i have not yet perfected the art of time travel

Last night, we took a cab home from the Upper East Side.

Paul opens the door, I slide in, reach for the seatbelt, and realize that the previous passenger has left their Blackberry. I pick it up, marvel at the bright shiny phoneiness of it, and try to figure out how it works. Too many buttons. Afraid if I push the wrong one it will explode. Paul takes it from me, the phone rings, and Paul answers. He hears:

"Mom? Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom. Mommommom. Mom? Mom? Mom."

Paul tries to answer "I- no - not - hey- I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER! YOUR MOTHER LEFT HER PHONE IN A CAB."

"Oh. She's coming up the stairs. I'll tell her." the kid hangs up. Another ring. Paul answers. He hears:

"Hello? Hello. Hello. Hello? Hello. Hello? Hello? Hello."

Paul tries to answer: " Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Geez, stop saying hello! IF YOU SAY HELLO ONE MORE TIME I WILL HANG UP THE PHONE."

"So-rry. My kid's phone isn't working properly. Hello? Hello?"

The phone call ends. At this point, Paul has a splitting headache, and hands me the phone, since clearly it is my turn to be Nice and Polite, and it is Paul's turn to be Grumpy and Impatient. We take turns. It works well for us. The phone rings again. This time, I answer, and very nice Upper East Side Lady is telling me how glad she is we found her phone, and can she pick it up.

"Let's see, I'm at 59th and Park, so it might take me a while to get to you, and I'm going to Connecticut tomorrow. Can I come on Sunday, when we're on our way home?"

"Sure, but I'm at church from 1:00 until 4:00, so you can't come during those times."

"How about 2:00?"

"Um, no, we won't be home then. You can come before one, or after 4:30."

"Oh, okay, great." At this point, I assume that it is clear that during the hours of 1:00 and 4:00 we will not be home. My assumption is incorrect.

"How about 2:30?"

Okay, I know, three hours of church is a long time, but surely the concept is not so foreign as to cause a complete breakdown in one's concept of time, is it? Thank you for agreeing. I explain once more that what with not being home and all, 2:30 is actually not good. I am thinking she has just about grasped that when I become aware of the fact that Paul is yelling at our cabbie, who has not gotten off the FDR when he should have.

"You should have gotten off!!"

"You told me not to!"

"I told you not get off at the bridge! I SAID 181st!"

"You have to go like you're going to the bridge to get to the 181st exit!! You didn't want me to get off, and that's why we're in this mess!!"

At this point I have an epiphane: the cabbie is right. Since I am completely directionally challenged and almost never know where I am or where north south east or west are, I was quite pleased with myself, and felt like I needed to share.

"Paul, he's right."

Oops. Not the best time. Right.

Paul shoots me the Boerem Look of Death, the cabbie thanks me for my endorsement, and I continue attempting to explain my inability to be in two places at once to Upper East Side Lady. She decides to leave right away, and I, bolstered by my newfound sense of direction, tell her how to get to our apartment.

We part ways with the cabbie, who has by now realized the subtle connection between feelings and wallets, and made up with Paul. Upper East Side Lady arrives shortly thereafter, and in a fit of good will insists Paul accept a crisp $20.00 bill for his troubles, no doubt part of her charitable campaign to make certain that people who live above 80th are able to buy groceries.