New York. Everybody loves New York. Everyone wants in on New York. Every foreigner’s moving to New York. Living in New York is the world’s dream. Residential buildings are going up even higher than Keith Richards ever went.
New York. Greatest place in captivity. Where you can get away with murder — just don’t do it in a bike lane.
Traffic problems? So what. Handle it. Encourage car theft.
The streets are safe. Only problem is, you have to watch out for people.
Everybody loves New York. Everybody looks to get into New York. Bloomberg’s building 300-foot apartments. Realtors are selling $100 million penthouses.
New Yorkers wouldn’t think of living anyplace else. They say, “What’re you nuts? We live in New York.”
But comes Memorial weekend. Ask what they’re doing, and it’s: “Getting away. Taking a trip. Man, I got to get out of New York.”
Suddenly, everyone’s problem is the broke airlines, which are scratching up ways to cash in and are nickel-and-diming passengers with additional tariffs on early seating, extra leg space, hand luggage. I now suggest ideas:
Coin operated lavatories. A paper-towel dispenser that takes credit cards. Over Britain, three extra farthings for soap.
Separate the tourist class from first class by a turnstile.
High-octane premium gas? No more. Now, coal.
Discounts. For a family plan, get married. For a honeymoon, fly alone. For a wedding, do it in your own backyard and bring the unused rice.
To save money in the cockpit, the co-pilot’s a busboy.
On overseas flights, they’ll use a margarine substitute. Or heat the knives to save on butter. Maybe ethynol instead of alcohol?
One foreign airline had leftovers from another failed airline. A domestic Far East twin-engine propeller job was serving Scandinavian meatballs.
Cabin attendants could announce: “Listen, we paid for dinner on the last flight. How about we flip for this one?”
Snack time on a low-cost, no-frills flight? One bite, then you pass the sandwich along.
TransAtlantic? If your preference is fish, they’ll hand out rods and reels and fly real low.
Burglar alarm on the trash can. Pay phone in the galley. Designer safety belts so the manufacturer kicks in for free advertising.
The guarantee you won’t sit next to Alec Baldwin? Three dollars.
Board late, they fine you. Board early, they sock you for rent.
Oxygen masks with meters.
Les avions Français will cancel movies. They’ll show postcards.
Fill out the landing forms? They’ll rent you a pen.
Your in-flight TV will play “The Tonight Show Starring Jack Paar.” Magazines? Life, Look, Newsweek and Saturday Evening Post. Inflight tax-free goodies for sale? A DVD of “Jurassic Park,” signed photo of Al D’Amato, 8-by-10 enlargement of Gloria Swanson at the Oscars. In color it’s extra.
To save on personnel, an entirely robotic intercom. Immediately after takeoff, it’ll blare: “Sit back. Relax. This new modern aircraft is technologic. Automatic pilot. Automatic food servers. Automatic landing devices. You are perfectly safe. Enjoy your ride. Nothing can go wrong . . . nothing can go wrong . . . nothing can go wrong . . . nothing can go wrong.”
They’ll speed up procedures. During security screening, traveling companions will stand scrunched tight, one sandwiched against the other. This way personnel from massage parlors only have to examine one body.
To save on employees at the ticket counters, they’re advocating early check-ins. The sooner you check in, the faster you learn about the delay.
Lost luggage remains a problem. Handlers recently threatened a strike, which was aborted last minute when somebody lost the picket sign. Meanwhile, carriers are finding ways to handle lost baggage. Coupons to any passenger who’ll send their trunks ahead by bus.
Another method is to issue free passage to Columbus. Doesn’t matter where you’re headed, your luggage somehow always ends up in Columbus. Doesn’t matter if your preferred airline has no landing permit for Columbus. Your luggage does.
Comfort? Relaxation? Smiling attendants? Good hot coffee? Forget it. Take a plane and get away from all that.
As for celebrities’ VIP chartered aircraft — please. Their highest-ranking officer aboard will be the wine steward.
And the price of tickets? By July Fourth all we’ll be able to afford for a vacation is a roll of film, suntan lotion and two nights in the Laundromat.
But, then, overseas travel beats weekend driving to the Hamptons, which is second only to root canal. I’m hearing that, with a little luck, parts of the LIE might actually be opened while the detour’s being fixed.
So plan a nice Memorial. Then come back to New York, the busiest city on the planet, where something’s always happening. Often it goes unsolved.