My Thanksgiving Story

It happened a couple of years ago. I was stuck in New York City, Wednesday afternoon before T-day, plane ticket burning a hole in my shirt pocket as the client agonized over our project as if he was deciphering the DaVinci code (good luck with that). The ticks of my watch grew steadily louder and louder as beads of sweat formed around my hairline. My colleague, obviously in the same anxious state as me, made eye contact with me, then glanced down to his watch. I shrugged, ever so slightly, eyes widening in learned helplessness.

Then, out on the Manhattan streets. The crowds, the rush, the bloodletting over scarce taxis, like lions stalking 'lopes on the tundra. The vision of my plane refueling, deicing, taking on passengers, churned my stomach while I fought for walking space on a busy Park Avenue. Oh! A cab, emptying out right in front of me! I hailed the driver, began loading my bags in - and was knocked down by a fat oaf with a massive suitcase. The cab sped away -

But somehow I made it to JFK. Then, coincidences of all coincidences, that same fat oaf sits down right across from me. I flash a sour look his way. "I know you!" he said, all smiles. "I know you. I never forget a face."

"You stole my cab," I said, surly but politely.

"No!"

"Yes."

"Hey, I'm sorry." He thinks a moment. "Let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a hot dog?"

"No, thanks."

"A beer?"

"Thanks, no."

"Hamburger?"

"No."

"Cheese sandwich?"

"No."

"Candy?"

"No."

"How 'bout a pretzel?"

"No."

"Gum?"

"No."

"Mints?"

"No."

"Soda?"

"No!"

Actually, I'm not Neal Page, though I'm closer in temperament to him than Del Griffith. The above nightmare was taken from one of my all-time favorite comedies, and perhaps the greatest Thanksgiving film of all time, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

Although my family has a tradition of watching Christmas Vacation after Thanksgiving dinner, as a way of priming ourselves for the yule season. Another side-splitting classic.