I had been alternately excited and dreadful of this trip. Another whole week away from home to places I have never been before to try to win the confidence and business of some potentially big clients. Naturally, I waited until the last minute to prepare for what I knew would be uncountable hours spent in airports. (I needed to cover my gray roots before I left but waited until 10:00 pm Sunday night and got distracted, leaving the formula on waaaaaay too long. My head looked positively radioactive, the shade of red coming in just this side of "Bozo". I wondered how it would play in Nebraska.)
I prepared myself for the check in process. I hate it. It isn't that I have to take off shoes, belt, earrings, etc., unpack my computer, put everything into individual bins to be scanned and expose my naked x-ray outline to some unknown twenty-something male (at least they have us lift our arms - women my age will appreciate what I'm getting at here), it is how rushed you feel in doing all of this as scores of people are behind you desperate to get through this as well. I had to go through this process four times this week and it is anxiety provoking. I prepared myself Sunday night as I went to bed by telling myself to breathe normally through the process and pray. It was helpful but still, it all feels like cattle prodding. Moooooooooooooooo!
At 5:30 a.m. Monday morning I was on my way to the Burbank airport for the first leg which took me to Las Vegas where I would catch a connecting flight to Omaha. I was immediately assaulted by ching, ching, ching, ching, ching upon arrival. Vegas won't even let you wait till you collect your baggage before they start collecting your money. Slots are everywhere and so are armies of people from all walks of life, intentionally dressed for this city. Lots of glitter, lots of flash, lots of clothes with playing cards woven in the fabric - a Vegas "uniform" of sorts; an apparently appropriate "couture" regardless of the 10:00 a.m. hour. (My hair fit right in.) Everyone looked tired from a weekend of being robbed.
I trekked far across the corridors lined with bingo and poker machines, around corners, passing boutiques of skimpy fashion (regrettably in all sizes) to my connecting gate to wait for my plane heading for Omaha. Once there, with a couple of exceptions, I appeared to be the youngest person waiting to board - an unexpected delight! (Relative youth is still youth!) Everyone else was about 10 years older and apparently they all knew one another. It had been an annual trip to Vegas for a steer show. Hmmm.
I sat next to a couple who told me about the big flood last year in Omaha and how the state had suffered from it. Flying in for the landing there was nothing but flat for as far as you could see: large parcels of land with dead or dying trees. Whatever color Nebraska has to offer at this time of year had been bleached by flood and the subsequent drought of this year. (Perhaps the color of my hair would make up for it.) The couple sitting next to me told me they lived in the foothills. They must live hours away.
Getting off the plane, I walked into the arrival gate. This Monday morning, the Omaha airport was host to a smallish group of sedentary looking seniors, eyes fixed on the TV monitors - tuned not to breaking news of Hurricane Sandy - but to a woman dressed as a banana screaming at what was behind Door Number 3. Vegas dreams die hard in Nebraska.
The next morning I got up a little early to accommodate three consecutive shampoos to try to reduce the drama of my hair color. The water running down the drain looked like the shower scene from "Psycho". I headed off to my appointments, and then again to the airport where I was Wisconsin bound by route of Chicago O'Hare where I had a two hour layover before my connecting flight to Milwaukee. I have been to O'Hare many times before but I was dismayed that in such a huge hub there were no electrical outlets anywhere to be found for passengers needing to re-charge. My cell was dead and I knew I would need its navigation feature once I got to Milwaukee. Adding to this dilemma was the fact that my connecting flight was on the other side of the terminal (once again). I asked for directions and upon hearing where I was headed, a very kind young man driving one of those in-terminal transports designed for disabled people and senior citizens, offered me a ride. I felt like a lazy cheater but I hopped on anyway. Good thing. It was about a 10 minute ride that covered the length of about 30 football fields. I would have surely missed my flight and have been a very old woman with bloody stubs for feet had I had attempted to walk it. Once there though, I did finally find an outlet - against a wall with no chair. It was there for airport staff to plug in vacuums and stuff but I plugged in and stood uncomfortably, trying to keep my carry-ons corralled until they called my plane.
The plane was one of those tiny 18 row tin cans. We all had to walk outside in the cold, past real airplanes on the runway to board our little toy. There were two seats on either side of the aisle. I was in the very last row, assigned to sit next to a tremendously large man who spilled into my seat space and had the scent of someone who had worked very hard all day long on a chain gang. Directly across the aisle was an empty seat next to a thin sleeping Asian man. I longed for that seat, but because I am a rule follower, I took my seat next to the big man. Truthfully, I feared that I would offend him if I opted for the alternative. I didn't want my assigned seat mate to think I found him repellent by choosing a thin, groomed man over him. I was an idiot. A quick conversation midway through the flight revealed that he thought New Yorkers deserved what Hurricane Sandy did to them. He was repellent and I no longer cared if he knew I thought so. I leaned far away from him and read about the equally repellent Jackson family, fighting with lawyers and each other for Michael's estate in this month's issue of Vanity Fair.
Finally, we arrived in Milwaukee and the airport was deserted with the exception of those few of us getting off the plane. It was 10:30 p.m. and I still had to get a car and get to the hotel. Milwaukee is currently chewed up with new road construction so I managed to get lost in the detours on my way to the Hyatt Place Hotel - 8/10 of a mile from the airport.
It is bone cold in Wisconsin already. This was my first time there and I immediately knew I would not be returning until about June. I braved the walk from the car to the lobby where the sweet receptionist wanted to explain all about the hotel and find out if I wanted to sign up for Hilton points. It was now about 11:30 and I was ready to drop with fatigue and I realized I had only enough energy left to walk to my room or punch this girl. As tempting as it was, I opted for the former so after signing up for the points I made it to my unexpectedly lovely room! Here is my unsolicited plug: Hilton Place Hotels are really great! Cheerful, contemporary, tasteful, roomy, comfortable, clean, and convenient. Too bad I would only be conscious for about 40 minutes total - 10 minutes that night and 30 minutes in the morning before checking out.
Another day of appointments and off to the airport to fly to Detroit to catch a connection to Columbus. I've never been to Michigan and Detroit was a surprisingly nice airport. I guess I expected it to look like a deserted automotive assembly plant. Another walk to the other side of the terminal - I took full advantage of all the people movers. No matter that I was carrying only a purse and a computer bag - by now the weight of both made my arms feel not just as if they were being pulled from their sockets but like they were going to rip right off my body.
I had taken up the practice of people watching by now. Airports are a great place for it. My imagination about all the people walking past me kept me amused until I realized that they were likely making up the same stories in their heads about me. Taking a quick mental note of my appearance - I immediately stopped the game myself and prayed others would do the same. It was so unfair of them to judge me.
I thought about the fact that 6 flights in 3 days was increasing my odds of being in a crash but this time I was seated next to a young priest. I felt better. The priest and I talked the whole way to Columbus and I asked him a lot of questions about the Catholic church and found that we Protestants misunderstood a lot of their beliefs - particularly about the Virgin Mary. It was fascinating to have some of the "peculiarities" of Catholicism explained.
Columbus was another deserted airport by the time we landed - and very wet - but at least I didn't need a car here. I jumped in a cab and closed my eyes all the way to my hotel at the Convention Center.
Finally, Saturday morning found me back at the Columbus airport waiting for my ride to Phoenix where I would again walk across the terminal for my connecting flight to back to Burbank. These flights were uneventful except for trying to take up Sudoku. I had never played before and I only had a pen. It was maddening! Very much like thinking you've got a crossword puzzle nailed only to find that one letter that doesn't fit. Except I think you need to be smarter for Sudoku. And I was a complete failure. So now I have a new obsession.
Finally, 8 airplanes and 9 airports later I am home. In all, I accomplished most of what I wanted to accomplish. And I got an extra hour of sleep because we set the clocks back. And I don't have to face it again. Until Friday when I fly to Portland to see my sister through a surgery.
In the meantime, I shall look for a Sudoku mentor. People with no patience need not apply.
Posts
Have you ever considered writing a book? Or maybe have a regular
ReplyDeletebit for one of the magazines.