One of the interesting things about my job is the travel. In 2008 I flew home from Germany on my birthday. It was my birthday for 30 hours that day. Longest birthday of my life.
This week I'm off to the Netherlands. I'll spend my time in two cities. Because this is a family-oriented blog, I'm going to call them Amsterdarn and Rotterdarn.
Going to Europe is great, because a day-and-a-half meeting takes a full week when you bundle in travel time. I leave today, and get in tomorrow at 2pm, but it will really only be 8am. Then I'll try to stay up until 9pm, but I know I'll wake up at 3am or some ridiculous time in the dead of night.
Then I'll spend my day-and-a-half in meetings, and my body will adjust, and right when it's firmly calibrated I'll fly home, making it to my house at 8:30pm, which will really be 2:30 am.
Good times. I'm expecting at least one good blog post to come out of this trip. Hopefully I'll be able to publish it. That family-oriented thing might be a show stopper, from what I've been told about Amsterdarn.
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Showing posts with label airport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label airport. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
What a Pain in the…
Funny thing happened at the airport this morning. (NOTE: We all know airports are hotbeds for humor.) So there I was, sitting on my seat in the plane, all settled, ready to push back from the gate and begin my journey home. I powered down my phone and my iPod* and reached to my laptop bag to dig out the book I am reading. I checked the back pocket, where I always keep my books when I travel. No book.
I checked the front pocket, where I never keep my books. No book. (NOTE: Duh. I just said I never keep them there.) I checked inside where the laptop is. Just a laptop and chargers/cables. No book. I checked the other zippered pocket in the laptop case, where I keep documents / receipts/etc. No book. I bent down and looked all the way under the seat in front of me, in case it had fallen out of the pocket. Lots of smegma, but no book.
I checked the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. No book. Looked on the seat beside me. No book. WTF? I must have left it on a chair at the gate. All other passengers were on board, but the door was still open. I got up and asked a flight attendant if I could go out and check real quick. Since I still had my boarding pass, it was allowed.
I ran up the jetway and to the seat I had been sitting in. No book. I asked the people sitting there if they had seen it. They shook their heads.
I hurried back to the plane and went straight to the overhead bin on the other side of the plane, where my travel bag was stashed. No book in the side pocket of my travel bag or floating around the bin. I resigned to sit through two flights with only an iPod to entertain me. I would have to buy a new copy of the 557-page novel I was reading. The novel I read roughly 350 pages of. The novel I had been looking forward to devouring for the next several hours.
I turned around to face my row. There, on my seat, was my book.
Yes, it had been under my bony ass the whole time I was looking for it on the plane, and when I got up to check the gate I didn’t bother to look down. I don’t blame this little mishap on the fact that I woke up at 5am this morning for my flight. Or on my urgency to get home after cancelled flight on Tuesday and an extended stay in Atlanta.
I blame it on the fact that airplane seats are so uncomfortable that you can’t tell if you are sitting on a f*&%ing 557-page novel.
*Yes, I still have my iPod. Although I am getting a new laptop (NOT a Mac) and it may get flushed (the iPod, not the new laptop) in the very near future when I try to sync.
I checked the front pocket, where I never keep my books. No book. (NOTE: Duh. I just said I never keep them there.) I checked inside where the laptop is. Just a laptop and chargers/cables. No book. I checked the other zippered pocket in the laptop case, where I keep documents / receipts/etc. No book. I bent down and looked all the way under the seat in front of me, in case it had fallen out of the pocket. Lots of smegma, but no book.
I checked the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. No book. Looked on the seat beside me. No book. WTF? I must have left it on a chair at the gate. All other passengers were on board, but the door was still open. I got up and asked a flight attendant if I could go out and check real quick. Since I still had my boarding pass, it was allowed.
I ran up the jetway and to the seat I had been sitting in. No book. I asked the people sitting there if they had seen it. They shook their heads.
I hurried back to the plane and went straight to the overhead bin on the other side of the plane, where my travel bag was stashed. No book in the side pocket of my travel bag or floating around the bin. I resigned to sit through two flights with only an iPod to entertain me. I would have to buy a new copy of the 557-page novel I was reading. The novel I read roughly 350 pages of. The novel I had been looking forward to devouring for the next several hours.
I turned around to face my row. There, on my seat, was my book.
Yes, it had been under my bony ass the whole time I was looking for it on the plane, and when I got up to check the gate I didn’t bother to look down. I don’t blame this little mishap on the fact that I woke up at 5am this morning for my flight. Or on my urgency to get home after cancelled flight on Tuesday and an extended stay in Atlanta.
I blame it on the fact that airplane seats are so uncomfortable that you can’t tell if you are sitting on a f*&%ing 557-page novel.
*Yes, I still have my iPod. Although I am getting a new laptop (NOT a Mac) and it may get flushed (the iPod, not the new laptop) in the very near future when I try to sync.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Maine Thing
Oh, the joys of business travel. As I write this I’m sitting in LaGuardia airport, on my way back home from a trip to Maine. The trip started at 5:30 am on Monday. When I looked out the bathroom window on my way to the shower I saw the eastern sky glowing, the sun approaching the horizon but not yet within its reach. (NOTE: this is foreshadowing.)
On my way to the airport, I usually take a shortcut through a church parking lot, but when I go there the gates were closed so I had to turn around and go the long way. This did not cause me to be late, but it did cause me to say many bad words.
The flights were uneventful. I didn’t play with cool new technology, and I stayed inside each plane until it reached the terminal.
The plane rides were followed by a two-and-a-half hour drive from Portland to Bangor. Enter Google Maps. (NOTE: this is also foreshadowing; however, it is unrelated to the prior foreshadowing.)
I looked over my directions while I was waiting at the rental car counter. I noticed the trip would take me on two toll roads. I had no cash in my wallet – I had given my last three dollars to my wife the night before for my son’s soccer practice. The lady at the rental car agency told me that the toll booths were cash only, but assured me that I would pass ATMs between the airport and the highway, so I would not need to deviate from my Google directions. She was correct, and after I followed the 67 Google Map steps that took me out of the airport parking lot I got my cash and hit the highway.
My directions told me to take I-95 to Stillwater Ave. Google did not think it was necessary to provide an exit number, the directions told me that after exiting the highway by taking a slight right on to the ramp (30 ft), merging onto the ramp (6 ft), then continuing on the ramp (50 ft), then taking a slight right to turn onto Stillwater Ave (250 ft), I would take the first right (137 ft) and my destination would be on the left (0 ft).
I saw the exit for Stillwater Ave (hey Google, it’s exit 186), exited the highway etc. and when I turned onto Stillwater, the first right happened to be the parking lot for a movie theater, and while I do enjoy movies, that was not my destination. The next right was the entrance to a mall parking light, as were the following thee rights. Being a male, I drove around for nearly a half-hour before I bit the bullet and called my client to tell her I was lost.
“Oh, you need to take the second Stillwater exit,” she told me. “Exit 193.” (hear that, Google?)
I made it to my destination, worked, and then dined alone, no doubt attracting quite a bit of attention to myself because I was laughing out loud reading Dave Barry’s latest book. In the book Dave mentions Stephen King, and it made me realize I was in King’s turf, so I kept an eye out, hoping he would make a cameo.
The next morning I woke up with the sun flooding my hotel room through the crack in the curtains. I looked at the clock, which insisted it was 5:30 am. I was certain the clock had slowed down during the night, so bright was the sun. I jumped out of bed and checked my cell phone and my watch. They both agreed. It was 5:30 am. Apparently the sun rises a hell of a lot earlier in Maine than it does in Ohio.
I worked, dined alone again, laughed out loud as I finished the Dave Barry book, and retired to my hotel room. The next morning it was rainy, so the cloud cover kept the light at bay until 6:00am. Time to check out of the hotel and drive back down to Portland for a meeting.
While I was driving, I occupied my time by flipping through radio stations in search of classic rock. I found mostly God and talk radio.
SEEK
…and the Lord sayeth unto…
SEEK
…even though it is complete, we are still waiting…
SEEK
…complete, we are still waiting…
SEEK
…still waiting…
Hardcore déjà vu. Of course, déjà vu means they changed something in the Mainetrix. I kept a look out for Agents. (NOTE: if you got that, you are a geek. Don’t fret yourself, I’m a bigger geek for writing it.)
I was 5 miles from my exit when the Low Fuel light came on. I watched the needle edge closer and closer to the bottom as I drove through Portland hoping to pass a gas station. I finally found a Circle K and pulled in. Every pump had a yellow bag on the handle. But wait! There was one open. I pulled up to it, and as I got out of the car the gas station attendant walked over with a bag to cover the handle. He explained they had to re-boot the pumps, and they would be down for 10-15 minutes. I explained I was on vapors, and he kindly waited while I filled the tank. For the record, I did not meet a single rude person in Maine. I also did not meet Stephen King.
That evening I actually got to dine with a friend. I had lobster (pronounced “lob-stah”), then retired to my hotel, At Least You’re Not Sleeping In Your Rental Car (NOTE: that’s not the name they put on the sign, but it really sums it up). My room was a non-smoking room, but it clearly had not always been that way. The air conditioner was ineffective at cooling the room, and overly-effective at emanating obnoxious noises throughout the night. That, coupled with the seven hard, Chiclet-sized pillows, added up to a poor night’s rest.
The sun and the fear of missing my flight gave me a one-two punch at 5:30 am, prompting another early wake-up call. Now it’s almost time to board my final flight. It’s been a good trip, but I’m always eager to get back home…and travel always inspires a blog post.
On my way to the airport, I usually take a shortcut through a church parking lot, but when I go there the gates were closed so I had to turn around and go the long way. This did not cause me to be late, but it did cause me to say many bad words.
The flights were uneventful. I didn’t play with cool new technology, and I stayed inside each plane until it reached the terminal.
The plane rides were followed by a two-and-a-half hour drive from Portland to Bangor. Enter Google Maps. (NOTE: this is also foreshadowing; however, it is unrelated to the prior foreshadowing.)
I looked over my directions while I was waiting at the rental car counter. I noticed the trip would take me on two toll roads. I had no cash in my wallet – I had given my last three dollars to my wife the night before for my son’s soccer practice. The lady at the rental car agency told me that the toll booths were cash only, but assured me that I would pass ATMs between the airport and the highway, so I would not need to deviate from my Google directions. She was correct, and after I followed the 67 Google Map steps that took me out of the airport parking lot I got my cash and hit the highway.
My directions told me to take I-95 to Stillwater Ave. Google did not think it was necessary to provide an exit number, the directions told me that after exiting the highway by taking a slight right on to the ramp (30 ft), merging onto the ramp (6 ft), then continuing on the ramp (50 ft), then taking a slight right to turn onto Stillwater Ave (250 ft), I would take the first right (137 ft) and my destination would be on the left (0 ft).
I saw the exit for Stillwater Ave (hey Google, it’s exit 186), exited the highway etc. and when I turned onto Stillwater, the first right happened to be the parking lot for a movie theater, and while I do enjoy movies, that was not my destination. The next right was the entrance to a mall parking light, as were the following thee rights. Being a male, I drove around for nearly a half-hour before I bit the bullet and called my client to tell her I was lost.
“Oh, you need to take the second Stillwater exit,” she told me. “Exit 193.” (hear that, Google?)
I made it to my destination, worked, and then dined alone, no doubt attracting quite a bit of attention to myself because I was laughing out loud reading Dave Barry’s latest book. In the book Dave mentions Stephen King, and it made me realize I was in King’s turf, so I kept an eye out, hoping he would make a cameo.
The next morning I woke up with the sun flooding my hotel room through the crack in the curtains. I looked at the clock, which insisted it was 5:30 am. I was certain the clock had slowed down during the night, so bright was the sun. I jumped out of bed and checked my cell phone and my watch. They both agreed. It was 5:30 am. Apparently the sun rises a hell of a lot earlier in Maine than it does in Ohio.
I worked, dined alone again, laughed out loud as I finished the Dave Barry book, and retired to my hotel room. The next morning it was rainy, so the cloud cover kept the light at bay until 6:00am. Time to check out of the hotel and drive back down to Portland for a meeting.
While I was driving, I occupied my time by flipping through radio stations in search of classic rock. I found mostly God and talk radio.
SEEK
…and the Lord sayeth unto…
SEEK
…even though it is complete, we are still waiting…
SEEK
…complete, we are still waiting…
SEEK
…still waiting…
Hardcore déjà vu. Of course, déjà vu means they changed something in the Mainetrix. I kept a look out for Agents. (NOTE: if you got that, you are a geek. Don’t fret yourself, I’m a bigger geek for writing it.)
I was 5 miles from my exit when the Low Fuel light came on. I watched the needle edge closer and closer to the bottom as I drove through Portland hoping to pass a gas station. I finally found a Circle K and pulled in. Every pump had a yellow bag on the handle. But wait! There was one open. I pulled up to it, and as I got out of the car the gas station attendant walked over with a bag to cover the handle. He explained they had to re-boot the pumps, and they would be down for 10-15 minutes. I explained I was on vapors, and he kindly waited while I filled the tank. For the record, I did not meet a single rude person in Maine. I also did not meet Stephen King.
That evening I actually got to dine with a friend. I had lobster (pronounced “lob-stah”), then retired to my hotel, At Least You’re Not Sleeping In Your Rental Car (NOTE: that’s not the name they put on the sign, but it really sums it up). My room was a non-smoking room, but it clearly had not always been that way. The air conditioner was ineffective at cooling the room, and overly-effective at emanating obnoxious noises throughout the night. That, coupled with the seven hard, Chiclet-sized pillows, added up to a poor night’s rest.
The sun and the fear of missing my flight gave me a one-two punch at 5:30 am, prompting another early wake-up call. Now it’s almost time to board my final flight. It’s been a good trip, but I’m always eager to get back home…and travel always inspires a blog post.
Monday, October 26, 2009
What were the pilots really doing?
You may have heard tale of a Northwest Airlines flight that missed its destination airport by 150 miles. Today the news said the pilots were lost and using their laptops, presumably either for blogging and/or for Google Maps. That's what I'd be doing. Or checking to see if Amazon.com sold parachutes (albeit too late, and knowing me I'd cheap out and get a used one).
Laptops. Lost. That's what the pilots say, anyways. Clearly a not-so-clever ruse. I don't believe it for a second.
And I would bet the creative people reading this blog may be able to venture guesses as to what they were really doing that caused them to miss the airport...
If you have a theory, please share it with us in the comments.
Laptops. Lost. That's what the pilots say, anyways. Clearly a not-so-clever ruse. I don't believe it for a second.
And I would bet the creative people reading this blog may be able to venture guesses as to what they were really doing that caused them to miss the airport...
If you have a theory, please share it with us in the comments.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I am soooo high right now
I mean that in a literal sense. I think we are cruising at about 29,000 feet. This plane has wifi!
It's a Delta flight. I'm coming home from a business trip in Florida and Atlanta, and there was a girls in Atlanta-Hartsfield International Airport handing our cards with a promo code to use this service for free. It's called "gogo flight internet" and I must say, this is pretty cool.
I just finished reading INTO THIN AIR, about the 1996 tragedy on Mt. Everest. I bought it on Tuesday afternoon and read most of it on the way to Orlando, and I finished it on the way to Atlanta this morning. One of the climbers, a wealthy lady named Sandy Pittman, had planned to transmit a blog post from the heights of the mountain. Turns out that (among many other things that didn't go as planned) her equipment didn't work when she was as high as I am now. This is a much better solution.
And while I'm on the topic, it was a great book. I am insane enough to read it and think, "Wow, I'd like to try that." If only the whole tragedy thing could be averted, that is. I'm just talking about climbing Mt. Everest. I know I won't (I don't have the $65,000 needed to book a guided trip).
That's all for now. I'm going to work on a manuscript for the rest of the flight.
It's a Delta flight. I'm coming home from a business trip in Florida and Atlanta, and there was a girls in Atlanta-Hartsfield International Airport handing our cards with a promo code to use this service for free. It's called "gogo flight internet" and I must say, this is pretty cool.
I just finished reading INTO THIN AIR, about the 1996 tragedy on Mt. Everest. I bought it on Tuesday afternoon and read most of it on the way to Orlando, and I finished it on the way to Atlanta this morning. One of the climbers, a wealthy lady named Sandy Pittman, had planned to transmit a blog post from the heights of the mountain. Turns out that (among many other things that didn't go as planned) her equipment didn't work when she was as high as I am now. This is a much better solution.
And while I'm on the topic, it was a great book. I am insane enough to read it and think, "Wow, I'd like to try that." If only the whole tragedy thing could be averted, that is. I'm just talking about climbing Mt. Everest. I know I won't (I don't have the $65,000 needed to book a guided trip).
That's all for now. I'm going to work on a manuscript for the rest of the flight.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Travel Story- Part III
Dude, you totally have to start at the beginning. Didn't you read Part II? Click here to read Part I.
By now it was about 12:30 am Pacific Time (3:30 am Eastern Time). I am surprised that we noticed this.
We ended up staying at the bar until 2:00 am Pacific Time (5:00 am Eastern Time). We had many engrossing conversations with the regulars, including a large Mexican gentleman who was the VP of some company and who traveled 265 days a year. He let us know about the wonders of Priceline, and how he was able to stay at 5 star hotels in any city he traveled to for $89 a night. They should fire William Shatner and put this guy in their commercials, he was both enthusiastic and convincing.
There was also an Australian gentleman who worked for Microsoft. He was very nice indeed, and I told him that I did not blame him in any way for sending The Wiggles to our country. He told us the fascinating story of how The Wiggles used to be a cover band called the Cockroaches. Realizing they were not good enough to make a living playing music to adults, and recognizing an under-served youth market, they changed their tune and became overnight sensations. They became the richest entertainers in Australia, out-earning the likes of AC/DC and Nicole Kidman. Whatever. They are still disturbing.
When we left the bar, we were noticeably intoxicated. We were coherent enough to get to our new hotel, however, and we did our best to appear sober as we walked into the magnificent lobby and approached the registration desk. There were two people ready to assist us. Their hair was perfectly groomed. I fished out the business card of the man at the bar who reserved our rooms and handed it to the clerk as I tried to explain our situation. The clerk immediately acknowledged our reservation, and several people got to work finalizing our registration.
At this time, it is important to note that Jeff and I were also traveling with another colleague who was not on the same flight as we were leaving Columbus. His flight was also delayed, and he missed his connection in Phoenix and had to stay the night there. He is unfortunate to have missed out on the Grant Gateway Adventure. Jeff and I considered having him stay there the next night, but we decided against it. While I was getting us checked in, I mentioned that we would have another person that would need an additional room the next night. They asked me his last name. Tassniyom does not just roll off of the tongue when you’re sober, and I had a heck of a time trying to sound it out and spell it for them.
“T-A-S-I…no, wait…T-A-S-S-Y…no wait, that’s not it. Tassniyom. T-A-S-S-N-Y…no…” I was trying my hardest. It was not good enough.
“Why don’t we just reserve it in your name?” the clerk suggested helpfully.
“Good idea,” I had no choice but to agree.
If you are ever in San Francisco, I highly recommend you stay at the Palace at 2 New Montgomery Street. It is elegant, spacious rooms, excellent service, and conveniently located in the heart of downtown. The only odd thing is that the corridors of the hotel all reminded me of that hotel from The Shining, and I kept expecting to see two creepy little girls around every corner.
Somehow Jeff and I both got up on time the next morning and made it to our client’s office. Our colleague made it in mid-morning. We were able to get our system installed, and we even spent a good deal of time going above and beyond the call of duty to help them troubleshoot problems in the wiring of their telephone system. When you own the business, you take an extra amount of pride in your work, and we were all focused on doing the absolute best job we could.
At one point we had to take a cab to a Graybar store for some telephone cables. We went up and down hills in a manner that would make the roller coaster engineers at Cedar Point drool with envy. It is no small miracle that we survived.
That evening we had dinner at Ariolo’s on the Fisherman’s Warf. It was a great seafood dinner. They had seafood stuffed everything. Appetizers, salads, pasta dishes, entrees. When they brought the dessert tray around I was tempted to order a piece of seafood stuffed cheesecake, but they did not have any. They did, however, have the best tiramisu I have ever eaten.
Our flights out were at 4:00 am on Saturday. A little jetlag mixed with very little sleep is an interesting combination that has adverse physical effects on the body. I hope to experience it again.
We arrived at the Oakland Airport and got to the security checkpoint. I forgot to remove my one-quart Ziploc bag with my shaving cream, aftershave, etc. and the Heroes at the TSA had to search my bag. God bless them. They keep us all safe. Someone should make a movie about the Heroes at the TSA. The Trailer could go something like this:
“In a world where shaving cream is more dangerous than a razor blade…”
Or
“In a world where a small plastic bottle of water can bring air transportation to its knees…”
Thanks to the diligent efforts of the Heroes at the TSA, we are safe. We may be thirsty, our breath might stink, and we guys may have a five-o’clock shadow, but that is the Price of Freedom. It is worth every penny, I tell you.
Jeff and I got in line for breakfast. The workers there moved very slowly, apparently to create the illusion of freshness. It was a delicious egg, ham and cheese croissant with a lukewarm bottle of fruit juice flavored sugar water. At first I was perturbed that my beverage was not chilled, but then I read the label, which said Refrigerate After Opening. They were just following instructions by not refrigerating it before I got to it.
Speaking of following instructions, when we were on the plane coming home, United Airlines played their Safety Video. This is the first thing they said:
Please remove the Safety Card from the seat pocket in front of you.
The kicker is, they never tell you to put the card back!! I checked the seat pocket in front of me. Skymall? Check. Barf bag? Check. Hemispheres, the United Airlines magazine? Check. Safety card? Safety card? Bueller?
Nothing. The card was gone. It seems as though a previous passenger had diligently followed the directions, removed the card, and did not replace it. My personal safety was in jeopardy. I would not know what to do in the event of a water landing. I could have had trouble buckling my seat belt, and I would not have had the advantage of a personal reference card. It was an outrage, which is why I feel the urge to file a class action lawsuit against United Airlines for endangering all of their passengers. They may as well have been handing out toothpaste and shaving cream, they were so reckless in their procedures. What an utter disregard for the lives and security of me and my fellow travelers. I almost needed the barf bag, I was so disgusted.
Luckily we made it back to Columbus safely. I was glad to finally be home, to recuperate until the time came for me to embark on another grand adventure. Next time, someone else will have to book the hotel room, though.
Click here to re-read the entire story from the beginning.
By now it was about 12:30 am Pacific Time (3:30 am Eastern Time). I am surprised that we noticed this.
We ended up staying at the bar until 2:00 am Pacific Time (5:00 am Eastern Time). We had many engrossing conversations with the regulars, including a large Mexican gentleman who was the VP of some company and who traveled 265 days a year. He let us know about the wonders of Priceline, and how he was able to stay at 5 star hotels in any city he traveled to for $89 a night. They should fire William Shatner and put this guy in their commercials, he was both enthusiastic and convincing.
There was also an Australian gentleman who worked for Microsoft. He was very nice indeed, and I told him that I did not blame him in any way for sending The Wiggles to our country. He told us the fascinating story of how The Wiggles used to be a cover band called the Cockroaches. Realizing they were not good enough to make a living playing music to adults, and recognizing an under-served youth market, they changed their tune and became overnight sensations. They became the richest entertainers in Australia, out-earning the likes of AC/DC and Nicole Kidman. Whatever. They are still disturbing.
When we left the bar, we were noticeably intoxicated. We were coherent enough to get to our new hotel, however, and we did our best to appear sober as we walked into the magnificent lobby and approached the registration desk. There were two people ready to assist us. Their hair was perfectly groomed. I fished out the business card of the man at the bar who reserved our rooms and handed it to the clerk as I tried to explain our situation. The clerk immediately acknowledged our reservation, and several people got to work finalizing our registration.
At this time, it is important to note that Jeff and I were also traveling with another colleague who was not on the same flight as we were leaving Columbus. His flight was also delayed, and he missed his connection in Phoenix and had to stay the night there. He is unfortunate to have missed out on the Grant Gateway Adventure. Jeff and I considered having him stay there the next night, but we decided against it. While I was getting us checked in, I mentioned that we would have another person that would need an additional room the next night. They asked me his last name. Tassniyom does not just roll off of the tongue when you’re sober, and I had a heck of a time trying to sound it out and spell it for them.
“T-A-S-I…no, wait…T-A-S-S-Y…no wait, that’s not it. Tassniyom. T-A-S-S-N-Y…no…” I was trying my hardest. It was not good enough.
“Why don’t we just reserve it in your name?” the clerk suggested helpfully.
“Good idea,” I had no choice but to agree.
If you are ever in San Francisco, I highly recommend you stay at the Palace at 2 New Montgomery Street. It is elegant, spacious rooms, excellent service, and conveniently located in the heart of downtown. The only odd thing is that the corridors of the hotel all reminded me of that hotel from The Shining, and I kept expecting to see two creepy little girls around every corner.
Somehow Jeff and I both got up on time the next morning and made it to our client’s office. Our colleague made it in mid-morning. We were able to get our system installed, and we even spent a good deal of time going above and beyond the call of duty to help them troubleshoot problems in the wiring of their telephone system. When you own the business, you take an extra amount of pride in your work, and we were all focused on doing the absolute best job we could.
At one point we had to take a cab to a Graybar store for some telephone cables. We went up and down hills in a manner that would make the roller coaster engineers at Cedar Point drool with envy. It is no small miracle that we survived.
That evening we had dinner at Ariolo’s on the Fisherman’s Warf. It was a great seafood dinner. They had seafood stuffed everything. Appetizers, salads, pasta dishes, entrees. When they brought the dessert tray around I was tempted to order a piece of seafood stuffed cheesecake, but they did not have any. They did, however, have the best tiramisu I have ever eaten.
Our flights out were at 4:00 am on Saturday. A little jetlag mixed with very little sleep is an interesting combination that has adverse physical effects on the body. I hope to experience it again.
We arrived at the Oakland Airport and got to the security checkpoint. I forgot to remove my one-quart Ziploc bag with my shaving cream, aftershave, etc. and the Heroes at the TSA had to search my bag. God bless them. They keep us all safe. Someone should make a movie about the Heroes at the TSA. The Trailer could go something like this:
“In a world where shaving cream is more dangerous than a razor blade…”
Or
“In a world where a small plastic bottle of water can bring air transportation to its knees…”
Thanks to the diligent efforts of the Heroes at the TSA, we are safe. We may be thirsty, our breath might stink, and we guys may have a five-o’clock shadow, but that is the Price of Freedom. It is worth every penny, I tell you.
Jeff and I got in line for breakfast. The workers there moved very slowly, apparently to create the illusion of freshness. It was a delicious egg, ham and cheese croissant with a lukewarm bottle of fruit juice flavored sugar water. At first I was perturbed that my beverage was not chilled, but then I read the label, which said Refrigerate After Opening. They were just following instructions by not refrigerating it before I got to it.
Speaking of following instructions, when we were on the plane coming home, United Airlines played their Safety Video. This is the first thing they said:
Please remove the Safety Card from the seat pocket in front of you.
The kicker is, they never tell you to put the card back!! I checked the seat pocket in front of me. Skymall? Check. Barf bag? Check. Hemispheres, the United Airlines magazine? Check. Safety card? Safety card? Bueller?
Nothing. The card was gone. It seems as though a previous passenger had diligently followed the directions, removed the card, and did not replace it. My personal safety was in jeopardy. I would not know what to do in the event of a water landing. I could have had trouble buckling my seat belt, and I would not have had the advantage of a personal reference card. It was an outrage, which is why I feel the urge to file a class action lawsuit against United Airlines for endangering all of their passengers. They may as well have been handing out toothpaste and shaving cream, they were so reckless in their procedures. What an utter disregard for the lives and security of me and my fellow travelers. I almost needed the barf bag, I was so disgusted.
Luckily we made it back to Columbus safely. I was glad to finally be home, to recuperate until the time came for me to embark on another grand adventure. Next time, someone else will have to book the hotel room, though.
Click here to re-read the entire story from the beginning.
Travel Story- Part II
Dude, you totally have to start at the beginning. Click here to read Part I.
We finished registering and we went up to our rooms, and I am impressed that we were brave enough to step into the elevator.
Have you ever heard the stories of the Chinese immigrants that are smuggled into this country on cargo ships in steel containers? I think the rooms at the Grant Gateway were designed for these people, for they bear a striking resemblance to those steel containers. The immigrants could use them much like a scuba diver uses a pressure chamber, slowly acclimating themselves to the American environment in the familiarity of the confined space in which they arrived.
I have to admire the engineering genius who fit the bed into the room. I think it may have been constructed there, because I cannot see how it could have fit otherwise. There was an old-fashioned heater in the room, consisting of a very hot gas pipe emerging from the wall, half-heartedly concealed by a metal cage. The air conditioning and only form of ventilation was the open window to the fire escape. The room had a bathroom, but I did not stay long enough to absorb its sordid details.
I dropped my bags and quickly escaped back into the hallway, where Jeff was running out of his room. We were hungry, but the sight of the rooms caused a sudden shift in our priorities. We needed a drink first, to ease the shock of the Grant Gateway.
We had passed a small but inviting Cigar Bar on the way up the hill to the Grant Gateway, so we headed in that direction. We scouted for other restaurants or bars in the area, but the Cigar Bar was the most appealing so we went in.
We each ordered a beer, and then asked the bartender if he knew of any other hotels in the area.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“The Grant Gateway, right up the hill,” I told him. He was not familiar with it, even though it was only a block away.
“How much are they charging?” he asked out of curiosity. I told him.
“Seventy dollars a night’s a great rate for downtown,” he said.
“It’s a roach motel,” I told him.
“Chinese run?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded. A look of understanding crossed his face. “Give me a minute,” he said.
We quickly downed our beers and waited for him to come back so we could order more. We were also curious to know if he found another hotel. He let us know that the Omni was right around the corner. It was recently renovated, and the rooms went for $300 a night. He said there were a few more options, so we waited as he made a couple more calls and we drank a couple more beers.
When he returned, he had a disparaging look on his face. He called the Renaissance, and their rooms were $279 a night but they had no vacancies. They had referred him to another hotel, which also had expensive rooms but no vacancies. As we finished another beer, our luck finally kicked in. A gentleman sitting at the other end of the bar was a manager at the Palace Hotel, and elegant historical landmark that was not only nearby, they had vacancies. It is a hotel that has boarded Presidents Bush (41) and Clinton. The very, very nice and helpful man had called the front desk for us and told them to hold two rooms for us at a rate of $169 a night. We were overjoyed. He gave us his business card and said all we needed to do was show it to the receptionist and we would be taken care of.
This was cause for celebration, so we ordered another round. This round of beers also prepared us for the task of retrieving our luggage from the Grant Gateway.
After we finished the beers, we trudged back up the hill, laughing at our initial misfortune [NOTE: If the Grant Gateway served food, it would be followed with Misfortune Cookies]. We tried hard to appear sober as we went inside and went straight up to our rooms. We grabbed our bags and went to the lobby to check out.
The oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair looked surprised to see us.
“We’re checking out,” I told him. “The rooms are not to our satisfaction.”
As he began to process our check-out, he kindly let us know that they would still charge us for the rooms. I kindly let him know that we would dispute those charges.
“You cannot go check into room, then go out drinking and come back and check out,” he said, visibly perturbed. “If you don’t want pay you come right back down and say we no like the room.”
While he may have had a point about the drinking, I was following a different logical path. And given the number of Sudoku puzzles I completed on the plane, I am certain my grasp of logic was dead on.
“We couldn’t do that until we found another place to stay. We went out and found another place to stay, and we came back,” I reasoned. He didn’t get it.
“You can’t go to a restaurant and eat and not pay,” he argued.
“That doesn’t make sense. We didn’t eat anything,” I argued back. I looked at Jeff. He was trying to suppress his laughter, and he was making a very funny face in the process. Of course this made me start to laugh. Until this point I had been holding it together admirably.
“You can’t eat but not pay,” he said sounding like a broken record. He was clearly missing my point.
“Yes, but we did not stay here,” I said. “We left to find another place to stay. We found one, and now we are leaving.” Flawless logic. I didn’t feel the need to argue his point about our drinking, as it was part of our search for another place to stay because the bartender is the one who helped us find a place and the drinking was therefore necessary.
The oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair printed out two receipts and laid them on the counter for us to sign.
“I’m not signing those,” Jeff told him. It was his turn to speak because we used his credit card.
“You have to sign these,” the oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair told him.
“No, I do not,” Jeff reasoned, providing another display of flawless logic. He also worked on several Sudoku puzzles on the plane.
“Yes, you must sign these. We will charge you for the rooms,” the broken record kept playing its lame old tune.
“No,” Jeff said convincingly.
“I will have to ask management,” the broken record finally started a new track.
“You do that,” Jeff encouraged him.
We could see that our victory was at hand, so we picked up our bags and left before the guy went kung-fu on us. We went back down the hill to the Cigar Bar to celebrate with a round of drinks.
Click here to read Part III and the exciting conclusion of this adventure...
We finished registering and we went up to our rooms, and I am impressed that we were brave enough to step into the elevator.
Have you ever heard the stories of the Chinese immigrants that are smuggled into this country on cargo ships in steel containers? I think the rooms at the Grant Gateway were designed for these people, for they bear a striking resemblance to those steel containers. The immigrants could use them much like a scuba diver uses a pressure chamber, slowly acclimating themselves to the American environment in the familiarity of the confined space in which they arrived.
I have to admire the engineering genius who fit the bed into the room. I think it may have been constructed there, because I cannot see how it could have fit otherwise. There was an old-fashioned heater in the room, consisting of a very hot gas pipe emerging from the wall, half-heartedly concealed by a metal cage. The air conditioning and only form of ventilation was the open window to the fire escape. The room had a bathroom, but I did not stay long enough to absorb its sordid details.
I dropped my bags and quickly escaped back into the hallway, where Jeff was running out of his room. We were hungry, but the sight of the rooms caused a sudden shift in our priorities. We needed a drink first, to ease the shock of the Grant Gateway.
We had passed a small but inviting Cigar Bar on the way up the hill to the Grant Gateway, so we headed in that direction. We scouted for other restaurants or bars in the area, but the Cigar Bar was the most appealing so we went in.
We each ordered a beer, and then asked the bartender if he knew of any other hotels in the area.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“The Grant Gateway, right up the hill,” I told him. He was not familiar with it, even though it was only a block away.
“How much are they charging?” he asked out of curiosity. I told him.
“Seventy dollars a night’s a great rate for downtown,” he said.
“It’s a roach motel,” I told him.
“Chinese run?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded. A look of understanding crossed his face. “Give me a minute,” he said.
We quickly downed our beers and waited for him to come back so we could order more. We were also curious to know if he found another hotel. He let us know that the Omni was right around the corner. It was recently renovated, and the rooms went for $300 a night. He said there were a few more options, so we waited as he made a couple more calls and we drank a couple more beers.
When he returned, he had a disparaging look on his face. He called the Renaissance, and their rooms were $279 a night but they had no vacancies. They had referred him to another hotel, which also had expensive rooms but no vacancies. As we finished another beer, our luck finally kicked in. A gentleman sitting at the other end of the bar was a manager at the Palace Hotel, and elegant historical landmark that was not only nearby, they had vacancies. It is a hotel that has boarded Presidents Bush (41) and Clinton. The very, very nice and helpful man had called the front desk for us and told them to hold two rooms for us at a rate of $169 a night. We were overjoyed. He gave us his business card and said all we needed to do was show it to the receptionist and we would be taken care of.
This was cause for celebration, so we ordered another round. This round of beers also prepared us for the task of retrieving our luggage from the Grant Gateway.
After we finished the beers, we trudged back up the hill, laughing at our initial misfortune [NOTE: If the Grant Gateway served food, it would be followed with Misfortune Cookies]. We tried hard to appear sober as we went inside and went straight up to our rooms. We grabbed our bags and went to the lobby to check out.
The oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair looked surprised to see us.
“We’re checking out,” I told him. “The rooms are not to our satisfaction.”
As he began to process our check-out, he kindly let us know that they would still charge us for the rooms. I kindly let him know that we would dispute those charges.
“You cannot go check into room, then go out drinking and come back and check out,” he said, visibly perturbed. “If you don’t want pay you come right back down and say we no like the room.”
While he may have had a point about the drinking, I was following a different logical path. And given the number of Sudoku puzzles I completed on the plane, I am certain my grasp of logic was dead on.
“We couldn’t do that until we found another place to stay. We went out and found another place to stay, and we came back,” I reasoned. He didn’t get it.
“You can’t go to a restaurant and eat and not pay,” he argued.
“That doesn’t make sense. We didn’t eat anything,” I argued back. I looked at Jeff. He was trying to suppress his laughter, and he was making a very funny face in the process. Of course this made me start to laugh. Until this point I had been holding it together admirably.
“You can’t eat but not pay,” he said sounding like a broken record. He was clearly missing my point.
“Yes, but we did not stay here,” I said. “We left to find another place to stay. We found one, and now we are leaving.” Flawless logic. I didn’t feel the need to argue his point about our drinking, as it was part of our search for another place to stay because the bartender is the one who helped us find a place and the drinking was therefore necessary.
The oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair printed out two receipts and laid them on the counter for us to sign.
“I’m not signing those,” Jeff told him. It was his turn to speak because we used his credit card.
“You have to sign these,” the oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair told him.
“No, I do not,” Jeff reasoned, providing another display of flawless logic. He also worked on several Sudoku puzzles on the plane.
“Yes, you must sign these. We will charge you for the rooms,” the broken record kept playing its lame old tune.
“No,” Jeff said convincingly.
“I will have to ask management,” the broken record finally started a new track.
“You do that,” Jeff encouraged him.
We could see that our victory was at hand, so we picked up our bags and left before the guy went kung-fu on us. We went back down the hill to the Cigar Bar to celebrate with a round of drinks.
Click here to read Part III and the exciting conclusion of this adventure...
Travel Story- Part 1
This is an old story that I dug up to re-post. It's from 2006, waaay before I started this blog. It's fairly long, so I'm going to post it in sections. Oh, and one other thing...this is 100% true.
December 11, 2006 Back from California
Sometimes travel is boring and non-eventful. My most recent business trip did not fall into this category. It started upon arrival at the airport, with the immediate notice of a delay in my flight. No big deal yet, a one-hour delay is not a problem when you are facing a ninety minute layover. Still plenty of time. Until they delayed it again.
United Airlines, whose motto is More Leg Room [NOTE: not available on your flight], was thoughtful enough to automatically book us on another flight, so my colleagues and I were able to relax as we downed a couple beers at an airport bar and ate cheap – wait, scratch that – low-grade airport food. For some reason airport food is never cheap. I’ve only seen one Wendy’s in an airport, and I’m betting they are not more prevalent because of their Dollar Menu. They could not offer a Dollar Menu at an airport, because the other food vendors would probably maul them for upsetting the pricing scheme.
We finally got on board our flight and took off to Denver, where we took part in the Traveler’s Olympics. Our event was the Twenty Gate Sprint. We won!
The connecting flight to San Francisco was smooth. I did some work, which I had intended to do on the first flight but could not because a) there was not room to comfortably open my laptop, and b) we had those beers before we got on board the plane. After about an hour of diligent work I looked at the clock and saw that it was after midnight, which was very de-motivating indeed. I shut off the laptop and returned to my Sudoku puzzle book, which was much easier this flight than on the first leg. I attribute this both to the momentum you get when you solve several puzzles in a row and the metabolism of alcohol.
When we got to San Francisco we were amazed to see that the bags we had checked actually made it through. We took this as a sign that the rest of the trip would be smooth and there would be no further complications. How wrong we were.
We proceeded to the BART terminal to catch a train to the financial district and China Town, where we had hotel rooms reserved. It was 10:00pm Pacific Time, which was 1:00am Eastern Time, so we were understandably eager to get a bite to eat and get to bed.
We got off at Montgomery Street, and it was a short horizontal walk to our hotel. I say horizontal, because it was a long vertical walk. If you are not familiar with downtown San Francisco, it is anything but flat [NOTE: More to come on this exciting topic later].
We did not let the fact that we left our mountain climbing gear at home stop us from attempting to crest the summit of one of the downtown streets. When we got there, we saw the awning for our hotel, the Grant Gateway. It was a welcome sight.
Before I continue, I must shed some light on the background of this hotel and my choice to reserve rooms there. We were going to San Francisco to install our software at a client’s office and train them on how to use it. We had asked for recommendations on nearby hotels, and our client sent an email with websites for 5 or 6 nearby hotels. Because he lives there and does not need to stay in hotels, I cannot fault him for including the Grant Gateway in this list because, to be fair, it was the closest hotel to his office [NOTE: Horizontally speaking. It was at the top of the hill, and his office was at the bottom of the hill. If you count the incline, you need to effectively triple the distance. Especially considering that we were lugging luggage up the hill. Which, if you think about it, lugging is probably what luggage was made for].
As I was booking our travel, I looked at the websites and checked the rates for the hotels Peter recommended. The first was $300 a night. The second offered a distinctive price break at $279 a night. The third was right between the first two. The Grant Gateway as $70 a night. It was a great deal, featuring free wireless Internet, and the pictures of the lobby and the rooms looked quite elegant indeed. They were obviously taken at a different hotel.
When we crossed the threshold into the lobby, we began to sense that something was wrong. We went to the front desk to check in, and the oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair looked as though he was expecting us. I suspect we were the first fools to book rooms at that establishment in months.
There were a number of warning signs that should have inspired us to run away right then and there, but we were tired and hopeful [NOTE: And ignorant, which I’m adding as a note because I’m embarrassed and I doubt you’ll actually read these]. These warning signs included:
• The open door to the manager’s office, were a dilapidated bay of old bus-station lockers with a sign that said “Safe Deposit Box” stood in plain view
• The sign on the front desk that said Please Keep Your Baggage With You At All Times
• The other sign on the front desk that said No Visitors To Your Room Allowed After 11:00 pm
• The oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair behind the front desk
• The ice machine in the lobby, with a stack of dirty plastic buckets next to it and no plastic liners
• They had no toothpaste. I did not have a tube small enough to get through security at the airport (yes, you read that correctly) and when I asked for some the oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair looked at me as if I had just asked him to single-handedly tear down the Great Wall
• The rats [NOTE: We didn’t actually see the rats, but I am certain they were there.]
Click here to read Part II...
December 11, 2006 Back from California
Sometimes travel is boring and non-eventful. My most recent business trip did not fall into this category. It started upon arrival at the airport, with the immediate notice of a delay in my flight. No big deal yet, a one-hour delay is not a problem when you are facing a ninety minute layover. Still plenty of time. Until they delayed it again.
United Airlines, whose motto is More Leg Room [NOTE: not available on your flight], was thoughtful enough to automatically book us on another flight, so my colleagues and I were able to relax as we downed a couple beers at an airport bar and ate cheap – wait, scratch that – low-grade airport food. For some reason airport food is never cheap. I’ve only seen one Wendy’s in an airport, and I’m betting they are not more prevalent because of their Dollar Menu. They could not offer a Dollar Menu at an airport, because the other food vendors would probably maul them for upsetting the pricing scheme.
We finally got on board our flight and took off to Denver, where we took part in the Traveler’s Olympics. Our event was the Twenty Gate Sprint. We won!
The connecting flight to San Francisco was smooth. I did some work, which I had intended to do on the first flight but could not because a) there was not room to comfortably open my laptop, and b) we had those beers before we got on board the plane. After about an hour of diligent work I looked at the clock and saw that it was after midnight, which was very de-motivating indeed. I shut off the laptop and returned to my Sudoku puzzle book, which was much easier this flight than on the first leg. I attribute this both to the momentum you get when you solve several puzzles in a row and the metabolism of alcohol.
When we got to San Francisco we were amazed to see that the bags we had checked actually made it through. We took this as a sign that the rest of the trip would be smooth and there would be no further complications. How wrong we were.
We proceeded to the BART terminal to catch a train to the financial district and China Town, where we had hotel rooms reserved. It was 10:00pm Pacific Time, which was 1:00am Eastern Time, so we were understandably eager to get a bite to eat and get to bed.
We got off at Montgomery Street, and it was a short horizontal walk to our hotel. I say horizontal, because it was a long vertical walk. If you are not familiar with downtown San Francisco, it is anything but flat [NOTE: More to come on this exciting topic later].
We did not let the fact that we left our mountain climbing gear at home stop us from attempting to crest the summit of one of the downtown streets. When we got there, we saw the awning for our hotel, the Grant Gateway. It was a welcome sight.
Before I continue, I must shed some light on the background of this hotel and my choice to reserve rooms there. We were going to San Francisco to install our software at a client’s office and train them on how to use it. We had asked for recommendations on nearby hotels, and our client sent an email with websites for 5 or 6 nearby hotels. Because he lives there and does not need to stay in hotels, I cannot fault him for including the Grant Gateway in this list because, to be fair, it was the closest hotel to his office [NOTE: Horizontally speaking. It was at the top of the hill, and his office was at the bottom of the hill. If you count the incline, you need to effectively triple the distance. Especially considering that we were lugging luggage up the hill. Which, if you think about it, lugging is probably what luggage was made for].
As I was booking our travel, I looked at the websites and checked the rates for the hotels Peter recommended. The first was $300 a night. The second offered a distinctive price break at $279 a night. The third was right between the first two. The Grant Gateway as $70 a night. It was a great deal, featuring free wireless Internet, and the pictures of the lobby and the rooms looked quite elegant indeed. They were obviously taken at a different hotel.
When we crossed the threshold into the lobby, we began to sense that something was wrong. We went to the front desk to check in, and the oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair looked as though he was expecting us. I suspect we were the first fools to book rooms at that establishment in months.
There were a number of warning signs that should have inspired us to run away right then and there, but we were tired and hopeful [NOTE: And ignorant, which I’m adding as a note because I’m embarrassed and I doubt you’ll actually read these]. These warning signs included:
• The open door to the manager’s office, were a dilapidated bay of old bus-station lockers with a sign that said “Safe Deposit Box” stood in plain view
• The sign on the front desk that said Please Keep Your Baggage With You At All Times
• The other sign on the front desk that said No Visitors To Your Room Allowed After 11:00 pm
• The oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair behind the front desk
• The ice machine in the lobby, with a stack of dirty plastic buckets next to it and no plastic liners
• They had no toothpaste. I did not have a tube small enough to get through security at the airport (yes, you read that correctly) and when I asked for some the oriental gentleman with the unkempt hair looked at me as if I had just asked him to single-handedly tear down the Great Wall
• The rats [NOTE: We didn’t actually see the rats, but I am certain they were there.]
Click here to read Part II...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Airport
First off, let's hear three cheers for free Wi-Fi!
Now down to brass tacks. Why is is that two people can block the entire aisle in the airport? I'm not talking about the narrow aisle on the plane, I get that, but rather the 10 yard wide corridor that stretches down the A concourse.
There should be room to fit 10 people side by side, but no. The corridor was blocked by two people moving side to side like they are on a ship in a hurricane; for every foot of forward progress there were three feet of lateral movement.
Then when I got past them, dodging their sway like Ulysses navigating the treacherous path between Scylla and Charybdis, there's a person just standing there in the middle of the corridor. Waiting for someone? I don't know. Just standing there with a vacant look, not looking at the line in Starbucks, or reading the monitors for arriving and departing flights. Waiting for a clue, perhaps, or the moment of clarity that helps alcoholics find the path to recovery...
Oh yeah, and there was the lady at the security checkpoint that thought she was the only one in the world with a black Targus laptop bag and tried to abscond with mine. She must not be a frequent traveler. She got chewed out by one of the Heros from the TSA, who keep us safe from liquids and aerosols, because she put her laptop bag in the tray, and then set her laptop on the bag, when we all know that the laptop needs to go through by itself in a separate container. Coincidentally, this is why my bag came through first, they ahd to run hers through again. But hey, at least she didn't try to get away with a small bottle of hand sanitizer that wasn't protected by a 1-quart ziplock bag.
I'll admit it. I did that once. To my credit, I didn't know the 0.5 fl oz container of hand sanitizer was at the bottom of my bag, for I had scanned that bag dozens of times at dozens of airports and nobody ever noticed it. That is, until I got to Green Bay, Wisconsin, the absolute heart of white-bread mid-America, and apparently a terrorist haven.
The Hero from the TSA carefully examined my black Targus laptop bag and found the offending item.
"Do you have a 1-quart zip lock bag to put this in?" She asked me, knowing that zip lock can contain any form of liquid explosive.
"No," I answered, primarily because I didn't have one, but I was also curious to see what would happen.
She threw the hand sanitizer away. Had a zip lock bag been available (a 1-quart bag, mind you, no bigger, no smaller), I would have been able to keep it.
That's how screwed up our government is. And do we really need to wonder why we are in such an economic mess? How misplaced is our faith that the same congress that passed the laws about liquid in airplanes will be able to fix the recession?
I know. Let's just put the economy in a zip lock bag. That will keep it safe. Just make sure it's a 1-quart bag...
Now down to brass tacks. Why is is that two people can block the entire aisle in the airport? I'm not talking about the narrow aisle on the plane, I get that, but rather the 10 yard wide corridor that stretches down the A concourse.
There should be room to fit 10 people side by side, but no. The corridor was blocked by two people moving side to side like they are on a ship in a hurricane; for every foot of forward progress there were three feet of lateral movement.
Then when I got past them, dodging their sway like Ulysses navigating the treacherous path between Scylla and Charybdis, there's a person just standing there in the middle of the corridor. Waiting for someone? I don't know. Just standing there with a vacant look, not looking at the line in Starbucks, or reading the monitors for arriving and departing flights. Waiting for a clue, perhaps, or the moment of clarity that helps alcoholics find the path to recovery...
Oh yeah, and there was the lady at the security checkpoint that thought she was the only one in the world with a black Targus laptop bag and tried to abscond with mine. She must not be a frequent traveler. She got chewed out by one of the Heros from the TSA, who keep us safe from liquids and aerosols, because she put her laptop bag in the tray, and then set her laptop on the bag, when we all know that the laptop needs to go through by itself in a separate container. Coincidentally, this is why my bag came through first, they ahd to run hers through again. But hey, at least she didn't try to get away with a small bottle of hand sanitizer that wasn't protected by a 1-quart ziplock bag.
I'll admit it. I did that once. To my credit, I didn't know the 0.5 fl oz container of hand sanitizer was at the bottom of my bag, for I had scanned that bag dozens of times at dozens of airports and nobody ever noticed it. That is, until I got to Green Bay, Wisconsin, the absolute heart of white-bread mid-America, and apparently a terrorist haven.
The Hero from the TSA carefully examined my black Targus laptop bag and found the offending item.
"Do you have a 1-quart zip lock bag to put this in?" She asked me, knowing that zip lock can contain any form of liquid explosive.
"No," I answered, primarily because I didn't have one, but I was also curious to see what would happen.
She threw the hand sanitizer away. Had a zip lock bag been available (a 1-quart bag, mind you, no bigger, no smaller), I would have been able to keep it.
That's how screwed up our government is. And do we really need to wonder why we are in such an economic mess? How misplaced is our faith that the same congress that passed the laws about liquid in airplanes will be able to fix the recession?
I know. Let's just put the economy in a zip lock bag. That will keep it safe. Just make sure it's a 1-quart bag...
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