Today starts bright and early. I'm up at 6:03. Having relied on my body clock to wake me rather than anything as mundane as an alarm clock, I have, of course, awoken about 15 minutes later that I had hoped to, so I literally bolt out of bed and am in the shower in about 15 seconds. I am still asleep in the shower but manage to wash the stink off me and scrape the barnacles from my teeth.
Time to head to the airport - having packed the night before, I'm washed and out the door by 6:24. The ride in is OK - at that hour on a Saturday the only people awake and on the road are Amish. Of course, Solon has a cop in the median, keeping travelers safe - thank goodness they care so much. Even with 2 lanes of 480 closed between Brookpark and Pearl all goes well and I'm at the airport by 7:10 (50+ miles in just over 45 minutes - thank you Escort Passport!). Aside from having to bolt around an octogenarian doing about .5 miles per hour trying to decide where they wanted to go, parking was a snap. Actually, I made quite the parking coup in long term parking. I was somewhat delighted to get a spot within eyesight of the doors on the 3rd floor in long term closest to the terminal - I park, lock up, and head for the door. I say somewhat excited as one of my "neighbors" is driving a Chevy TinyPenis or whatever their latest land barge is and can't seem to contain it's girth in a single parking spot (they are somewhat tiny spots). <sigh> As I get closer to the doors that will lead me to the sights, sounds, and sadly, smells that are Cleveland Hopkins Airport I see something materializing from the mists - it's a spot right next to the door! And one side of it is along a concrete poll! I literally drop my suitcase on the sidewalk and tear ass back to my car, hop in, fire it up, and lay generous amounts of tire getting to the seemingly overlooked Nirvana. Several dozen in-n-outs later I have 3 feet clear on either side of my car, and am about 4 feet to the door - thank god, less pesky exercise! Seriously, I only moved to avoid the door dings. Those that know of my travels know the luck I have with my car parked at the airport.
Check-in seemed relatively uneventful.... at first. Sadly, there was no 1st Class upgrade available, but then being a direct flight on a Saturday morning I had not deluded myself that there was even a slim possibility that there would be, so it's cattle class all the way. I was also not surprised to find that it's a packed plane (again, the direct flight being about 5 hours and any that make a stop being 8 or more). I was also not surprised to find that Pioneer's travel agency was unable to get me the desired exit row seat I wanted, and further, failing that, managed to get me into row 75 or something like that, and in a window seat to boot. Lucky for me there was ONE open aisle seat in row 19, so I took it. I checked the WidowMaker (defined here) in with the cheery staff manning the eTicket counters and was off to The Security Checkpoint.
This
is where things got interesting. All I was carrying was my laptop
bag, so I grab one of those plastic tubs they have for holding your crap
as it gets irradiated and toss it in there, and also dump my jewelry and
change in there too, as I have learned that even the slightest amount of
metal will now set the detectors off and get you a pat-down session with
Bubba. What I forgot is that you are supposed to remove your laptop
from the bag. I also forgot that I need to provide a bit of backstory:
In
celebration of a perfect dental checkup (this being the Thursday prior)
I had decided to buy donuts for the gang at work to share in my god fortune.
For whatever reason, the donuts were not devoured en masse as they usually
are, leaving me with a couple of delicious powdery, sugary snacks to take
home with me to enjoy the next morning. That night when leaving work,
I threw the box in my trunk along with my laptop (in it's trusty Dell case
of course). The drive back to Hooterville was it's usual spirited
adventure dodging a-holes aplenty, and enjoying the near .9g my car provides,
and when I got home the donuts had gotten loose, become "free range trunk
donuts" in the process and getting sugary funk all
over my laptop bag. The photo does not show very well - the bag
is jet black and the powder snowy white. At the time I could not
have cared less.
So
fast forward back to me in the security line. I pass through the
scanner gateway with nary a bleep, and, excited that for the first time
since 9-11 I'm not being eyed for a pat-down, I eagerly await my laptops
arrival from the nuke, anticipating the tasty snack I'll be having at The
Great American Bagel Experience 2000 or whatever it's called. (I have learned
that my former morning airport favorite - Cinnabon w/extra frosting - gives
me crushing headaches from the 7000 grams of sugar they contain).
It's taking a l-o-n-g time, but then my cell phone and headphones and the
power adapter are in the bag, so I just figure it's taking some time to
insure that I'm not a laptop terrorist. Then they call over 2 more
guys. <sigh> Time for my pat-down and conversation with
Bubba and Reggie.
Seems
that white powder all over a laptop case is not a good thing to have!
Go figger!
After
a few embarrassed minutes of Spanish Inquisition
during which time every piece of gear in my bag is given the bomb-test
wipe-down I'm on my way.
Much
to my dismay I have forgotten to stop at the ATM in the lobby. I
dread having to go back through security. Sheepishly, I go back to
where I just left Bubba and Reggie and ask if there's an ATM on this
side of the checkpoint. I get told that it's just past Gate 11 on
my right. It was just past Gate 10 on my left. I suppose he'd
have been correct had I been departing a plane from a gate higher than
11. Gotta have keen observation skillz to be a airport security guard.....
So time
for a quick stop at the ATM (US Bank - how homey and patriotic all at the
same time!) to get cashed up (I have a poor track records with functional
ATMs in SFO). Being WAY early I head back a few gates to The
Great American Bagel Experience (or TGABE). It's staffed by a
crack team of TGABE bagel professionals, each with their own unique and
almost wholly unintelligible accent. The "go-getter" on the TGABE
crew is "Balki"
(as portrayed by Bronson Pinchot in "Perfect
Strangers" or whatever the hell show that was). Balki is here not only
as a TGABE bagel consultant, but, as I was to learn, also as "universal
translator". When I sidle up there's already something of a line
forming, and naturally people, being the totally clueless, self-centered
morons they are, are lining up directly across the hallway. In an
effort to add some semblance of order, I take it upon myself to line up
more along the wall, hoping that the next folks in line will follow suit.
Of course, that was not to be - along come "Helga und Fritz", fresh from
Austria or Stuttgart, yet eager to experience TGABE as well, who immediately
form a "T" in the line, at which point several others immediately show
up and get behind them, completely blocking the hallway. Apparently,
the steady stream of people exiting planes or heading to gates and barging
through the TGABE line like some unspoken version of "Red Rover, Red Rover
Send a Moron Right Over" is not enough incentive for a synapse to fire
in the minds of my bovine fellow travelers and get them to pull it off
to the side.
Whew
- where was I? Oh yeah, in line for TGABE.... In front of me
are a couple of CsOI, dressed as I would
expect in the latest from Abercrummy and Filch or Tommy HillFinger or whatever,
and laden with carry-ons and gadgetry to the point that they can't manage
to carry all the shit without having it fall all over the place.
They have apparently ordered the TGABE HefferMeal or whatever is the most
complicated thing possible. COI #2 drops his suitcase and its handle
takes the little velvet rope set-up down with it. Helga und Fritz
find that hilarious. I order my TGABE bagel. Balki asks if
I want it "hot" or "toasted". I ask him if it's possible to get it
toasted and cold. Humor is lost on Balkey. He microwaves my
bagel (the toaster being next to the microwave). Now I get to wait
as the HefferMeals are assembled for the Captains as it would surely be
a major trespass to by-pass them and pay and be on my way. During
this time I get to enjoy as Helga und Fritz talk to Shameeka (via Balki)
as they try to order - I will not go into details as it would likely be
as long as the classic "Who's
on First?" - but needless to say it was a comedy of errors and it all
involved TGABE pork products (haaam und sausage)! Helga also had
a difficult time understanding the phrase "We don't have any Swiss Cheese
only American or Cheddar".
What I haven't
mentioned is that Helga is really anxious for the line to move.
She keeps banging in to me as I wait for the CsOI to make it past Einstein
on the TGABE register. She bangs into me 3 times in a 2 minutes space.
Apparently, my slow motion turns to face her and my long glares at her
over the top of my glasses do not register in her pea sized brain.
Perhaps she is still contemplating "We don't have any Swiss Cheese only
American or Cheddar".
Finally,
my turn with Einstein arrives. I have been watching him work the
register as though were doing genomics sequences on a Cray
YMP or plotting re-entry trajectory for the Space
Shuttle.
To his credit, he is obviously being very careful because he's handling
money. And he's polite and courteous, so I can't ask for more than
that. I get my coffee and head for the generous 7 square inches in
front of the "serve-yourself" soda fountain provided to "dope" your coffee
with cream & sugar. Sadly, the delay of the HefferMeals for the
CsOI puts Helga und Fritz about 15 seconds behind me. As I add TGABE
cream to my TGABE coffee I hear Helga mutter something to Fritz about "people
szsztanding here all day", which, naturally, causes me to violently peel
open the Mini-Moo
I have in my hand with great force and fling the 4 drops of creamer it
contains all over the place. I utter "SHIT!"
far louder than I intended. Needless to say - it takes me a surprisingly
l-o-n-g time to finish up and head on my merry way. All that took
about 4 minutes. Truly a Great American Bagel Experience....
Now, as I said, I am really early. I do this so I can be relaxed of course! I usually find a quiet corner in a nearly empty gate that has an AC outlet and I play some FreeCell and listen to MP3z. I find a row of 8 or so seats occupied by a nice little old couple - perfect! My TGABE coffee is about 2000 degrees despite the whole heard of Mini-Moos I injected into it. I start grinding on my TGABE bagel as I plug-in and boot up, relishing the fact that my face will no doubt be covered in cream cheese thanks to it being "hot" (as opposed to "toasted"). Turns out mom-n-pop were merely placeholders for the rest of the family. They all show up, several of them being ankle biters and already crankin' on high from a huge bowl of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs or whatever Ritalin fighting breakfast treat has been pumped into them already this morning. The bleacher bench of seats I'm on proceeds to start bouncing like the headboard in a Ron Jeremey movie. It does not cease. Apparently, the ankle biters are also stuck on "Outside Voice" volume level. They have had an exciting week here in NE Ohio, and proceed to speak of it relatively incessantly regardless of audience interest. I set the laptop as loud as it will get, but Fear Factory and Lords of Acids are fighting a losing battle for audio supremacy this day...
After a time a young couple shows up and takes the last 2 seats directly next to me. The guy is really "getting his bounce on" with the chairs. The fact that they chose to sit facing the window when all of "the action" was clearly taking place in the gate area is making him swivel at the waist every 15 seconds. Perhaps he is on "high alert" now that terror has won. Eventually, I give up and kill the computer, it being too early to don the headphones and start to damage my eardrums. He sees the cut-away SVO image on my desktop and asks me if I'm a car guy. We end up talking for a half hour about cars. At one point the PA crackles to life and they make an offer for a $300 ticket and a lunch voucher to take a late flight with a layover in Houston because they've over-sold this flight. If it went to $500 I would have been all over it, but some idiot jumped at the first offer. Dummy. They always go higher!
At some point in time another small out of control child appeared behind me. This particular child was exceptionally "ripe" - and I'm inclined to believe that when a diaper says "5 to 10 pounds" that that's pretty much all they will hold. Stinky was also a free-range ankle biter, and came over to partake in the festivities of slamming into the back of the chairs we occupied. Oooops! Time to board! Thank you OnePass Elite!
Boarding is surprisingly uneventful. I head for row 19. A nice lady shows up to take the middle seat. Through idle chit-chat I learn that her hubby is also traveling, is scared to fly, and had an aisle seat in row 9. Well, being the nice guy I am I offer to trade, and before you know it I'm at least a little closer to the front of the plane. Sadly, Car Guy and his wife were across the aisle in 19 - he had a Hot Rod magazine I wanted to borrow.....
Up in row 9 I've got drunk under-age hotty on my left, and a row of Brazilian or Latino guys across the aisle. While they have lots of new (like hours old) Nike Gear on and a nice laptop on which they form a huddle to watch "Red Planet" (yawn), they must not have saved funds for food because when the peanuts arrive they basically get about every bag on the plane. I'm not kidding - I have never seen 3 guys eat so many microscopic bags of peanuts (the SkyMuffin brought a tray which they emptied). They guy on the aisle had to use both hands to wad the empty wrappers to hand them back to the SkyMuffin.
As I said, the plane is packed. Drunk Hotty is traveling with her boyfriend who happens to be seated behind us. I am not willing to trade seats again. She buys drinks and clandestinely passes them between the seats - apparently boyfriend is really underage. Our conversation consists of "bless you" (we both sneezed at some point) and "Can I get out?" as her thimble sized kidneys and bladder tried to cope with Tequila at 10:00a.m.
Eventually breakfast is served - Wheaties and a Bran Muffin. Who thinks of these meals for long plane flights? I fully expect the rest rooms to be unusable as the Continental Colon Cleanser takes affect. Needless to say, I did not partake.
The in flight movie was "Life or Something Like It" starring (if you can it that) Angelina Jolie. It is extremely predictable. And yes - she dies. There, I just saved you some money renting it. Actually, it was not bad for a chick film.
After the movie I asked if the pilots would mind posing for a photo - they didn't mind at all.
Following
the film it was time to take a bio-break, and as I had guessed the
Wheaties and Bran were taking their toll on the digestive tracts of my
fellow travelers. There was about 40 people in line for the 2 overtaxed
rest rooms. So I turn around and head back to the front of the plane,
intending to enter the sanctuary beyond the blue curtain. It was
here that I was to experience yet another facet of "terror
has won". The SkyMuffin - we'll call him Brusce - tells me that
I cannot use the bathroom up front. I tell him that there's like
40 people lined up in the rear of the plane (and the front BR is empty
BTW). Brusce tells me that it's a security risk to use the front
bathroom. I sit back down on my balls for another 15 minutes to let
the fervor die down and then head to take my spot in the queue. I'm
finally next and who comes out but scared hubby from row 19. He stands
there. He stands there a long time. He finally says he can't
get by and points to something below and behind me. The guy in the
last row - we'll call him Pompous Asshole - has his leg thrown up on his
other leg, placing his foot (encased in one of those totally gay little
footy-socks) about 4 inches into the aisle. Losing my cool, I dive
past scared hubby back into the galley area while the SkyMuffin cackles
at me to comeonbakit'soktocomebackyoucancomebackhere. At which point
I say in a pointedly loud voice "Yeah - it would be too much to ask for
that ASSHOLE to move his foot" and I head into the bathroom for a little
toilet limbo (YOU try using one of those rest rooms when you're 6'4").
I silently vow that if Pompous Assholes' foot is still in the way when
I exit I will do my best to snap it off. Sadly, it is not.
10
minutes later the SkyMuffins are serving round 2 of beverages. Naturally,
as soon as they begin the guy in row 1 decides he has to use the can.
SkyMuffin sends him up to use the first class bathroom. Terror has
won.
Now
the astute among you will have noticed by now that I have not spoken of
those seated directly in front of and/or behind me.
Behind
me is drunk boyfriend and a couple other folks. I notice that the
guy directly behind me is tall like I am. I only recline my seat
like an inch just to get a little space - I know I appreciate it when someone
in front of me does that. I, however, am not so lucky.
In
front of me are "Gramma & Grampa SugarBuzz and the KneeBasher Boys"
Gramma
SugarBuzz (across the aisle) has in her "purse" the largest Zip-Lok bag
I have ever seen. Contained inside this wondrous bag is a seemingly
endless stream of brightly colored sugar-based frosting-like products packaged
"astronaut style" so that little Bobby and Billy KneeBasher can simply
tear off a corner and squeeze the contents right into their eager, quivering,
gaping maws as though it were some delicious kind of tooth-paste.
Mundane
old dextrose being too slow, Grampa gets B&B (all 3 of them directly
in front of me) a couple glasses of orange juice each so that the immediate
blast of sucrose and fructose pack a 1-2 punch prior to the uppercut of
dextrose to follow shortly. Bobby (about 4.5) and Billy (about 5.5)
are now totally wired for sound.
Bobby,
his tiny glands incapable of dealing with the required insulin load, overheats
& eventually shuts down completely, falling into a sweaty, twitching
sleep (read: coma) for a good portion of the flight despite Billy's hyperactive
presence. Billy, however, has several hours during which Grampa will
teach him the fine art of reclining a seat as far back as you can and then
leaving or at least sitting up, while Gramma will sadly play punching bag
to some deep seated ire Billy has for older females (seriously - this was
disturbing to watch). By the end of the flight Gramma SugarBuzz has
at least one visible bruise on her arm the size of a silver dollar and
I have no doubt more will follow in the coming hours. Perhaps she's
praying that she'll throw a clot and have a thrombo and leave all this
behind.
During
Round Two of beverages the SkyMuffins left the drink cart for a moment
(perhaps to get more peanuts for the guys across the aisle) at which point
little Billy came very close to tipping it over onto Gramma, or at least
spilling most of the objects perched precariously atop it onto her.
I waited with hope....... but was disappointed as Gramma saved herself
with her already thoroughly hammered left arm.
We finally landed. My bag was the first one up the belt - Thank You Baggage Monkeys! The WidowMaker has taken a few more beatings. It was also to later become obvious that she was searched. No idea if the whole "powder on the laptop" thing had anything to do with it.
The ride to the hotel (via shuttle) was interesting. Cab drivers (and their ilk) are always so much fun! I gave him $2.00 just for the ride-time entertainment. I love to wind these guys up.
Finally at Hotel Diva I find myself ensconced in my 8x10 room on the top floor - quiet at last.
I spent the rest of the day traveling around town on the bus and the BART. There's certainly lots more I could talk about (walking 15 miles - mostly uphill; Chinatown; drunk girl on subway and the man who made the mistake of cutting in front of her at the ticket machine; You don't have to be hammered to ride the BART but it (apparently) helps; Poncho Vias Mexican mistake; Is this a subway car or a mobile sauna?; "Hey - that lesbian got my cheesecake!"; etc.) but this is already far too long. I'll save those stories for when we meet in person.
Did I mention that I asked for a "quiet" part of the hotel? Did I also mention there was a bachelorette party here overnight (and 2 doors down)? Apparently, there was at least one guest who's only duty was to scream "WHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" at the top of her booze addled lungs every 2 to 4 minutes. If I were 20 pounds thinner I might have donned my skivvies and gone over for a table dance - I can use a few bucks as much as the next guy... but alas, my Speedo days are long behind me.
I will say that I made a mistake in my dining choices. I went to California Pizza Kitchen as soon as I got here as it's right next to the hotel (as is a Starbucks) and ate some too rich food that involved cabbage, and for dinner I went to a Mexican place called Poncho Vias - known for it's food, not it's decor / atmosphere. There was a security guard opening the door to the place. I will not elaborate, other than to say that much of this was penned sitting not at a desk. Although... Brusce did give me a couple limes for my soda water on the airplane, and who knows where those fingers have been.....
Until tomorrow.........
If you've ever wondered
how I recall all this crap - here's my notes from today, jotted in my Zaurus:
Day One
Up at 6:00; asleep in
shower
Ride in OK; 480 had 2 lanes closed; parking coup
No 1st class, packed plane (lucky to get aisle) Coffee line; friendly germans; searing coffee; genius register; bouncy bouncy seats; stinky kid
Quiet time; loaded flight; offer to jump ($300, late flight)
switched seats with nice
lady
Wheaties and bran muffin
Life or something like
it
terror has won - bathroom
security risks
dick by bathroom
grama & grampa sugar
and the kneebasher boys;james & the giant bag of snaxh
4 hours on my balls
drinks round rwo; billy
pushes cart; grampa teaches fine art of reclining, gramma doles snax from
immense zip-lok;billy hammers on gramma
On to Day
Two........
