Water Taxi Beach
What the hell to do on this beautiful Sunday in the dog days of summer? I know…what an awesome idea… WATER TAXI BEACH . It looks great on the NY Waterways website, and hey, you get a fantastic water taxi ride to boot. So, for the low, low price of $10 a head round trip (yes, I dragged Bella with me), we could experience a water journey, a beach, THE WATER, VIEWS and more….much more. Like:
The schizophrenic man talking, no yelling, no FIGHTING with himself, while we wait (and wait) for the water taxi to come. What I want to know, says a transplant from Alabama, is WHY all the crazy people in New York are so angry? Says I, “all New Yorkers are angry, it doesn’t make a difference whether they are crazy or not. And the realization hits him that it’s true. And hey, I ask, are you sure he’s crazy? No Blue Tooth involved?” No, says Alabama, no head set there. (And that’s another thing. It has become impossible to determine, on a scale of one to ten, who is talking to themselves, and who is talking to well, another person. It’s like Motorola had some master plan of no more discrimination. ‘Cause now, you really don’t know when to cross the street, and when you’re safe. Thank you Bell Tel).
But then, in what turned out to be the highlight of my day, Alabama says to me and Bella, “so when’d you ladies move to New York?” And I’m like, well, she’s my daughter. “Your daughter?” (And it was HONEST in-credulousness) “I thought y’all were friends.” (It goes a little down hill from here when he guessed Bella to be mid twenties and me early thirties but HELL, I guess I’ll take that.) So, anyhow, the yellow water taxi pulls up and we scrunch up like a bunch of teenagers trying to get into a JT concert, only this wasn’t JT and we
weren’t teenagers. And they run out of tickets and “say sorry, you have to pay for them on the taxi.” And, we’re like OK. But then they have to count us up to make sure we can all fit on, (and this is after waiting for an hour in the blazing hot sun of the August dog days) but we do fit, just about. And then I ask if anyone knows where the beach is, and someone points, “there”. And I’m like THERE? ‘Cause all I see is a bunch of
industrial buildings and a big yellow umbrella. And she’s like: “yeah”. And I’m like Oh SHIT. And I could have hung out at my pool deck for free instead of paying $20 (which I haven’t done yet, even though the ticket man calls out: “if you haven’t bought your tickets yet, please do so NOW” but I don’t.) Instead, I sneak up to the top of the boat with Bella as we draw close to the “beach” which turns out to look like THIS:
Yes, it is a bunch of picnic tables in the sand, some loud music and a barbeque. And I know I’m teaching Bella the wrong thing by not paying, but I’m NOT GETTING OFF THIS BOAT. And 10 minutes later we’re back
at 34th street where the schizophrenic man is still sitting and relaxing in an angry type of way. And I say to Bella: Grandpa was watching over us, and that’s why we didn’t have to pay the $20. And she’s like: “yes, mom” in that voice that tells me she is wondering who the crazy person really is.
