Home again! The S.F. Giants are playing good baseball, the dog seems glad to see me, and the LOC* is smiling. He picked me up at the airport last night at a little before midnight, and believe me, I was one worn out bedraggled mess. (*Lovable Old Coot)
He pulled up in the loading zone, grabbed my bags, and as soon as I was seated in the trusty Buick, handed me a hot cup of tea he had brought from home in a thermos mug. Now that's how you say, "Welcome home, honey!"
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I used to love to travel; but lately, not so much. Take airports, for example. Yes, please do take them, all of them, far far away.
To begin with, one would think that a construction project would, by definition, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. However, I have yet to visit one in recent living memory that was not partially under reconstruction. What's up with that?
Do they nevvvvvver finish?
First one is flummoxed even trying to get into the airport in the first place. Signs are taped over, and temporary ones seem contradictory, if not downright Alice-in-Wonderland-ish. What used to be Terminal A is now Terminal West, while Terminal B is now Terminal East .
You may well be wondering "which airport?" Recently, I have been in the San Francisco, Phoenix, Charlotte, Dallas, Ontario, Sacramento, and Boston airports; they all display the same confusing misdirection. And the fun is just beginning.
If one is fortunate enough to find the rental car lot, which may be located anywhere from in the middle of an abandoned runway to twenty miles away, one is likely to be met with complete pandemonium. This trip, it was my dubious pleasure to arrive on the eve of a three-day holiday weekend.
Although I had made a reservation, I quickly found myself at the wrong end of a long (as in interminable) line that snaked across the agency lobby, along the back hallway, and out the back door and around the side of the building.
No, I am not exaggerating. Would that I had been. Everyone else in the line also had a reservation, proof of which we all clutched tightly in our sweaty little hands, while we fervently waited for the line to move forward. Given that it was 7:00 a.m., nearly all of us had just flown in on a red-eye flight and we were in no mood to be delayed.
Well, we should have worn a different mood-ring, because we were destined to be delayed while the rental car management phoned another lot for - now get this - cars! They were out. Excuse me, we all had reservations. How is it they were caught off guard as to the number of vehicles needed on this particular morning, since we all had reservations? I'm just saying.
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And all this says nothing of the wackos and wing-nuts that frequent the halls and gateways of every single one of these airports.
One group, all wearing the matching T-shirts of their employer (one of the largest retailers in the country) were gleefully shouting chants, sharing jokes and regaling one another - and anyone else within shouting distance - of stories which they thought were hilarious. By this time, I was into hour two of a three hour layover in the Dallas airport, and I was not finding much of anything funny. Well, except for one thing - this group was headed for Sacramento! (My destination.) Fortunately, not on the same plane I was boarding. :)
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Seating that is either too high or too low, someone sitting right beside me playing a tennis match on their I-Pad at mega-decibels, paying ten dollars for a three-dollar sandwich, these are just a few of the joys of traveling that I have recently "enjoyed". Okay, now I'm just whining - so I'll stop
Just color me happy to be home, once again!
Hope you are safely tucked in at home too!