I couldn't let this day pass without writing about my memories and observances of this very special day. It didn't start out very different for me. Wake up, make coffee, bathroom break, stand by coffee pot, pour coffee, begin to wake up. I had a ritual (some would call it a rut, and I do much the same thing now) where I would get going with the coffee, set up my ironing board, pick out my shirt and tie for the day, and iron while listening to my favorite talk radio station.
I was scheduled for a mid (11am - till - whenever) that day and was in no big rush, had all the time in the world. Although I did want to get in early, since our Area Director was planning a visit to our store that day. I was still in that phase of wanting to impress my superiors with my skill at getting to work early (roll eyes).
So I had picked out a favorite shirt and tie and was ironing away when I turned on the radio. It was very early into the disaster, because the voice coming from the radio wasn't sure what was going on, only that there was a fire in the World Trade Center. Well, this I had to see, so I turned on the TV, which happened to be on the Today Show. Matt Lauer was talking about the situation like it was a mistake that a pilot had made, and how could someone possibly fly into the tower like that?
I was engrossed now and gave up on the ironing for a few minutes while I sat down to watch what was unfolding before my eyes. Certainly no one could make a mistake like that nowadays, could they? And that was when the world turned topsy-turvy. I know it's not verbatim, but Matt said something like, "Oh my God, another plane is making the same mistake!". With my eyes glued to the set, I watched the plane slam into the second tower. Now the mind starts going through different scenarios: Did someone re-program their auto-pilots?; Was there maybe nukes slipped on board?. Being as I lived on Long Island at the time, I lived only 40 miles from Ground Zero and worked only 25 miles away. Would there be evacuations? For some reason, all I could think of then was to get to work. I had to get to work.
I rushed through the whole shower and shave thing and got to work faster than I have ever before. I walked in and my Area Manager, the opening Assistant Manager, the prep cooks, and the opening bartender were all standing in front of the two TVs in the bar. One tower had already gone down on the ride in and we all stood there helpless watching the second one succumb. We all turned to the AD with a look like "Okay, big guy, what do we do? Close, stay open, volunteer?" No, we would go ahead and open. Are you freekin kidding me? How could we open at a time like this? All our AD was concerned about was getting back home to Connecticut. All the stations were reporting that all bridges off the island were now closed. AD kept his cell phone burning and took off like a bat hoping to get on the last ferry leaving from the midpoint of Long Island to Connecticut. He just made it, surely breaking many speeding rules in his BMW.
As soon as he left, we all just king of looked at each other and said "Screw this shit!". We only did enough opening prep for a rudimentary opening and mostly just shlumped around like zombies. We opened the doors and No One Came. Quelle surprise! I think the people of Long Island had other things on their mind besides pasta. Besides Manhattan, I think this catastrophe hit Long Island the hardest. Long Island is considered the bedroom community for Manhattan, and a large, large portion of the fire fighters lived on Long Island, from Hicksville to Long Island City. Everyone on the island knew someone or was family to someone who worked there.
A little while after, our Sunday bartender showed up quite shaken and animated. During the week she worked in the Empire State Building, which was one of the first evacuated after the attack. She was lucky enough to be on the last train allowed to leave Manhattan, but also had a front row seat to see the towers fall as she was being swept off the island.
In the meantime, many of us gathered out in the parking lot, eyes glued to the NorthWest. Plumes of dark, evil smoke could be seen billowing on the horizen, and it was very quiet. Very, very quiet.
We finally got the "higher-ups" to let us close at 3pm after $200 in sales. Pricks.
The next couple of weeks were somber indeed. Almost daily, driving to work, there were funeral processions, many proceeded by red fire trucks.
Being in the restaurant business at the time, many of my thoughts were for those poor, unfortunate souls who worked at Windows on the World Restaurant on the top floors of one of the towers. One minute serving breakfast, the next....... My favorite reference book for wine is Kevin Zraly's book Windows on the World Complete Wine Course. I never got to go, although I had planned on many occasions to splurge sometime, and now I would never have the chance.
What I brought away from my experiences on Long Island changed me forever. I learned a lot of patience. I learned how noble firefighters really were, and how human. And I learned I had to leave there at all costs.
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2 comments:
It's all so true.I was a freshman in high school at the time, I still remember sitting on the floor and sobbing in my best friend's knee as we watched it all on TV. Now I work in a restaurant in Washington DC, and I would be lying if I said I hadn't been terribly on edge all day. Funny how we relate the tragedy to how it fit into our lives at the time, and how we all come away with something unique yet equally profound.
I lived in DC on 9/11 and will never forget the absolute fear I felt as I rushed into town--one of a few cars going into the city as opposed to the gridlock leaving it--because my kids went to school downtown. I picked them up, drove 2 mph up Mass. Ave. toward home, eyeing the heavily armed patrols in front of the Vice President's home. At that time, no one knew where the third plane was, and every sound outside made you wonder, is that it? I could barely watch the news yesterday, because it is so difficult to re-live the day's events in both cities, and to recall such abject fear I hope never to feel again.
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