The LaGuardia Experience

Welcome to New York’s fabled LaGuardia International Airport, currently under construction.  Just landed?  Nice.  Got your luggage?  Good.  Here’s how the next two hours of your life will go:

You get out of the baggage claim area and there’s a line the entire length of the terminal to get a yellow cab.  So, when you hear an underpaid airport employee say, “for car pickups (Uber, Lyft, etc), get on one of the green buses- it will take you to the pickup area,” you figure they’ve got this thing down, so you do it.  Spoiler alert: you figured wrong.  You cross the street for this green bus and there’s no rhyme or reason to getting on.  As one pulls away, another pulls up to a different spot, effectively negating your place in line (I use that word loosely- it’s really more of an amorphous “group” than a “line”).  Once you’re lucky enough to get on a green bus, the rack for luggage fills up too quickly, so you have to navigate your bags over and under everyone to a space as far back as you can get.  Anyone getting on as it approaches capacity gets yelled at by a different underpaid airport employee for not moving back far enough because he can’t see all the luggage that’s on the floor, blocking access.  Arguments ensue, adding several minutes to the process.  Then the doors close, and the underpaid driver literally says, “if you think the taxi line was bad, just wait until you get to the pick-up area.”  Great.  So, they start driving you away from the terminal, and just as you say to yourself, “wow, I’m glad I’m not stuck in that traffic I see going the other way,” the bus u-turns into the traffic going the other way.  Turns out this traffic is the Uber/etc. traffic.  On your left, in the middle of the street, is what is best described as a refugee camp- white tent canopies with hundreds of people under them, each marked with a letter, in alphabetical order, “A” at the front.  The idea is you’re supposed to call/text/app your driver and tell them which letter you’re near.  The bus reaches the front, the doors open, everyone tries to squeeze out at the same time with all their luggage, and before your feet hit the ground you’re being yelled at by another underpaid airport employee because you’re blocking traffic and you’re supposed to go as far back in the lettered canopy area as possible to keep the crowds even.  Unless you have a baby or small child, in which case you stay at the front.  This is apparently a confusing concept because only about 1/8 of the people up front have children with them.  Anyway, then you start weaving through people to get to the back of the lettered canopy line, which does thin out about 1/2 way through… but then you start hearing a repeated chorus of “that’s the third Uber driver who has cancelled on me,” and “my Lyft driver just left with someone else in his car,” and “no, J.  I’m standing by letter J.  What?  You can’t see the letters?  OK, I’m the one waving.”

That’s when your already furrowed brow develops a new crevasse, a few more weak hairs on the ever-expanding smooth spot on the crown of your head jump ship, and anger, confusion, and exasperation threaten to overshadow the memories of that awesome vacation you were just on.  Or maybe that’s just me.  In that case, what you do, if you are, in fact, me, is you say, “fuck this,” and you walk across the bridge at 94th Street, over the GCP, and grab a car a few blocks up.

Because life is too goddamn short to be part of this fucking nonsense.  Also, walking’s good for you.