And home.
The flights were an interesting experience. A thunderstorm caused my Akron-to-Atlanta flight to delay about a 1/2 hour (which made me nervous... my Atlanta-to-LA connect was only supposed to have a 50 minute layover... all worked out in the end, though). After what's easily the most thourough security check I've ever experienced (I nearly told the guy with the metal detecting wand that if we wanted to go THAT far he should at least buy me a drink or two... when it was all over, I muttered a half-complaint and the security person said, "yeah, but admit it: you feel a lot safer." Phht! Uh-huh, thanks for the safety. Shawshank-Prison-style security I can do without, sweetheart), I boarded the plane.
Next to me sat a teenage guy with all manner of piercings. He spent most of the flight poring over his issue of Maxim, particularly the Anna Kournikova pin-ups. His girlfriend beside him didn't seem to mind, though. With about 30 minutes left in the journey, he turned and asked me the question that no airline passenger should ever have to hear: "Say, you don't mind if I dip, do ya?"
Got off the plane, bolted to the next concourse to board the plane to LA. I was seated in the very back row, but, as luck would have it, I had the whole row to myself (which was odd. The rest of the plane was jam-packed). I was able to stretch out a little and I even had room to operate the laptop and get some writing done (an impossibility on other flights). After a bit, a disgusted-looking chick saw me in my mini-apartment back there and eyed me jealously. "Do you care if I sit back here instead?"
I told her it was fine, but it was easy to see that she was trying to let me know that she didn't want to be hit on. She was very attractive, so I understand her trepidation, but... you know, it's one of those weird social situations where I wish I could just be honest and put her fears to rest, but I can't do it without over-stepping some sort of relational boundary between airportangers... "Sure you can sit here and no, I won't try to hit on you. I can see that you're just a tired girl on her way to LA and the last thing in the world you want to deal with right now is some scraggly-haired guy's awkward advances. But, fear not, I'm happily married, so I'd never even consider such a thing. So, let's keep this cordial. No defensiveness required. If you want to take up two seats to take a nap, you're more than welcome and I won't take it as a sign that you're "interested." In turn, don't begrudge me using the tray in the seat between us so that I can use my laptop. Deal?"
Got to LA and... no Carey. I went to the baggage claim. No Carey. I got my bag and went to a payphone. No change. Found a payphone that accepted debit cards. Wouldn't scan properly. Tried calling her cell collect. "This phone will not accept collect calls." So I waited. No Carey.
Finally she showed up, but not before I'd grown tired and annoyed. As it turns out, she'd gotten lost on the way and couldn't find the AirTran baggage claim. Not her fault. Even though I wanted to strangle somebody at that point, it was good to see her. We were both terribly hungry, so we decided that Subway at midnight was a splendid idea.
And home. Hello, cats. Hello, bills. Hello, Escrow and work and unanswered emails & phone messages and responsibilities. Hello, So-Cal.
It's good to be back.
The flights were an interesting experience. A thunderstorm caused my Akron-to-Atlanta flight to delay about a 1/2 hour (which made me nervous... my Atlanta-to-LA connect was only supposed to have a 50 minute layover... all worked out in the end, though). After what's easily the most thourough security check I've ever experienced (I nearly told the guy with the metal detecting wand that if we wanted to go THAT far he should at least buy me a drink or two... when it was all over, I muttered a half-complaint and the security person said, "yeah, but admit it: you feel a lot safer." Phht! Uh-huh, thanks for the safety. Shawshank-Prison-style security I can do without, sweetheart), I boarded the plane.
Next to me sat a teenage guy with all manner of piercings. He spent most of the flight poring over his issue of Maxim, particularly the Anna Kournikova pin-ups. His girlfriend beside him didn't seem to mind, though. With about 30 minutes left in the journey, he turned and asked me the question that no airline passenger should ever have to hear: "Say, you don't mind if I dip, do ya?"
Got off the plane, bolted to the next concourse to board the plane to LA. I was seated in the very back row, but, as luck would have it, I had the whole row to myself (which was odd. The rest of the plane was jam-packed). I was able to stretch out a little and I even had room to operate the laptop and get some writing done (an impossibility on other flights). After a bit, a disgusted-looking chick saw me in my mini-apartment back there and eyed me jealously. "Do you care if I sit back here instead?"
I told her it was fine, but it was easy to see that she was trying to let me know that she didn't want to be hit on. She was very attractive, so I understand her trepidation, but... you know, it's one of those weird social situations where I wish I could just be honest and put her fears to rest, but I can't do it without over-stepping some sort of relational boundary between airportangers... "Sure you can sit here and no, I won't try to hit on you. I can see that you're just a tired girl on her way to LA and the last thing in the world you want to deal with right now is some scraggly-haired guy's awkward advances. But, fear not, I'm happily married, so I'd never even consider such a thing. So, let's keep this cordial. No defensiveness required. If you want to take up two seats to take a nap, you're more than welcome and I won't take it as a sign that you're "interested." In turn, don't begrudge me using the tray in the seat between us so that I can use my laptop. Deal?"
Got to LA and... no Carey. I went to the baggage claim. No Carey. I got my bag and went to a payphone. No change. Found a payphone that accepted debit cards. Wouldn't scan properly. Tried calling her cell collect. "This phone will not accept collect calls." So I waited. No Carey.
Finally she showed up, but not before I'd grown tired and annoyed. As it turns out, she'd gotten lost on the way and couldn't find the AirTran baggage claim. Not her fault. Even though I wanted to strangle somebody at that point, it was good to see her. We were both terribly hungry, so we decided that Subway at midnight was a splendid idea.
And home. Hello, cats. Hello, bills. Hello, Escrow and work and unanswered emails & phone messages and responsibilities. Hello, So-Cal.
It's good to be back.
posted by Jeremy Bear at
10:43 AM
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