New York, New York : a Travel Horror Story

I used my college degree as a passport to the white collar world during a series of interviews for a sales position. During the interviews, I was always asked the question, “What kind of experience do you have in this field?” I figured this was some kind of trick question, considering my potential employer had to know that I had just graduated from college. If they wanted someone with experience, why didn’t they just read the résumés? I calculated a formidable response to the question. On my next interview for an industrial chemical sales job, I was once again asked about my experience. I responded that although I had no experience, I had shown determination by not only graduating, but also by working myself through school. I indicated that I would be an investment for the future with minimal risk. The sales manager sat silently and contemplated my answer. “You have the job,” he said. The interview had taken place in Newark, New Jersey, and I departed the office with an ear-to-ear smile. Did he just say he hired me?

My new boss indicated to me that he couldn’t have dinner with me because of a prior commitment, but that he would give me the use of his new Cadillac for the evening. It’s not the Batmobile, but it will do. The next day I would report to work and take a tour of the factory. I was soon behind the wheel of the Cadillac and headed to my hotel.

Once I checked into my hotel room, I phoned my girlfriend and in an excited tone of voice told her that she was speaking to the new Regional Sales Manager. In fact, I was just a salesman with a region. I felt like celebrating but I had no one to celebrate with. “Just go have dinner and we will celebrate the occasion when you get home.” She said. I hung up the phone and sat and stared at the television. After ten minutes of meditation, I quickly became bored and decided to prepare myself for a one man sales party.

I headed to the hotel lobby and asked the clerk where I might have some dinner. “If you have a car, you can drive into the city and choose your restaurant,” she replied. Within minutes, I was traveling through the Lincoln tunnel toward the “Big Apple”.

After encountering a massive traffic jam in the tunnel, I made my way into the city. I parked the car on Forty-Sixth Street and began to search for a restaurant. I soon found myself in a club that served dinner and drinks. The World Series was on television, and I pretended to be a Batman as I sipped my Scotch and immersed myself in the big city scene. Looking down at my watch, I was shocked to see that it was almost midnight.

I quickly paid my bill and began walking to the car. Somehow, I ended up on Forty-Second Street and was eye witness to some kind of freak show taking place on the street. This was definitely the underbelly of Gotham City. I was instantly caught up in the festivities and decided to have a nightcap before I returned to the hotel. Entering a tavern, I ordered a nightcap. Before I knew it a woman was seated on the barstool next to me. “Hey kid, are you looking for a date?” she inquired. “No, just looking for my car,” I answered. “Are you sure you don’t want any?” she continued. “No, I don’t want any, but if I did I would get it from you,” I responded. I had no idea what it was that she was talking about but my response sounded appropriate. I wondered just what it was that she was selling. “Excuse me,” I said. “Can you keep an eye on my drink while I go to the bathroom?” “Of course I can,” she answered. I returned from the bathroom and thanked her. The small talk continued as I finished my drink. As I attempted to stand up from the bar stool my backbone turned to putty. Somehow I had been transformed into a human slinky. I remembered thinking that the last scotch I had consumed was awful powerful and then everything went black.

The Joker must have something to do with this.

My eyes opened and I found myself in a supine position with a strange man dressed in white holding up three fingers in front of my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he said. “Three?” I answered. “What is your name?” he continued. “My name is Batman Where am I?” “You are in the emergency ward of Bellvue Hospital!” the doctor said. “How did I get here?” I said. “A taxi driver dropped you off.” “Apparently the nice saleslady you met in the tavern had spiked your drink with a strong narcotic.” I had passed out and been escorted by my humanitarian friend to the taxi where she had relieved me of my wallet. “You are going to have to stay here overnight for further observation,” the doctor stated. “We think you may have a concussion.”

“I can’t stay in this nut house. I need to get to work by eight AM “

“You had better call in sick,” the doctor said.

A telephone rang at five-thirty in the morning in the quiet suburb of Montclair, New Jersey. The Commissioner picked up the phone and softly said “Hello?” I mustered up all the courage I had and matter-of-factly said, “Hello, Commish, this is Gary. Sorry to call so early but I can’t make it in today because I was mickey-finned last night and I am at Bellvue for observation.” “That is very funny,” he said. “I am not kidding,” I responded. “Where the hell is my car?” he inquired as the tone of his voice suddenly changed. “I don’t know.”

As I relaxed on my gurney in the emergency room at Bellvue, I surveyed a plethora of individuals who had been shot at, stabbed, drugged, or just plain messed up. After several close encounters in the nether world, they wheeled me up to a room that was occupied by three other patients and informed me that I would need to remain in the room for further observation. I finally fell asleep only to be awakened by the screams of one of my room mates. Two orderlies rushed into the room and injected him with a dose of knock out juice. At that point, I became firmly committed to making an escape. I would find where they hid my cape and hood, get dressed, and then make a break for it. Without warning the door opened and the Commissioner entered. He held a piece of paper in his hand and angrily handed it to me. “Do you know what this is?” he said. “I dunno, the comic section?” “The paper is a fine for $185 for parking in a tow zone. When you get your first check, you’re paying for this!” he said.

The Commissioner persuaded the doctors that his wife was a registered nurse and she would be able to watch over me. I gathered my belongings and was released by the hospital. I would have one day to rest before I headed back to work to face the consequences.

After a day of bed rest, I was ready for work. My boss and I drove into Elizabeth, New Jersey and entered the building. What would the reaction be from the people in the office? When I walked through the door I felt as if I was in an E. F. Hutton commercial where everyone stops what they are doing and just stares at you. Unfortunately, I would have to pass the door of the big boss.

Perhaps I can blame it on Robin.

I did my best impersonation of the Flash as I crossed his doorway, but it didn’t work. “Gary, come in here!” he shouted.

Holy Bat-Balls, I’m going to be hired and fired in a matter of three days.

“What the hell happened to you?”

I explained that I was befriended by a woman who duped me. He sat in silence for a good minute or two and then said, “Well, did you get any?” The question stunned me.

“No sir, I passed out on the floor.”

“Well, do you think it was worth it?”

“No, sir.”

“Then make sure the next time you pull one of these shenanigans you get some. Get back to work and close my door on the way out.”

“Yes sir!” I said. I closed his door and then heard hysterical sinister laugh on the other side. The sound was unmistakable. It was the Joker.

The following spring I attended my first sales meeting in Florida. I rounded out what was to be called the dirty dozen, referring to the twelve salesmen we had. The itinerary for the meeting listed all the salesmen and the territories they would cover. Next to the salesman’s name was the designated nickname each of us had earned for various reasons. The regional managers proudly assumed these nicknames and used them as a badge of honor during the meetings. I read down the list and found my name. Beside it read the moniker, Batman. Twenty years later we were still holding sales meetings, and I was still known as Batman.


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