Bustle of New York seems to be absorbed

By LOUISE ANDRYUSKY

© St. Petersburg Times, published October 23, 2000

I just returned from Newark last week after a glorious autumn trip to visit my sisters. One of them lives in New Jersey, and the other was driving from Long Island to be with us, so we had a great reunion.

I am convinced that the sassy confidence I used to have around the noise and traffic at the airports in New York and New Jersey has disappeared altogether. I had never fully appreciated how great Tampa International Airport handles passengers and traffic compared with other cities.

However, when I saw the New York City skyline from the New Jersey side, I felt the same old thrill I always did when I lived and worked in Manhattan. What a magnificent old hometown!

We headed out of the airport, and my brother-in-law is no slouch when it comes to getting his car into the right lane to get on the right highway. I was surrounded by huge trucks, vans, tankers and every make of car known to humanity as we thundered along to the maze of roads that have all changed from the ones I knew years ago.

Come to think of it, the whole country seems to be under construction, and if you haven't been back to your old neighborhoods, you had better hurry, because they may have disappeared or may be tucked under a stack of upper and lower roadways.

I had forgotten about the speed of everything. If you get in the wrong lane of one of these highways, or decide to take the George Washington Bridge or the Holland Tunnel, you're doomed. You may end up in Connecticut, Yonkers, the west side of Manhattan or some road headed for San Francisco. All of the cars and trucks ahead of you seem to know exactly where they are, so everyone heads past the toll booths at breakneck speed while you're still trying to read the overhead signs. Talk about a rush hour!

Coming home, I thought I had lots of time before my plane took off, so after all the tearful goodbyes, I decided to wander around the airport and do some people watching, one of my favorite pastimes.

Everyone seemed to be whirling around the airport at great speed -- they must have never slowed down after the trip to Newark. It struck me how completely impersonal all of these people were. No one smiles at you or even acknowledges your presence when you buy a newspaper. All you see is a hand and a cash register.

There were business people by the thousands -- easy to spot with their black bags, pilots and flight attendants grabbing a quick cup of coffee, confused people looking for signs, and children being dragged along by one arm by parents with the harried look of people wondering why they ever left home.

Speaking of luggage, I would love to have a long talk with the first passenger who had the idea that taking all his stuff on board the plane would save him time. This bright soul decided he could jam all of his stuff into the overhead compartments if he squeezed and punched his luggage enough and ignored other passengers in the center aisle who thought he had lost his mind.

Well, that was just the beginning. Almost everyone drags their bags on board these days. Now, we are subjected to a whole planeload of people who think the great cargo transfer while you're getting on and off the plane is saving them time.

If you happen to have a seat near the rear of the plane, you might as well accept the fact that you will be a lot older by the time you can walk off the plane, or you sink into your seat at last. I actually remember the days when the overhead compartments held someone's sweater, a few pillows and a blanket or two.

Getting back to Newark's airport: I meandered around until I looked at my watch and realized if I went to the gate where my plane was supposed to take off, I would be one of those good people who check in an hour early. When I approached the check-in counter, I didn't see any other passengers, so I thought no one else had arrived yet. I put my boarding pass on the top of the counter, and the attendant looked shocked.

"We just closed the gate on this flight." she said. "All passengers are on board."

To say I was appalled is to put it mildly. I think the attendant thought I was going to have a heart attack. I took a good look at my ticket, and wouldn't you know I had read the time wrong. The plane was to leave at 10:50 a.m., and for some horrifying reason, I thought it was 11:50 a.m.

I had been wandering around the airport with all this imaginary spare time. "It's 10:52 now," said the attendant. She picked up the phone to call the plane which, thank God, was still fiddling around with things on the flight deck.

"There's an elderly woman here," she said. "Can you possibly take her on board?"

She turned to me and said, "Okay, they have one seat left, but you'll have to hurry."

I was still thinking about this "elderly" woman when I made a very ungainly dash for the now-opened door and scrambled down the runway. I was thanking heaven that I didn't have any luggage to bring on board. By the time I settled into the one remaining seat, I was puffing like that "elderly" woman outside. I wonder what became of her.

We took off for Tampa, and I was certain that whatever remained of my traveling confidence had disappeared down some airplane ramp or a maze of highways in Newark.

Husband Dear was waiting for me, and after saying another "Thanks" to the brilliant architects who planned the Tampa airport, we set out for Spring Hill.

I wasn't going to tell him about almost missing the plane, but I had to confess. After all, I had been planning this column all the way home.

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