You know what? I don't do this, but I am so stuck in a rut with regards to
writing anything that I need to get the juices going. Besides, it's an experiment to see just how good
I am at writing about myself in short-term perspective.
The Paul Harvey side of what MizerieRose wrote above...
I awoke, slowly, with anticipation and dread. I was going to meet other noders I knew only from their
online presence soon. One of them would arrive tonight, brought here by my generosity.
Being the sort of person I am, I was nervous that real life would not live
up to the carefully considered online presence I have. Of course, even in real life, I make measured
responses to things.
At about the time that Mizzy was playing with the e-ticket machine, it hit me that it was one month since
the original attacks. I asked what forces I could to keep an eye on her, and then
found myself thinking about George Carlin's take on airports, from a long trip with a friend wise
enough to have comedy tapes.
Mental Note: Get comedy tapes for long trips.
Anyhow, George Carlin has a lovely bit about how morbid airports are. You go to the terminal, fly to
your final destination... it's all about death, he's saying jokingly. But everything is, and isn't, about death.
Much like numerology and statistics, if you look for what you want to see long enough you'll
Aside: Has anyone else ever thought things that would make airport security upset if they could
hear them while being checked? As an engineer, I've thought about all the holes that exist, about how
easy a fake laptop would be, at least at little airports.
Time passes...slowly. According to the schedule Orbitz sent me, her flights were supposed to be something like:
BOS to PIT: 6:15pm to 7:38pm.
PIT to SCE: 8:45 to 9:38pm.
This way, she wouldn't have a rushed layover nor an extra long one. At 8:45pm, when she was supposed to be boarding,
she called to tell me she'd been moved to a later flight. A much later flight. I was incensed, but not at her. On the other hand,
my mother, who I don't get to talk to much, called when I would have been at the airport, so it is all good.
I checked Orbitz, and then US Airways. Lo and behold, the flight she was supposed to be on had been
cancelled. Not cancelled as in "not today", cancelled as in no flight at that time on that day of the week again.
I'd like to thank Orbitz for giving me such warning; I picked that flight so I would get to bed at a reasonable hour.
Speaking of old fogies, Mizerie's girlfriend told me earlier this week that her mental image of me used to be 45 years old, with a 4 inch long gray/white beard.
I'd love to look like that.
Time passes. Too little time for a nap or to watch an hour-long show off the TiVo, too much to wait idly. I think I
read a book. All too soon, it was a rush out the door due to the difficulty of tearing my wife away from whatever she was doing.
We get to University Park airport, and a good third of the parking lot is blocked off due to new regulations. I can't help
but wonder if small, one-gate airports like this one are the hardest hit by the new rules. Due to this, the remaining parking lot space is packed.
Grabbing some lovely "fruit chewies" for the undoubtedly hungry Tammy, we go in where it says Arrivals and see a baggage claim and a sign
at the other end of the airport (I told you this isn't a big airport; this is a homespun airport like your granny used to make) that says Arrivals. So we go there,
much to our later confusion. I get some looks from those waiting; I guess they've never seen a man in a kilt, particularly not a black Utilikilt before. A plane lands. We wait. No one seems to come
to the door. My wife says she sees someone with atomic pink hair.
Now, it's time for a story. You see, I seem to be oblivious in airports, or perhaps it's just the late hour. When some of my wife's friends flew me down as a surprise for her back before
we were even engaged, I managed to walk right past them, even though I had been told exactly what to look for. My mind did this again as we walked
to where we were originally. I did not see MizerieRose at all, until I heard my wife's amused snicker from behind and I knew
I had walked right past Mizerie. Like a bonehead. She was pleased that we had brought food, at least.
We paid 50 cents for 15 minutes of parking, went home, managed to get everyone settled enough, and went to sleep. Sleep is good.