Nikki Yeager

My parents have never come to NYC to visit me. Not even when I was 18 and sharing my first apartment in Manhattan. Not even when I had that art show that they would've adored. Not even when I invited them for holidays. 

Why? Well, because as much as we love eachother it's a pain in the rear end to get from Houston to NYC without dropping a good 500 dollars on a flight. Good news is - that all changed when they moved to Virginia a month ago. 

Within the first few weeks they came to visit me in my new Brooklyn apartment and planned to stay the weekend. A quick 6 hour drive and they were settling into a cheap hotel I found for them in my neighborhood considering Manhattan hotels usually start at $130 a night.

Now keep in mind that Bay Ridge is an incredibly safe place to live. I remember asking our broker about crime in the area and she literally laughed out loud, "what crime?" Three months later I can tell you for a fact that she wasn't lying. It's safe as Ohio around here. 

So my little Midwestern parents came with their new car and settled in for the night at a cash only hotel a few blocks away. They laughed at the fact they had to pay cash through a bullet proof window, but didn't seem bothered by the harsh surroundings. After all, it's NYC. Even my bank in Manhattan has bullet proof glass protecting the tellers. And did I mention my parents are becoming some of the most adventuresome 50-somethings you'll ever meet with their constant moving and weekly vacations? 

Anyways, I get a text the next morning. Being 6am, I glanced at it in my sleep and misread it as, "Come have breakfast with the police." To which I smiled and giggled before rolling back over. Leave it to my mom to find a kindly New York City police officer who wants to share breakfast before dawn.

It never occured to me that her text made absolutely NO SENSE. Until, of course, I woke up at 7am and reread it correctly "The police just left. We're getting breakfast." 

Ummmm....what?!

So I wiped the sleep from my eyes and dialed, determined to figure out what the heck was going on. 

And here's the story as I heard it: 

They got back to the hotel the night before and settled in to watch t.v. With a little shifting around they realized that the sheets didn't really fit. Which is when they took a closer look and realized the fitted sheet was completely missing and in it's place were two twin size flat sheets on a queen size bed. The sheets read "NY Department of Health" 

So my parents had a wonderful laugh and fell asleep telling jokes about the ridiculous hotel bedding. That's just what you get for $80 a night, right?

It turns out that's not all you get for $80 dollars. In fact at 4am they got a surprising wakeup call with a BANG BANG BANG on the plywood door.

Man: BANG BANG, THUMP THUMP, "GIVE ME THE MONEY!"

Parents: No idea what to do. 

Man: Knocking violently "Yo, GIVE ME MY MONEY!!!" 

Dad: Taking charge of the situation, "You have the wrong room." 

Mom: Shaking with fear, "Dave. Where's my phone. We need to call the police. Where's my phone?!" 

Man: Keeps banging on the paper thin door.

Of course the poorly designed hotel only had one outlet in the whole room and my mom's charger was somewhere nestled in a corner. So while her and my dad were shaking with fear, she had to track down the iPhone that never has service in the city, hold it up at odd angled, cross her fingers, get into a yoga position and will the phone to have service. 

Finally she managed to dial 911 and report the whole story - still uncomfortably holding the phone at a 20 degree angle above her head, slightly to the right of the toilet. 

Dad: Shouting from his place, perched upright on the bed, "We called the police. You need to leave" 

Man: Still beating the door with no sign of giving up, "GIVE ME MY MONEY!!! I'M COMIN' IN IF YOU DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR!!" 

Mom and Dad: Sit in one place and mentally will him to go away.

Amazingly the man seems to tire himself out after another half an hour and doesn't break the door down or kill anyone. Thank god.  

About an hour later another knock on the door comes. 

Man-voice: "Open up, it's the police" 

Dad: "How do I know it's the police?" 

Mom: Still shaking, "Dave, don't open that door." 

Man-voice: Long pause, "can you hear my radio?" 

Now, a normal person would probably be able to answer that question without a problem. But my white haired father is half deaf and can't even hear a person talking at a normal level five feet from his ear. This police officer (or the Money Man, who knows?) was never going to turn up his radio loud enough for my dad to hear it across the room. 

Oh, and did I mention the door had no peep hole? Of course.

Dad: I imagine he smiled a little, "Well, no. I can't hear it." 

Man-voice: "Well...."
Mom: In a sharp hiss,  "Dave, you're not opening that door." 

Dad: In his stern voice, "Sir, my wife will tackle me if I try to open this door for you." 

In the hallways there was shuffling and there were voices while outside it was still pitch black. So my parents curled up with the door still locked and pretended to sleep until it was light enough outside to escape the hotel. 

And that's when my mom texted me, "The police left." 

And in true oblivious-nikki fashion, I ignored her despite their traumatic evening because even pimps and/or murderers looking for money while banging on doors won't wake me up before 10am. 

And that is precisely why I doubt my parents will ever make it back over the Verrezano Bridge unless it's with the company of ten armed guards and a skilled sniper.