Not Quite 30-Love

#NewHavenTough, #PreCrisis

#NewHavenTough, #PreCrisis

Even blindfolded, I would have known it was the USA. The unmistakable aroma of burnt Starbucks coffee and the salty yet somehow sweet smell of fried potatoes were omnipresent.

It was 9a.m., eight hours since leaving London. I had barely touched the plastic meal offered on the plane. My stomach rumbled. Despite the scaffolding decorating JFK, the food court was immediately visible. All the concession stands appeared to have an unfamiliar smiling cartoon mascot. I chose one with an image of a chicken in a red, white and blue waistcoat. The chicken was missing both wings and legs, and the caption ‘We only sell breast meat’ flashed below. I ordered a chicken breastfast burger, hash brown, plus a soft drink. The woman asked, ‘Is that for here or to go?’

‘I’d like to go, but my flight doesn’t leave for two hours.’

She stared at me. ‘That will be nine dollars and ninety-eight cents, please ma’am.’

I think I gave her ten dollars out of my stash of notes all the same size and colour.

‘Thank you so much ma’am. Have a great day.’

After finishing about half the food, I threw out the rest. It was not worth the kilometres I would have to run to burn off the calories.

My next task was to find the gate for the twenty-seat plane that was to shuttle me to New Haven. The outdated flickering monitors took several minutes to display my flight and the required Gate 21B. After following signs which took me in two wrong directions, I found gates 19, 20, 21 and 22, but no 21B. The gates around me were all unstaffed, as the flights were not for several hours. The immediate area was deserted. Everywhere was grey – grey carpets, grey walls, grey desks and grey screens. After wandering around for forty minutes, it seemed 21B was akin to the mysterious Platform 9¾ in the Harry Potter novels. Maybe if I ran at a grey wall I would slip right through? But which wall? Tired and frustrated, I sat, put down my laptop bag, handbag, my favourite duty-free perfume – Estee Lauder’s Beautiful – and a travel pillow.

Two suited men walked past me screaming at each other. I did not know what they were shouting about, but I overheard the words ‘delay’ and ‘f**k’ – many f***s. Then I saw a small laminated sign stuck to the rail of a grey metal staircase. The sign said 21B and had a black arrow pointing down the stairs. Taking a picture of the sign, I posted #HightechNYCSignage then picked up my bags, made my way down and the holy grail of gates appeared. Instead of witches and wizards, there were several businessmen, one of whom was extremely large or, as they say in the US, ‘big and tall’. The large man was sweating, dabbing himself with an enormous handkerchief. The plane we were to travel on was visible through the window. It was tiny. He could have been scared of flying, or of not fitting into his allocated seat. Nearby, there were two guys who looked like they had stepped out of one of those frat-boy movies. Good looking in a perfectly unsexy way. Both were wearing Yale University sweaters and were talking loudly about football, or maybe it was basketball.

‘Ryan, buddy, you’re a disgrace to that sweater. Bulldogs are going all the way this fall or I’m going to…’

I went through my handbag: boarding card, passport, wallet – all there.

A few minutes later our flight was called. In the queue, a tall blonde lady whose teeth were more dangerous to face directly than a total eclipse of the sun, wished me a safe trip. My seat was across the aisle from the large sweating man. He smiled at me. His enormous cheeks spread to accommodate the width of his mouth. He had one very deep dimple on the right side of his face, which was previously hidden. He must have heard me speak to the flight attendant, as he leant forward and asked, ‘You’re not from around here, are you, sweetie?’ He had one of those wonderful southern drawls that pulled me in immediately. I told him I was from Australia.

‘Australia, my goodness, that’s a long way from New Haven. Are you on a holiday?’

‘No, I’m starting a new job. It’ll be my first time in New Haven. What’s it like?’

‘Some good restaurants, but the centre of town is a little bit rough. I’m sure you won’t be living there.’

Our flight resembled a boat ride on a windy Sydney Harbour. After we alighted, he shook my hand and said, ‘Good luck with the new job, sweetie.’ He lifted his bag off the carousel and walked out of the terminal. Right before exiting, he turned, smiled and tipped his hat.

Surrounding the baggage carousels was a sea of men wearing Adidas, Nike and Wilson. There must have been an invisible pact regarding player entourages as they all seemed to consist of an overweight coach balanced out by an underweight girlfriend. As I dragged my battered red suitcase onto my trolley, a guy, around my age, wearing a blue and white checkered shirt and khaki pants approached. He looked like he had walked out of a J.Crew catalogue and was holding up an iPad with my name on the screen. I walked over to him.

We introduced ourselves. His name was Joe and he said his instructions were to take me to the tournament hotel. We walked towards a huge SUV with Pilot Pen International Tennis Tournament signage all over it. In previous tournaments, like Rome, they had a simple script ‘Foro Italico’ on both front doors and, at Wimbledon, a discrete purple and green W logo on the driver’s door. It will be easy to find my new life in a country with such clear signage.

Joe opened my door, waited for me to get into the car and closed it behind me. Then he walked around to the driver’s side. I asked how long we would be in the car and he told me about forty minutes.

My butt sank into the black leather seat and my head leant against the window, wishing it could be opened. The heat outside made airconditioning compulsory. We drove past hundreds of square buildings with flat tops that looked like painted cardboard boxes. They resembled a movie set, likely to be torn down at any moment, and were called strip malls, as any character had been stripped from the design. The boxes had endless rows of enormous cars parked in front. The four-wheel drives appeared two storeys high due to the size of their wheels, and the ‘pick-ups’ resembled Aussie ‘utes’ on steroids.

‘Does all of New Haven look like this?’

My question opened Pandora’s Box. Joe took it as an invitation to talk and started playing twenty questions. He seemed nice enough, but my head felt heavy and my eyes wanted to close. Joe was studying for a masters in law and wanted to break into management or something. He seemed most interested in ‘How the f**k a girl like you ended up on the other side of the world as a tournament director assistant?’

‘Got any tips?’ he glanced at me through the rear-view mirror.

Was his question really, ‘How does a nice girl like you end up in a shithole like this?’

‘I read a book – Do What You Want and the Money Will Follow.’ He mumbled something about getting a copy. My head resumed its position against the window.

At the hotel check-in, the receptionist told me my room was paid for and handed me a letter. It was from my new boss telling me to make my way to the tournament site ASAP. Opposite me was a sign saying ‘Pilot Pen, the world’s largest ballpoint pen manufacturer.’ It seemed like a good place to ask about getting to the tennis or, at the very least, to borrow a pen. I was told a minibus would be leaving for the tennis centre in twenty minutes. The lift ride to my room gave me time to decide on the day’s outfit. The room was at least twice the size of those in Europe. Spinning around to get a quick view of a beige space with a king-sized bed overladen with pillows and a movie screen–sized TV. I dropped my bags, undid the padlock on my suitcase, grabbed my toilet bag and went into the bathroom. The bathroom seemed larger than the bedroom. Dominating was a spa bath with room for a family of four. It called to me. But, the bubbles would have to wait. With barely time to wash twelve hours of travel off my face, freshen my makeup, add my Redwood lipstick, squirt on deodorant and put on my chosen fuchsia skirt and navy polo, I caught the bus downstairs with the engine revving. Posting pics of the room would happen tonight.