On a dime

On Thursday evening at approximately 10:15 my wife and I got a ride to the Ohel with Yossi Shomer and his family (thanks Yisroel). Once there I did the traditional mikveh dip. While I was getting dressed I told my name to someone and that I was originally from Minnesota. This prompted a slightly older guy standing next to me to say, "Wait, are you originally from Milwaukee?" Turns out he had given a shiur in my house in Mequon twenty or so years ago. Pretty good memory, eh? After finishing up in the ritualarium it was off to the Ohel itself, fortunately relatively empty which allowed for much time spent in the actual Ohel.

Following a rousing discussion of "Should you wear a kapote on 11 Nissan?" we got home at around midnight or so. Proceeding to pack and clean, my wife and I discovered at approximately 2:20 that we were essentially ready to pack out. We figured that waiting until 3:00 as originally planned wasn't strictly necessary, so off we went, carrying a rolling duffel and two carry-ons each. Down the steps at Kingston station and onto a 4, getting off at Bowling Green and walking to South Ferry and onto a 1 train, which took us to Penn Station, we alertly looked at all the other people on the trains and wondered what they were wondering about us. Must have looked strange, I'll tell you that much.

Kudos to MTA for getting us to Penn at 3:35, but unfortunately New Jersey Transit doesn't open their doors until 4:00, so on the floor we waited. At exactly 4:00 I and a vast crowd (if fifty-odd people can be called "vast") sprinted over the yellow caution tape and streamed into the waiting room. I naturally assumed that they were making for the same place I was, namely the ticket vending machines, and I rejoiced in beating them all there. After buying our tickets I went back to help the wife with the luggage and found that in fact my fellow sprinters had not been going for the ticket machines but rather for the benches in the waiting area. Why they would queue for fifteen minutes in order to get a seat is beyond me, but I suppose this is NY...

We boarded the 4:17 to Trenton and three stops later, after several micro-dozes, we got off at the Newark airport station. Onto a waiting airtrain we did not go, because it was out of service, but the next proved more hospitable, and sooner than you could say "drank second mint snapple in twelve hours" we were on our way. Getting out at Terminal C we got into line by the ticket counter, and a short fifteen minutes later had deposited our luggage and were looking for Gate A28. Oh, really, Gate 28 is in terminal A? Makes sense. Back onto the airtrain we went...

After passing through security (wife perfunctorily checked by female TSA person called over especially for the purpose) we got to our gate, eight minutes before boarding. The plane took off on time, at 6:45. Remember, we had left our house at 2:30. The flight itself was uneventful- we came, we saw, we slept. We also squished, because we were flying on an EMR, variously translated as Embraer Regional Jet and Emergency Mobile Room. Be that as it may, it deposited us safely and securely at glorious MSP about half an hour later, and sooner than you could say, "My, what a pleasure it is to be back in the good 'ol Midwest, where people are friendly and don't smell as if they just emigrated from Djibouti" we were waiting for our baggage at baggage claim 12. And waited. And waited. Eventually (in our half-asleep state) we wondered when our luggage would arrive, and I got up to investigate. Taking a turn about the carousel I discovered our two bags, plus three others, waiting there pretty as blackberry pies. Seems like the service was a little too swift, eh?

After a brief restorative Breadsmith and Dunn Brothers run we got back to central headquarters, and the wife took a well deserved nap. After a lengthier-than-necessary pitstop at the local synagogue for morning prayers I did the same.

And that is how the west was won.