Hitch-hiking to disappoint kids.

It was a typical Saturday morning: I barely woke up to my alarm, stumbled into the shower and lay fetal position in the bath tub under running water hoping that the fear of drowning would shoot adrenaline into my senses. I should probably be dead but instead, I snoozed in my own waterworld for a bit dreaming of Maui waterfalls and Ford Mustangs. Then naked and half-conscious, I nose dived into the closet to dress myself.

Somehow, I remembered it was going to be cold and that I was going to be outside with the kids, so I dressed myself in various layers of clothes that have no business being paired together like a cashmere sweater and a layer of flannel pajama pants . Then, I covered my Project Runway hot mess ensemble in a huge Northwestern college hoodie, but by this time, I was overheating between layers in a hot broth of my own marinade and was ready for another shower.

Still in a zombie state, I raced out the door to catch the long subway ride to get to Harlem. Usually, I would read the paper on the way up but my eyes were extra swollen and puffy such that they were narrower than usual even for an Asian man and on this occasion, I blacked out. I was supposed to get off at the 175th stop but I found myself wiping drool off my mouth and in a hazy mess at the end of the subway line on 208th street.

How did this happen? In a panic, I started a Forrest Gump like sprint to the volunteer center because I was late and needed to catch up with the others. There would be buses there leaving promptly with the kids and other mentors because we had a field trip to a state park in New Jersey called Bear Mountain.

Panting, sweating, and maybe with a little crying, I saw some yellow school buses riding off into the distance and so, I started to chase after them frantically with arms flailing which brought back some devastating elementary school memories (I just needed a wedgie to complete the experience). But I could not reach them. The program director asked one of the parents to drive me to race to catch up to the buses and race we did; I have never been so scared being in a soccer mom mini-van before.

Unfortunately, we did not see any of the buses and this soccer mom had to get back to Harlem. So, I told the her to drop me off at a Citgo gas station in the middle of Palisades Parkway in Dirty Jersey to fend for myself. I was about 30 miles from Bear Mountain and I thought that maybe I could hitch hike/sell myself to get up there. This was mentor dedication at its best.

I had never hitch hiked before and reminded myself to be charming and handsome but not so charming and handsome that I would be kidnapped and/or defiled by strangers. Looking for my opportunities, my best chance was one family by the gas pumps who had a 'Northwestern University' decal on their car and I quickly accosted them earnestly and with familiarity making sure my Northwestern hoodie was in clear view as well (I thought this was going to be a slam dunk as we were practically family) asking if they were going to Bear Mountain. They were startled, and without a word quickly got in their cars, locked the doors and raced off.

Undeterred, I did what any New Yorker Douchebag would do in this situation: I bailed myself out and called a black car to pick me up. I was going to arrive in style and thought that the kids would celebrate my arrival with pomp and circumstance after all I had been through to get there for them.

When we pulled up, the kids did swarmed the car. It was a 'papa, paparazzi' mob scene of hyper kids all out of control and they were all trying to look into the tinted windows to see if it was a Yankee player who happened to be visiting Bear mountain. But when I got out, I cannot even describe how disappointed they were to see that it was only me. (It is the same face I get from Babyboo when I come home). I think I even got jeered and 'boo-ed'.

So was it worth it? Shut up.