Equinox Thanksgiving Delivery Day 2012

Why do I get up at 4:30 in the morning to deliver turkey dinners on Thanksgiving Day?

There are reasons.  Sometimes I don’t even know the reasons myself, because I’m so busy trying to get ready for this day.

So I’m awake.  Not by much.  But I still have to make sure I have everything in place.  This will be my first Thanksgiving dinner with the new Chevrolet Cobalt SS as my turkey-carrying chariot.  Did I transfer everything over to the new car?  Paperwork?  Electronics?  A CD full of driving tunes?  I think I did.

Okay.  Time to go.  After a quick stop at a gas station to top off for fuel and grab a couple of diet colas for breakfast…

A quick jaunt to the Empire State Plaza parking structure.  And it’s only then that I realized – hey Chuck, you dumbbell, you left your GPS at home.  No matter.  It just means I’ll deliver dinners this year to areas where I know the streets and avenues.

5:30 a.m.  I’m at the Empire State Plaza concourse.  And yes, there’s a row of people ahead of me.  Some of them may have arrived at the Plaza as early as 2:00 in the morning.  Trust me.  Nobody’s delivering ANY turkey dinners until at least 8:30 a.m.  This line isn’t even BUDGING until 8:00 a.m.  So we just sit peacefully and pass the hours.

Thankfully, my cell phone was fully charged, and a few games of Solitaire and Sudoku passed the time nicely.  That, and a few tweets and camera photos of how long the line was and how much fun everyone was having.

Then, at about 8:30 a.m., the line surged forward. Time to pick up my destination packets.  Equinox 2012, bay bee.

As much as I would have loved to drive out to the far-flung reaches of the Capital District, I realized that without my GPS I would have gotten lost.  So instead, I grabbed an address packet for Voorheesville.  One family, five dinners.  Simple.

Five turkey dinners and trimmings in a carrying box.  Bagfuls of gravy cuplets and loaves of bread.  And then it was back to the Empire State Plaza parking garage.

Let’s Go, Cardachro- oh yeah.  Forgot.  New car.  And yes, I’ll give it a name soon.  I know some of my readers have already shared possible nicknames, either via Twitter or Facebook or in person.  Roz suggested “The Heavy Chevy,” while Potrzebie thought “Auto-Focus” would be a nice name.  D357 first offered “the Chuck Wagon” (NO) and then “Cobachrome,” a portmanteau of Cobalt and Cardachrome.

Well, whatever your name is, little car, let’s get to Voorheesville.

I exit the parking garage, and access the arterial to I-787, with the plan to drive through the Delaware Avenue neighborhood, pick up Delaware Avenue, then take Kenwood to New Scotland Road to Voorheesville.

Oh look, here’s Exit 1 for the Thruway.  I can take that.

Except… Readers, do you remember when I said I took my E-ZPass out of Cardachrome and brought it to this car?  Well… I put the E-ZPass in the new car, but I forgot to get a new pair of plastic Velcro mounts for the windshield.  So I can use the E-ZPass – as long as I hold the transponder on the windshield like Gomer Misnomer as I drive through the Thruway tool booth.

Dang it.

Well, the “hold the transponder” gimmick worked in getting on the Thruway at Exit 23, but that’s not the way anybody should be using their E-ZPass.  So as I exited the Thruway at Exit 24, I asked the toll booth operator if she had any of the adhesive mounts at her toll booth.

“No I don’t,” she said.  “But if you go to the Thruway office building over there, they can give you a set of mounts.”

“Thank you,” I said, and parked in the lot next to the tollbooth complex.

As I walked through the front door of the office building, a smiling lady handed me a set of plastic Velcro adhesive mounts.  “Happy Thanksgiving!” she said.

“How did you know I was coming in to get – ”

“The tollbooth operator radioed us, said you would need a set of these.”

“Wow.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Have a Happy thanksgiving!”

Well now.  Props to the New York State Thruway staff.  Okay… back on the road I go.

A few minutes later, I arrived at my destination.  It was a small house in Voorheesville, just a few side streets off of Route 85.  Yep.  Address checks out.  House number on mailbox checks out.  Off-street parking checks out.

I parked the Cobalt, and gathered the five meals together for delivery.

An elderly woman greeted me at the door.  “Are you from Equinox?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” I smiled.  “I have Thanksgiving dinners for you.  Five of them.”

“Thank you,” she said.  “Just put them on the counter.  Did they have enough drivers this year?  I heard on the news that they might not have enough drivers for all the deliveries.”

“I’m sure that everybody who asked for a turkey dinner got one,” I replied, placing the box and bags on her counter.  “Nobody will go hungry or go without today.”

“Thank you,” she said, almost in tears.  “It’s been a rough couple of months for me.  This will help.”

“Have a happy Thanksgiving,” I replied, heading back to the car.  Key in the ignition.

But something bothered me.  It was her words.  It’s been a rough couple of months for me.

Come on, Chuck, you did what you were supposed to do.  You delivered the dinners and the holiday cheer.  Time to go.  Turn the key and drive your new car back to the Town and Village.

And that should have been it.

But all I could think of was that this poor woman would have her Thanksgiving dinner with her family … and then the next day it would be like any other day in her life. This is the holiday season.  Take that extra step, Chuck.  Do something nice and make it memorable.

Key out of the ignition.

I popped the trunk.  Is it there?  Did I put it in the car?  Yes it is, and yes I did.

Last Sunday, I picked up two of my three framed artworks from the recently-concluded Photo Center of Troy Members’ Show – The Beat of Officer Harris and Butterfly and Citrus (someone bought the third one, Night Train to Heaven, at the show).  The Beat of Officer Harris was sold privately, which meant I still had a copy of the photo of the butterfly slurping on that orange slice…

Back up to the door.  Knock knock knock.

She opened the door.

“Ma’am,” I said, “I forgot you were supposed to receive this, too.”  And with that, I handed her the framed print of Butterfly and Citrus.  “I hope that when you hang that picture in your house, it will bring you joy and hope in troubled times, and it will show that there’s beauty and good in the world.”

“Thank you,” she said, and this time I was sure she was crying.  Tears of joy.  Tears of happiness.

“Have a happy Thanksgiving,” I said.  And with that, I returned to the Cobalt, and drove away.

Thanksgiving delivery complete.  Another successful and memorable holiday delivery.

Why do I get up at 4:30 in the morning to deliver turkey dinners on Thanksgiving Day?

When I can offer an additional random act of kindness in conjunction with charity in this holiday season…

That’s a reason to get up at 4;30 in the morning every single Thanksgiving Day.