orchestra. Her foot (black flat shoes - she could use some heighth (height?) was constantly bouncing in time to the music. At the end of her interview, which I thought Dave did a superb job of, she did not get a hand kiss.....but it was after they broke for commercial as she said her goodbyes; she got the kiss and I totally missed it. A quick observation about Dave Sikula. Cranky, complaining, never saw a show he didn't hate, whatever........the man has the best laugh of anyone. Its uniqueness rises above the other laughter, making it sound as though he is being so thoroughly entertained he cannot contain himself. In fact, the two people sitting in front of us actually turned around at one point to see from what human being this sound was coming. Go figure. Unbelievably, Tony Mendez did it again. Patiently gave us the tour, kindly made us all part of the TMS. Boston BillBob has enabled me to share my few pictures - I'll put that at the end of the report. One shot shows them covering up Dave's desk after we all had our Kodak moments with it. They cover it with a blankie. I also took a picture of my foot next to Dave's "dot" on the stage, which shows him where to stand. There's a picture of me with my arms around Brady's neck (a complicated guy :) ) - giving Tony Mendez a grateful hug; a nice picture of Karen and Bill Lehecka - afl's two biggest losers. They, between them, have lost over 375 lbs. Guys, you look maaahhhvelous. Katycren, I was thinking of you, hence the shot of Maker's Mark. Of course, Don took the traditional picture with Marilyn and me....this is soured by the glimpse of Carl's naked arm to Marilyn's right. Don't ask. I decided to leave the after-show festivities at 9:15, in time to catch the 10:00 bus home. I understand I missed Stephanie's visit, among other things, and had I known what the night had in store for me, I would've stayed another hour and a half to take the 11:30, which I ended up on anyway. I left McGee's basking in the glow of the day, hailed myself a cab (Brad doesn't care anymore) and arrived at the Port Authority at 9:30. I paid my cab driver $5.00 for a $2.50 fare, thanked him, and left the cab to find my gate in the bus terminal. I was the first one in line since it was so early, so I reached into my pocketbook for my wallet, which contained my ticket home. Suddenly, I was starring in an American Express Traveler's Checks commercial. No wallet. I wildly removed everything from my pocketbook. I checked my other shopping bag, only to find it empty. With a racing heart, I ran back outside to the sidewalk, stupidly thinking my cab would still be there. Of course, he was long gone. I approached the taxi dispatcher and told him I had left my wallet in the cab that dropped me off......"Did you get a receipt?" he asked. Of course not! Sure, as I exited the cab, I *did* hear Beverly Sills reminding me to get a receipt! But what would I need it for? I ignored Beverly Sills and now this is what I get. There are 11,000 cabs in New York City. My wallet is in the back seat of one of them, and had I taken a receipt, the cab # would be on it, and this story would end right here. The full impact of my situation hit me. What was in my wallet? My driver's license, my cash, my credit cards, my check book.....my ticket home. Holeee Crap, as Morehits would say. Alrighty then...I'll just stand out here on the sidewalk so when the cabdriver comes back to return my wallet, I won't miss him. I had until 11:30 - that's when the last bus leaves for home. I know, I'm naive. As I patiently stood on the sidewalk, feeling stupid and alone, a very nice man named Caesar asked me what had happened. He said he was a disabled veteran who lived not far from the Port Authority, and offered to buy me a ticket home. How sweet! "No, thanks...I'll be fine, Caesar. The cab driver might come back, and worst case, I can call my husband from the ticket counter and he can purchase me a ticket over the phone." Caesar stood with me for over an hour, as I called my husband, called the taxi cab company, just so I wouldn't be by myself because "the element changes here the later it gets." Finally, at 11:00, I told Caesar I had better get to the ticket counter and get a ticket. I jokingly said "If the cabdriver comes back with my wallet - you come and get me!" I hugged him and thanked him for keeping me company and walked back into the terminal. I approached the Trailways counter and explained my situation to the ticket guy. "Do you have my name in your computer showing that I purchased a round trip ticket this morning?" "No, ma'am, we don't do it that way..." "Can I call my husband so he can give you a credit card number to purchase a ticket?" "No ma'am, we don't take credit cards over the phone." Now I was beginning to really know how ET felt. I just wanted to go home. Frantic, I started pulling stuff out of my pocketbook - "Look! Here's my keys, my cell phone, my digital camera....nothing else! No money, no nothing!!! How am I going to get home?!!" "Write down your name" he ordered, pushing a clipboard towards me. I wrote my name, he typed something into a machine, which printed out something he handed me, saying "Here. You owe me." I looked down at a one way ticket back home. I looked back up at him and said, "You're just *giving* me a ticket?" He nodded. Up until that moment, I had remained calm and rational. Suddenly, I burst into tears. Again, I repeated, "You're just *giving* me this ticket?" Again, he nodded. Oh my goodness. This isn't how people in New York are supposed to be. He's supposed to say, "Tough luck, lady...you were stupid enough to leave your wallet in a cab and ignore Beverly Sills. It's not my problem." I reached my hand through the bottom of the window between us and held his hand. "Thank you....thank you....thank you..." Still sobbing uncontrollably, I left the counter to go down to my gate. A total stranger came up to me, pushing a $5.00 bill into my hand. "Take this, take this!" he ordered. "No, no! - I have a ticket home! I'm okay!" I cried. "No, no!" he insisted, "buy yourself a cup of coffee - I heard what happened to you..I feel bad for you!" He would not take no for an answer. I thanked him, barely intelligible now because the crying was out of control. I had no tissues, so I walked through the port authority, using my cheap-pashmina-type-wrap to wipe the tears that were falling. Overwhelmed now by the kindness being bestowed upon me, I realized that I did not know the name of the ticket guy. Back up the escalator I went, back to the counter, sobbing "Would you please write your name down for me?" Floyd did, , and back I went down to my gate. The line for the last bus home is a long one, because, well, it's the last bus home. I stood in the line and people were staring at me, standing there by myself, hysterically crying, wiping my eyes, all in all painting a pretty pathetic picture. At 11:15, Caesar came down the escalator "Just to make sure I was all right and was getting home." He waited all that time outside and didn't leave without checking on me. Oh my goodness, this was too much. I boarded the bus, and a young man sitting behind me popped his head over the seat, "Ma'am, are you okay?" "Oh yes, I'm fine (I still couldn't stop the crying) - I'm fine! Everyone's just been SO NICE to me!!" He switched seats with the girl next to me and talked to me all the way home. What a nice guy - a student at the University of Pennsylvania, a future pediatrician. He got me to stop crying and the ride home went quickly. I called the bank to put my checking account on limited status. Every check needed to be approved by me to be paid. All credit cards were canceled, I still needed a new license, health insurance card, etc. Every day this week I called the 19th precinct, where lost articles from cabs in Manhattan are returned, to leave my name, describe what I lost, etc. Please, I beg you, always get a receipt when you exit a cab. Thank me later. Yesterday, I left to take my son to a friend's house to play. I stopped at the mailbox to get my mail, and when I opened the box, I saw a package. I pulled it out, and knew immediately it contained my wallet. The tears started. I opened it, and everything was in it, except the cash, of course. Everything, including a check written out to cash for $200. and signed by me. There was a return address and phone # on the envelope. When I got back home I called. It was my cab driver. He apologized for not sending it right away - he didn't have a chance until Thursday. The next person who got in the cab had given it to him. "You were a nice lady...I felt so bad- everyting was in dat wallet!" Yesterday, I sent Floyd the money for the ticket. I sent Dulange, my very favorite Jamaican cab driver, a little thank you with a note promising him that if I ever again have the chance to hail his cab, he's getting a big kiss! I took the $5.00 to my church, put it in the poor box and lit a candle for these wonderful people. I still need to write to their supervisors telling how wonderful their respective employees are, truly angels to me on that Monday night. I left my wallet in the back of a cab in New York City. It was the nicest thing that ever happened to me. Here's the pictures: http://community.webtv.net/bostonbill41/ShirleesDaveCon2003