But the play was good. And so was the hot dog.

Yesterday's trip was... well, a trip.

We had gotten an email saying to be at a local shopping plaza at 7:30 to meet the bus. Ever paranoid, we were there at 7:15, and saw a couple of other cars obviously waiting. Okay, good. We saw a Trailways bus motor by, but it was going the wrong way, and it was too early. But by 7:25...no bus. We queried one of the other cars and found that they were not waiting for a Girl Scout troop. We decided to drive around to the likely staging areas... nothing. By ten to eight, we thought well, hell. We went home, telling the daughteroid that it appeared that she would be able to attend her friend's birthday party after all.

My wife called the woman who was organizing it. She's gone, the husband said. Predictable conversation ensues. Two minutes later, the phone rings. They're at the school... and they're waiting for you. WHAT??? We grab the kiddo and leap into the car. Yep, theres the bus... and it isn't fully loaded yet. Turns out that the bus's handicapped lift didn't work, and as the trip was organized by a woman who's daughter is in a wheelchair, that was kind of key. They sent out another bus, and it had arrived about five minutes before we got there. So about half an hour late, we leave.

Along the way we pull into a roadside stop so that the driver can take a smoke break. He then has to take five minutes to fiddle with the rubber weatherstripping on the door so it will seal right.

The driver makes it to the Lincoln Tunnel okay. In the tunnel, he shouts 'What building?' What? Turns out he means 'Where are we going?' You got all this way and NOW you ask? But okay, we tell him, he finds the spot. The kiddo is still sulking because she wanted to go to the party. We walk down Fifth Avenue, get something to eat, and by forty-second she's in a relatively good mood. I ask if she'd like to see the interior of the main branch of the library, and she says not really. We walk up to the plaza in front of the main branch, and she asks if we can go inside. Why, sure! And it turns out she really likes it in there. Okay.

So we walk around some more, I get a hot dog (I do dearly love New York hot dogs), and we get to the theater on time. Nose bleed seats, but the play isn't bad, and she likes it. Now we're supposed to go as a group to the restaurant which is really close, here's a map from Mapquest.

Numero uno: There are thirteen million bazillion people milling around outside the theater . The group, such as it is, is almost immediately dissolved.

Numero dos: Mapquest maps are tickety-boo BUT THEY ASSUME YOU'RE DRIVING!!! So the go this way, that way, round the block is meaningless. Plus, the picture has the theater marked, and the restaurant...not. But its okay, we know the building number, how hard can this be. Answer: when you start out by walking the wrong direction, twice...and decide to go around the blcck to avoid the crowds...and the blocks are way freakin' long.... and every damn girl and/or girl scout mother (aka 'responsible adults') think it would be just peachy to stop at every street vendor selling purses.... pretty damn hard. So I say look, I'm going ahead, I'll find the the restaurant.

Numero tres: I find the building, no problem. Well, if you don't count that I don't actually see the restaurant, and I wonder if its inside the building (is it Sixteen Thirty Three? Or did she said Fifteen Thirty Three?) and, oh good, I don't have my phone. But I ask the helpful Times Square Alliance guide (who seems to think that this is very funny), and he points to the depressed plaza so that you can't actually see the restaurant from the street.

But we finally have dinner, and now its time for the bus, and, it actually comes. Oh, look, here come the girls. Oh, look, street vendors!!! At this point, I turn to my wife and say 'There are only three people who I care if they make it onto that bus.' But we finally do get on the bus, and the bus driver discovers the joy, the absolute freaking joy, that is Saturday evening traffic in the theater district. I think he's going to go apoplectic. But we get through the tunnel and onto the highway and we're moving and the rubber weatherstripping on the door pulls off and starts to make a whistling sound. So he stops to fix it.

On the bridge. On the side. Right next to the edge. We can look right the hell down into the water.

But he gets it fixed to his liking and we're moving again and this is good right until he stops. To wash the windshield. But after about ten minutes we're moving again and this is good until he stops for a smoke break. And then has to fix the door again. But then we get going and finally we're on the damn highway and wait a minute, why are we going over a bridge, we didn't go over a bridge coming in.

Oh. He missed the turn for the highway we want, so he's taking the turnpike. Hey, its only half an hour longer.

Not counting the smoke break at the rest plaza.. Hell with this, I think, I'm getting off and getting something to drink. Um, no I'm not, he appears to have locked the door. Oh, I can open that, my daughter says, reaching for the dashboard, I saw him do it.

Don't touch that!!!!!

He comes back, the door actually seals on the first try, and we're on the way, and it starts to rain. He seems to be driving awfully fast, but at this point, we really don't care. We finally get back to the school around an hour late.

But the play was good. And so was the hot dog.