So I'm on my way to St. Louis for my conference and the journey of 1,000 miles begins with an idiot (not whatever the heck I said in that other post) and, as fate would have it, I am that idiot. Got up early and had the BAG drop me off at the airport. The early part was
a) so she could get to work on time
b) so I could get to the airport bar with two hours to work on my unfortunate state of consciousness.
The lure of the Monkey Bar overwhelmed my common sense, and I had the BAG drop me off at terminal 3. Which is where the Monkey Bar is and where I thought my flight was.
No such luck.
My flight was back at terminal 1.
So, on foot, I humped all my stuff back over there and was only able to have three beers and one increda-DRY™ sammich before it was flight time.
Good news for me, since that cost over 30 bucks, like I was at the Fairmont or something.
I managed to nap a bit on the flight, which was only half full. This was despite the requisite hollerin’ child 10 seats in front of me.
They put obnoxious pets into little (ventilated, VENTILATED!) boxes in the aft, or some other word for a place they store monstrosities (hold? cell? ballast?). Why can’t they do this with children under the age of five?
I pick the age of five because after that age the kid should be able to be cowed by the threat that other passengers will repeatedly beat him/her if noise continues. And if not, the beating is morally justified.
Once again, I have a bulletproof plan, and no one will listen
I write this at LAX, waiting for the next flight. On version 14 of my paper since I got my revision orders last Monday... Got all sneaky and read the papers of the other people and since I am going last I swiped quotes from their papers to use at proper times in mine.
it will seem like I was listening!
the hotel beckons...