Our Northwest Airlines flight was scheduled to leave at 5:10 p.m. last Wednesday. Game 2 of the National Basketball Association (NBA) Finals ended the night before at the Staples Center. So we had an entire morning and a big chunk of the afternoon to relax away.
We checked out of the Westin airport hotel at 10 a.m. and deposited our luggage in a storage room. Our friend Roy Gonzales took us to lunch then dropped us off at our hotel close to 2:30 p.m.
We took the bus shuttle to the airport, went through the usual security procedures and made it to our boarding gate way ahead of schedule only to be told our flight would be delayed an hour. No problem. We ordered our favorite fraps from a Starbucks station nearby and sipped until the call to board came.
Over half the passengers were from different media networks assigned to cover the Finals. NBA player Jalen Rose, working for a TV sports talk show, and courtside reporter Jim Gray were on board — in first class, of course.
The flight took four hours. Dinner was just right for passengers with reasonable appetites — turkey sandwich, a low-carb chocolate bar, an apple, water and a beverage of your choice.
Because a lot of TV reporters were on board, the overhead bins were packed with big cameras and equipment bags. I had to stash my carry-on trolley under the seat in front of me and my shoulder computer bag under my legs. Thank goodness Northwest sat us in the exit row.
I slept much of the way but Vitto, in the window seat, hardly had a wink. Erick was in the row behind us and skipped dinner to sleep.
We landed at 1 a.m., Detroit time, or three hours ahead of L. A. We weren’t sure if we were sleepy or sluggish or just plain tired. We lugged our bags up and down escalators from the baggage claim area over a suspended walkway to the next building where the taxi stand was.
Taxis came 15 minutes apart and we were fourth in line. By the time our turn came, it was 2 a.m. A passenger from another flight bummed a ride and asked if he could be brought to his hotel. The driver Mohammed Hanif — call him Mike — obliged. The meter wasn’t turned on. Mike’s idea was to charge each passenger $30.
When the odd-man-out got off the taxi, he refused to pay $30 and gave only $20. Mike couldn’t do a thing because his meter wasn’t turned on. Then he drove us to the Troy Marriott Hotel where NBA coordinators said we were booked. The drive took an hour.
Mike entertained on the freeway with light conversation. I suspected he was trying to keep himself awake. He turned off the air-conditioning because he said it made him sleepy. Mike said he works from 8 a.m. to 1 a.m. five days a week to feed his wife and five children. He migrated from Lahore, Pakistan, some 15 years ago.
Mike said he’s a diehard Pistons fan and likes basketball and baseball. He called football a form of bullfighting. Since cricket isn’t popular in the US unlike in Pakistan, he said he doesn’t know how the sport has progressed and has no time to watch games on cable. He said his countrymen Jahangir and Jansher Khan, in their prime, were unbeatable in squash.
What made us laugh was Mike’s short lesson in linguistics. He said "piston" in the Pakistan dialect Urdu means female breasts. That’s one other reason why he likes the Pistons, chuckled Mike. Not knowing any better, we wondered if Mike took us for a ride.
We stumbled into the Troy Marriott Hotel at 3 a.m. and submitted our reservation slip. Alas, the receptionist said a switch had been made and we were rebooked in another Marriott Hotel, the Courtyard, about a 15-minute drive away.
Luckily, Mike hung around the lobby, looking for a cup of coffee. We loaded our bags back into his taxi and went to the Courtyard. Mike charged us $70, all in. We were finally settled in our rooms at 3:30 a.m. With our stomachs grumbling, we hurried back to the lobby after dragging our bags to our rooms — the bellhops were all asleep — and asked where the nearest open restaurant was. The receptionist’s reply: Sorry. The Courtyard, incidentally, has no room service and its coffee shop is open only for breakfast in the morning.
We walked to a gasoline station two blocks away to scavenge for food. The Bangladesh storekeeper was wide awake and helpful. He pointed us to a fridge where there were frozen sandwiches, pizzas, burritos and such.
I feasted on a bagel hot dog, a beef and cheese burrito, a Ben and Jerry ice cream stick and Diet Coke with lime — all for less than $7. I stuffed the hot dog and the burrito into a microwave near the storekeeper’s counter. I was so hungry I gorged on the steaming food and burned my tongue.
We walked back to the hotel, cracking jokes, recounting our ordeal and laughing about it. We never imagined something like this would ever happen to us. We were back in our rooms by about 4:30 a.m. The USA Today newspaper was slipped under my room door before 5 a.m. while I unpacked. After a quick shower, I slipped into bed, said my night prayers, watched a little TV and fell asleep. It must have been 6 a.m. by then.
In 15 hours, the Detroit Pistons were to host the Los Angeles Lakers in Game 3 of the Finals at the Palace in Auburn Hills.
I didn’t ask Erick and Vitto but I’m sure they, like me, wouldn’t trade this adventure for anything.