The Pick Up

Three weeks ago, before my friend, Nina, left for her vacation in the Philippines, she asked me if I could pick her up at the airport when she returns. Like any good friend would, I said, “Sure, just let me know where and when.”

So, Sunday evening, she called me from her stopover in Anchorage and said that her flight was scheduled to arrive around 8:30 and that she’ll call me when she’s gone through baggage claim. Around 9pm, I got the text message that she got her bags and will be waiting for me at the terminal. I replied and said that I’m on my way.

I got to Newark Airport 15 minutes later and searched for the terminal that her plane landed in. When I couldn’t find her airline, I called her and asked if she knew which terminal she was in, and she said, “I’m in Terminal 1.”

I replied, “Uh, don’t you mean, Terminal A?”

Nina said, “Well, no, um…”

I interrupted, “Yeah, you mean the first terminal, which is Terminal A.”

“Uh, no, I mean, Terminal 1.”

“Huh? Well, that can’t be….wait, you’re in Newark, right?”

“Dude! No, I’m in JFK!!”

“Are you serious?!?”

And I’m thinking to myself, Of course, she’s serious! If she was joking, she would’ve said…a priest, a rabbi and a black guy are in a bar…

“Yeah, I told you I was flying to JFK! That’s why I was surprised you agreed to pick me up!”

“Did you? I thought you said Newark!! Well, then, I guess I’ll be there in an hour. Sorry!”

“That’s ok.”

I made it there in 45 minutes without any further mishaps, except, I wasn’t expecting to be out of the house for that long. I drove to Newark thinking I’d be back in a few minutes. The drive to Queens is not pleasant. It’s long and bumpy (that’s what she said!) and last night, it was a few degrees below freezing. It wasn’t long before I needed to use the bathroom. It didn’t help that I was wearing thin socks, no bra (for some reason that really keeps me warm) and the a/c compressor in my car is on the fritz. Luckily, I have the willpower of a person with strong willpower, so I managed to pick her up and drop her home, safe and sound, without ruining our friendship.

The lesson of this story, folks, is if you ever need a ride from the airport, make sure your Beth knows where the hell she’s going.

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~ by Binibining Beth on January 12, 2009.

4 Responses to “The Pick Up”

  1. You made it from Newark to JFK in 45 minutes? That’s a fuckin miracle.

  2. Oh, Beth, everyone knows that women lose all their body heat from their feet and breasts. Men, too, if they’d ever admit that they have breasts. 🙄

    If anyone asks me to pick them up from the airport, I tell them it’ll take me at least two hours to get there after their flight lands. Actually, I don’t tell them that, but I should since I make it part of my routine to get lost where ever I go.

    Glad you made it there and back. Heh.

  3. You not wearing a bra keeps me warm as well.

  4. My sister always mixes up airports, except she does it when she’s departing. Three times she’s had someone drive her to the wrong airport. Now whenever she flies somewhere, whoever is driving insists on looking at her ticket themselves.

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