2004-01-02 - 7:26 p.m.

The Empire State Building Strikes Back

I had a very cool comment written about my diary in another person's profile - said I was their daily dose of therapy. That's very flattering. Now I feel guilty for not being very daily. I'd say I was planning to do better, but I'm such a bad liar. I've added two entries today - does that give me points?

I have so many entries that would be posted if I could just turn them into text as I spontaneously compose them in my mind. If I could find someone who would pay me to for the privilege of reading my ramblings, I'd happily stay home all day and write them. Perhaps then I really could be providing daily therapy, and the world would be such a better place, and so many people would feel so much better. There must be a federal grant in there somewhere.

Yeah, right, like me and my fourteen personalities could successfully pull that off.

So, to backtrack a bit... before I got sick in December, I spent a weekend in NYC. I went to see a couple of special shows. They'd have to be special, because I am not a "let's go into the city" kind of girl. NYC scares me. A bit less every time, I think, but it still scares me. Or to be more accurate, it tires me. There's too much going on and you have to be on your toes every moment. At least I feel I need to be. But it doesn't stop me from going, mostly because I'm a stubborn, hard headed critter who is intimidated by very little and who really doesn't like admitting to being intimidated by anything at all.

This past time, I managed to navigate my way from Grand Central to my hotel, all via the NYC subway system. I was inordinately impressed with myself. I did take a taxi from the hotel back to the train at the end of the trip, but only because it was snowing and I didn't want to take the chance of missing the train and sitting around for an hour while the snow accumulated.

I got to check off a couple of items on my "things I'd like to do in New York" list. I went with some friends to see the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Plaza. It was pretty. It's a tree. The skating rink looks way way smaller than it did on Mad About You. It was fun though. The other thing I wanted to do was go to the top of the Empire State Building. My friends had other things to do - or possibly were just a whole lot smarter than I was. Well, also, they'd been there before.

For those of you who don't have a list of "things NEVER to do in New York City," let me start you off with an item. Feel free to add your own as you like.

NEVER try to go to the top of the Empire State Building at noon on the Saturday two weeks before Christmas. Go early in the morning when it first opens, or go on a weekday, or something. When my friends asked me that evening how it was, I said, "It was the most miserable experience of my life that didn't actually involve pain."

It began with me trying to walk into the building. From what I had heard and read, you go and buy a ticket, then get in line. Wrong, friends. I did see the line at one door, so I headed for the other door, figuring I'd go to the ticket booth and follow what I thought were the correct instructions. As I get to the door, a guard RUNS over and SCREAMS at me - "Where are you going??" I was startled, and I said, "Um - don't you have to buy a ticket?" He yelled at me, "No one goes in!" So I tried a different question, since people obviously were going in the other door, once the line got up there. I asked, "Do you need to buy a ticket before you get in line?" Again he yelled - "No one goes in this door!"

About that time, three other people, who I guess had the same bad information I did, tried to walk past me and Mr. Screamy, toward the door. They didn't even get the initial inquiry that I got - just, "Stop! No one goes in!" They were about as stunned as I had been, and started trying to ask what they were doing wrong. About this time it must have seemed like we were a security danger, because another person from inside the building came out and started yelling at all of us. He must have been official - he had a walkie talkie. "What's going on here? Everybody get away from the door!" he yelled. One of the guys in the other group said, "Just calm down, okay?" Oh, Mr. Walkie Talkie did NOT like this. "This is MY place," he said. "Get AWAY from the door!" Ooooookay - we left!

Why I didn't just leave entirely is beyond me. But I walked around the corner and asked some people toward the end of the line how it worked. None of them had tickets, and said you bought them inside. So okay. I got in line.

Once you get in, there is a line to go to the observatory, and another line if you want the "combo ticket," where you go to the observatory *and* see this thing they have, called the "Skyride." I think it's a really bad name. It doesn't go up into the sky, and it's really not a ride. But someone probably vetoed the name "Stand In A Crowd And Watch Our Advertisements For Tourist Traps, Then Sit In A Violently Shaking Seat And Watch A Movie That's Not Nearly As Funny As We Think It Is" before I ever got there. Although who wouldn't want to pay to go on the SIACAWOAFTTTSIAVSSAWAMTNNAFAWTII? I think people would pay just to hear that pronounced.

But, not knowing any better, I wanted to do both, so I got in the "combo" line. Fifteen minutes later, I had my tickets.

An hour after that, I was getting somewhat close to the actual entrance to the Skyride. I was listening to some semi-amused, semi-seriously-irritated people behind me saying, "I think we've been had." Apparently an Empire State Bldg employee had come through the regular line, saying, "It'll be about 3 hours from where you are to the observatory. If you want to buy a combo ticket instead, for $8 more, you'll be at the top within 15 minutes."

To be fair, apparently she didn't specify exactly the top of what.

Notice: we are about to shift to present tense. Thought I should warn you.

We arrive at phase 1 of the Skyride. Phase 1, once you finally get there, is where about 50 people are herded into a small, almost completely dark room, with a low ceiling, and space for approximately 49 people to stand. The door is shut behind us, and no one who works there is in the room with us. There are video screens, but they are completely dark. There are several dozen rectangular holes scattered around the walls, and light is coming through them. That's the only light in the room. I'm standing there trying to suppress my mild claustrophobia and attempting not to think about what would happen if there were a fire. Someone in the room moos. Someone near me whispers to her friend, "I wonder if this is how the Jews felt in the gas chambers at the concentration camps?" Her friend is embarrassed and shushes her. I had been thinking of the scene in Willy Wonka where they all cram into a tiny room with no exit, but she has a valid comparison too. I start looking at the little holes in the walls more suspiciously.

About five minutes pass with all of us in there, uncomfortable, not knowing what is happening or if something is amiss. The back door of the room, where we entered, opens, and the Skyride employee, sounding surprised, says, "Oh!" Someone says, "We're still here!" If it was a magic trick, it didn't work, and we all silently pray that no one is coming now to saw us in half. She says not another word and closes the door again. Finally the video screens flicker to life and the presentation begins. Heroes of New York. It was okay. Would have been a lot more meaningful if we weren�t all tired of being in line, tired of standing, and wishing we had more than .03 mm of personal space around us.

The short video ends and a door opens at the front of the room. We all move onward... to the next line.

After about 15 more minutes, we reach phase 2, and are herded into a round opening which has a ring of video screens above our heads. At least we aren't sealed into a tube this time - the area is completely open. Another video presentation begins - the top ten things to see and do in New York. I notice that the music in the presentation is very close to a popular musical theme. I can't quite place it or I'd tell you what it is - but you've heard it before. This was just different enough that it was disconcerting when the few notes that were different were played. Or, in other words, just different enough not to require paying royalties to whomever wrote the original, without being sued for copyright infringement. So, whattawegot for the top 10... Chinatown, Little Italy, Blue Man Group, helicopter rides, etc... all counting down to the #1 thing to do in NYC - the Empire State Building Observatory and Skyride combo!! My goodness - what a coincidence! Don't we feel lucky! The reaction from the group sets off eye-rolling alarms all throughout the city.

Phase 3 is the closest thing to a "ride" about the Skyride. We all troop into a room filled with rows of plastic seats, facing a movie screen. This is one of those rides where a realistic motion movie is shown, while you sit in a seat that bucks up and down and sideways and attempts to shake loose every internal organ you happen to have with you. I have been on these before and enjoyed them. But this ride turns out to be much more violent than any I've ever experienced, and I feel a little sick. Possibly that feeling stems from the really bad jokes, though. The only thing slightly entertaining about the movie is Kevin Bacon's voiceover. The cameo appearance by Star Trek's "Scotty," James Doohan, is past gratuitous, on into incongruous and disappointing. It isn't even worthwhile as a help in playing Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon, because Kevin Bacon was already in "Murder In The First" with Christian Slater, who was in "Star Trek VI" with James Doohan. This appearance is not worth skipping that one step.

So that's over - all right! Now we get to go to the observatory. Surely here is where the benefit of buying the combo ticket kicks in. Surely we'll get to skip to the head of the line, in front of all of the non-comboians. We leave the room and actually get to walk at a normal walking pace to the end of a line that we see at the end of a hallway. We are cautiously hopeful.

In front of me through this trek is a group of young men, and from their expressions and accent, I am guessing they are British. If not, then they are from somewhere with similar expressions and accent. The end of the line we are approaching is in a corridor, extended out around a corner. We stop at the end of the line like civilized line-standers (or in their case, queue-standers). One of them goes to peep around the corner, hoping to confirm that we are near our goal. When he does, the look on his face at the view he sees does not encourage us. He looks back over at us, shakes his head, and says, "Bollocks."

When we all round the corner, we see that the line extends so far down the corridor that we can't see the end of it. About twenty minutes later, when we're about a third of the way down the corridor, we realize that we are not only waiting to get to the END of the corridor, but we are waiting to get to the end, then curl around, and come halfway back again to the doorway where we'd exit the corridor and go on to the next stage - whatever that could possibly be.

Several of the parties in line decide to elect one member to go back to the beginning of this line, go to the entrance of the Skyride area, hunt or scavenge food for their loved ones and bring it back. The chosen ones set off, and make it back with pizza and assorted snacks before their partners have even turned the hairpin turn at the end of the hallway. I pass the time trying not to dwell on how we are all packed tightly into a winding string of people, threading our way through the second floor of an office building, pretty much screwed if there is a fire or other reason to need to evacuate quickly.

As we turn the corner and begin to head back the way we came, a pretty little girl who I'm guessing was five or six years old (she may have been younger when she got in line) begins to cry. Everyone in the hallway psychically agrees with her assessment of the situation and wishes to be able to burst into tears as well. As her father holds her, her mother tries to be soothing and calming, reminding the poor child that this is what everyone in the family decided they wanted to do that day, even her. Pointing out to her that they've waited in a line a long time already and spent money on the tickets, and if they were to leave, that would all be for nothing. Promising her that once she gets to the top, the view will be very pretty and it will all have been worth it. The little girl isn't completely convinced, but she stops crying. I consider how it was actually a good thing that the little girl had her cry, because a lot of people in that hallway benefited from that pep talk. You have never seen a hallway more full of people who didn't even want to get to the top anymore so much as we were all just too stubborn to leave and admit defeat, dammit!

We finally leave the corridor and go through the security checkpoint. What awaits us after that? Another line! This one is for the first elevator. There is a sign at the back of the line that reads, "15 minutes to the observatory from this point." We each read it as we pass and silently add our own personal version of "Yeah, right."

The elevator takes us to the 80th floor, where... hey, stop getting ahead of me. Yes, yes, there's another line, but wait for it!

As a nice touch (watch that sarcasm), while waiting in the line for the last elevator, each group is forced to pose for a picture in front of a backdrop of the Empire State Building. Or perhaps a backdrop of the view from the Observatory. Who remembers? We are not allowed to politely decline. It's pose or fight. So we each pose. Since I am the infamous "party of one," I get to stand there by myself as the camera clicks. I wish there were going to be a contest and a prize for "Most Disgusted Facial Expression Of The Day." Then again, I'm not sure I'd be up to the massive amounts of competition.

At last we are in the final elevator, and then we are at the observatory. It's 4:00 at this point, and I am due to meet friends at 4:30, ten blocks away. But I still take all the time and all the pictures I want. When I'm done, I come back inside, where of course there is a gift shop. There are stations along the wall, like phone booths, for internet access. I consider it briefly - after all, I've been without email for almost 40 hours. The fact that I even consider it signifies a real addiction, my friends.

Finally I'm done and I just want to GET THE FUCK OUT. This is easier said than done. There is a line to get to the elevator to go down to the 80th floor. Next to the line, however, there is a sign with an arrow pointing to the stairwell. The sign reads, "Stairs to the 80th floor." An employee is repeating the information that if we would like to skip the first elevator, we may walk down to the 80th floor using the stairs. I hesitate. Given the reliability of the information gleaned from signs and employees so far, I fully expect to be trapped into walking down to the ground floor, and then having no exit door. But the urge to GET THE FUCK OUT wins, and four other people who are apparently as close to their last straw as I am join me in walking down to the 80th floor. To my absolute shock, the stairwell actually leads to an exit on the designated floor, and to the end of the line for the main elevator.

The line to the main elevator weaves through the "photo viewing room." Some kind soul has decided that it is not necessary to force everyone to actually view their photo and actively decline to purchase said item. How that was allowed, I'm not sure. Perhaps they got tired of sweeping up the pieces after disgruntled tourists shredded their photos and sprinkled the bits around like confetti.

At last we reach the main elevator. We are released onto the ground level. Dazed, we all walk blindly toward the first available door that promises street access. It's a revolving door. The people exiting are treated to the adventure of a security guard, stationed inside the building, screaming at all the people who have the bad judgment to attempt to enter through that door. Wouldn't you think a sign saying "no entrance" would be more effective than a person who screams at you when you try to come in? Apparently that's the policy here at the ESB - let 'em try it, and then freak out!

I must admit - it was a nice view. Had it taken significantly less than four hours of my life to get to it, it might have been worth it. As it is, it's just nice to have checked it off my list. The trauma will fade.

my mood -

the mood of the whole world wide bleepin' web -