A couple of years ago, I had to fly to L.A. to do a major TV appearance. I absolutely couldn’t fuck this up.
I hailed a cab to JFK and efficiently prepared to check in.
But as I looked at my sheet of paper with the travel information, I realized my flight was actually leaving out of Newark!
It was total gay heart attack time. I would have helicoptered to Newark if I could — or just run like the dickens, with my carry-on bag in hand.
Instead, I hailed another cab and started praying.
Amazingly, I was lucky enough to get a genius driver who whooshed and whirred his brilliant vehicle and got me there with 10 minutes to spare.
It was a press-whore’s miracle — like something out of a gay Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!
But, oh, what a fright. I’d gotten so worked up about the whole mess that I forgot to even get nervous about flying — I was just so happy to get on the plane!
Ever have a travel plan go similarly awry and live to tell about it?
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on December 7, 2010