I felt sadness and a profound sense of loss that a precious piece of New York is slipping away when I learned that the iconic rink at Rockefeller Center is scheduled for demolition in January 2021. It is classic New York sensory overload to skate here, with the magnificent Christmas tree shining rainbow colors above, and golden Prometheus forever falling to the ice at rinkside. Colored lights flash and bathe the ice in pink and blue, and sometimes the music from the Saks Christmas display across Fifth Avenue is so loud it drowns out the music at the rink, which seems to range between Christmas classics and funk.
When I read the news, I immediately went online and bought a ticket to skate at 6 PM every Saturday from November 21 to January 16. The first Saturday, the splendid 75-foot tall Christmas tree (which weighs 11 tons!) was in place, but not strung with lights. I went downstairs to the skating area right at 6 PM, pasted a yellow sticker from the ticket taker on my right leg, and rushed towards the rink. I was enchanted to see two angelic ice dancers in white costumes with fairy lights walking down the hallway to the dressing room ahead of me. I found a locker, put on my skates, and rushed onto the ice. The ice dancers were already out there, filming a video. They spun and twirled and swooped in the center of the rink for the entire time I was on the ice, which seemed to last only 20 minutes.
It was my first time on skates in a couple years, so it took the full 20 minutes just to warm up and feel less wobbly in the ankles, but still I soared past all the other skaters on the rink. I kept telling anyone who would listen, “I’m Canadian!” to explain my superior performance, possession of my own skates, and knowledge of ice grooming. The ice was a choppy mess, in fact. But I loved the feeling of gliding and tentatively trying out a few of my skating chops—switch to backwards skating for a few seconds, try a twirl in a quiet corner. And secretly wished I could skate like the ice dancers.
Because of Covid, the ice was socially distanced, meaning less crowded than usual, but it was still at the maximum allowed, filled with couples holding hands and trying to keep each other vertical, kids falling and skating in the wrong direction, and packs of people taking each other’s picture and blocking the flow.
Unfortunately, my mind kept finding fault with every little thing for the entire 20 minutes until I was told people wearing the yellow sticker had to get off the ice. Then the problem was that my miserable time had been cut short!
I went over to the skate rental return counter with my litany of complaints. I didn’t have any skates to return, having brought my own (because I’m a Canadian). But I complained about the quality of the ice and the short session, which was supposed to be an hour from beginning to end. After lodging my comments with the skate rental attendant, I waited for a manager, and then repeated the litany. The manager asked to see my yellow sticker, and my ticket, and went to investigate. It was the first day of rink operations, and the manager–let’s call him Tim, since that’s his real name–determined that an error had been made in the color of sticker I was issued. I should have received a blue sticker, not a yellow one. He said I could go back on the ice, but by now I had changed out of my skates. He said they were still working out the system but that next week would be better.
Then we turned to the matter of the ice. “The ice was a mess!” I said. “We cut it every few hours,” Tim said, clearly not realizing that this was completely inadequate. “I’m a Canadian!” I said. “I’m used to better ice.” He appeared to be quite sympathetic to my plight. I obviously knew what I was talking about, since I was a Canadian, and besides, I’d purchased eight tickets in advance.
He gave me the general manager Kristen’s business card, and said to email her on Monday. Which I did. I didn’t mention the fact that I was a Canadian, but my expertise in ice matters must have been convincing; by end of day she had changed my remaining tickets to the 7 PM session, immediately after the ice cleaning, which for some reason they call cutting here. That’s quite a stretch, considering the puddles of water everywhere on the rink. Their ice is not exactly cuttable!
The next Saturday, I knew the drill. I was first in line to go downstairs to the rink. Since I was the only one who brought my own skates (quite probably the only Canadian) I changed into my skates in a flash and was the first on the rink!!! For five minutes I had the rink to myself! I couldn’t believe it. The lights were on the tree, casting a magical glow. There were hordes socially distanced above on 49th Street, waiting for their timed visit to look at the tree. And here I was, circling round and round, the rink and the tree all to myself. I wept at my good fortune and craftiness. Finally I could relax. I had controlled the universe. And when others started to trickle and totter onto the ice, I smiled with fond benevolence. I was the ruler of the rink!
Check out my new video, “Crappy Skaters”!Â
P.S. They use an inferior ice cleaning machine called “Olympia,” perhaps in deference to Prometheus’s family. Every Canadian knows that Zambonis are the ice machines of the gods.
