I’ve decided that I will go on holiday for a little while from traveling. Of course, when people say “go on holiday,” they (aside from being British) mean that they will travel somewhere. I am traveling away from traveling, which translates into being not mobile.
Thursday around noon was my closing time with my work conference. I checked out and mingled for a little bit in the lobby before I had to leave for the airport. I sat down with a person from a school in Kentucky. I met him earlier, probably the second or third day. He knew I was from California, and of course, figured that the entire state was Hollywood.
“So what kind of theaters do you have in Santa Cruz?”
“Uh…we have two mainstream theaters—“
“No, I’m not talking that mainstream bullshit. I mean, good artsy shit that liberals just eat up.”
“Oh, well, we have two. There’s the Del Mar and the Nickelodeon. They’re our two art-house theaters.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I bet you get a lot of celebrities coming out of those places.”
“Well, Santa Cruz isn’t very ‘filmy.’ More of that happens in Southern California. More in the Hollywood area. We’re in Northern California—"
“I know that. But you got to have something! I mean, come on, you’re California! I mean, look at who your governor is!”
“True, but it’s a very large state. A lot of that movie industry stuff mostly exists in the Southern—"
“No, I’m sure you get your share of celebrities; you probably just don’t know it.”
I let him end it with that. He was right, I was wrong. My small beach town; I just don’t know anything.
Shortly after, I wound up at National Airport (I refuse to call it what it is actually named) and saw that my plane to Dallas was delayed due to bad weather from the gunslinging state. They reworked my arrangements because of the delay, I would then miss my Dallas flight to San Jose. I found my gate and continued reading my Dave Eggers book.
Finally the plane was ready to board.
I was in the middle seat. The person to my left had a small dog that she brought onto the plane. She had it in a very small and cube shaped suitcase. It was placed right by her feet. When I approached the seats, I told her I was in the middle. She wouldn’t budge.
“I have a dog,” in a very low whisper “if I move my feet, he’ll bark.” All I could think was how the hell do you expect me to get over. But, like most people, she didn’t hear my thoughts and therefore didn’t move or do any sort of action to help me in my situation. So, I placed my bag in my seat (reached over her). And since I have very elongated legs, I pulled a Mr. Fantastic and simply stretched over her. I think my butt skinned her face, but I didn’t care.
Once I sat down, the person to my right (the window seat) then arrived. The same lecture came from Ms. Dog. He looked a bit awkward from that. I probably had the same look on my face. He did a similar move. He was shorter though; I did my best to make his maneuver and smooth landing. When he sat down, he wanted to talk to Ms. Dog.
“Do you travel a lot with your dog?”
“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”
“Oh, my wife and I travel a lot with our dogs.”
“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”
“Oh, yeah, my dogs have done that. Usually what we do—“
“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”
I wanted to slap both of them. Ms. Dog was a goddamn automated message with that same damn response, and Mr. Magoo over here won’t shut up about his dog travels, and won’t even listen to Ms. Dog.
The plane landed and I was in Dallas.
Dallas is a place I will never ever visit. Probably all of Texas too, although Austin I may, if needed, visit. I spent too much time in the Dallas airport. The airport is huge; probably the biggest one I’ve been to yet. When I landed, we arrived in Terminal C, my connecting flight was in Terminal A. Terminal A is on the other side of the lot, which requires using their monorail system.
I arrive in Terminal A and I see that my plane is even further delayed due to the storm that Dallas was currently experiencing. I was expected to linger for at least three hours in the airport. What a boy to do? I bought dinner. Although I know it’s incredibly horrible for you, but I figured it was the lesser evil of the options provided. I found a Panda Express and got myself a plate of greasy, MSG induced food. My other options were all topics from Fast Food Nation. I couldn’t get over how popular McDonalds was. There were many little McDonald stands at various gates.
Knowing that I was only twenty pages from finishing my book, I thought it wise to buy some new reading material. The first bookstore only had three books for sale: Harry Potter, The Secret, and a Bill O’Reilly book. Plus there were many gossip magazines and about a dozen newspapers. I figured this airport could do better. I went further down the stretch of airport wonders and saw leather shops, belt buckle kiosks, Dallas Cowboys souvenir shops (although souvenir was spelled “sue v. near.” I don’t know if they were trying to be cute or what.), and the greatest one I saw was an army recruitment stand.
I came across a bookstore that had a wider variety. I saw Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which I had been intrigued with when I first read about it coming out a while back. I purchased that and went to my gate.
Sitting there, I looked out the window and was witnessing the doom-ridden storm. All I could think was that I am in Dallas, and I am stuck here.
I am in Dallas and it is raining.
I am in Dallas and they misspelled souvenir.
I am in Dallas and there are people solely selling cowboy hats.
I am in Dallas and everyone is eating McDonalds.
I am in Dallas and there are army recruiters.
I am in Dallas and the man next to me is wearing a shirt without any sleeves, and he has not seen a dermatologist.
I am in Dallas and it is raining, and I am stuck here.
An announcement came from above discussing the flight to San Jose. The woman indicated that flight number #### will now be departing from gate C17. I was at gate A20. I have to go back on that monorail.
I am in Dallas and this is becoming hell.
I make myself comfortable at C17. I finished my book. I still have another forty minutes until the expected boarding time.
Now, I am on board. I sit next to an older man who is from Livermore (east bay area). He was really fun to talk to. The passengers across the aisle from me were crazy. I couldn’t place the language they were speaking; I thought Spanish, but there was something alternative about it, then I thought Portuguese or maybe Italian. Either way, they were not silent at all. And the family (they all looked the same) was huge. There were at least four of them in my area, and three more in the front end. The way I knew this was that they decided to move around and talk to each other when the seatbelt sign was still lit. We just left the runway and they were in wandering mode. The flight attendants had to keep forwarding them back to their seats. The one right next to me from the aisle whipped out his cell-phone a couple times (during the same time when all electronic items are to be turned off). It was never a dull moment with this family.
We all arrived safely in San Jose. I made a decent eighty-page dent in my new book. I waited for my airport shuttle. I got to my car and still had to do my highway 17 excursion. I was at my house at about 12:20 am. What a long day. And to think that I gain hours since I was traveling west bound. Going to sleep was rough since I could still feel the airplane motions in my body.
I lost count on how many Harry Potter readers there were.
Thursday around noon was my closing time with my work conference. I checked out and mingled for a little bit in the lobby before I had to leave for the airport. I sat down with a person from a school in Kentucky. I met him earlier, probably the second or third day. He knew I was from California, and of course, figured that the entire state was Hollywood.
“So what kind of theaters do you have in Santa Cruz?”
“Uh…we have two mainstream theaters—“
“No, I’m not talking that mainstream bullshit. I mean, good artsy shit that liberals just eat up.”
“Oh, well, we have two. There’s the Del Mar and the Nickelodeon. They’re our two art-house theaters.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I bet you get a lot of celebrities coming out of those places.”
“Well, Santa Cruz isn’t very ‘filmy.’ More of that happens in Southern California. More in the Hollywood area. We’re in Northern California—"
“I know that. But you got to have something! I mean, come on, you’re California! I mean, look at who your governor is!”
“True, but it’s a very large state. A lot of that movie industry stuff mostly exists in the Southern—"
“No, I’m sure you get your share of celebrities; you probably just don’t know it.”
I let him end it with that. He was right, I was wrong. My small beach town; I just don’t know anything.
Shortly after, I wound up at National Airport (I refuse to call it what it is actually named) and saw that my plane to Dallas was delayed due to bad weather from the gunslinging state. They reworked my arrangements because of the delay, I would then miss my Dallas flight to San Jose. I found my gate and continued reading my Dave Eggers book.
Finally the plane was ready to board.
I was in the middle seat. The person to my left had a small dog that she brought onto the plane. She had it in a very small and cube shaped suitcase. It was placed right by her feet. When I approached the seats, I told her I was in the middle. She wouldn’t budge.
“I have a dog,” in a very low whisper “if I move my feet, he’ll bark.” All I could think was how the hell do you expect me to get over. But, like most people, she didn’t hear my thoughts and therefore didn’t move or do any sort of action to help me in my situation. So, I placed my bag in my seat (reached over her). And since I have very elongated legs, I pulled a Mr. Fantastic and simply stretched over her. I think my butt skinned her face, but I didn’t care.
Once I sat down, the person to my right (the window seat) then arrived. The same lecture came from Ms. Dog. He looked a bit awkward from that. I probably had the same look on my face. He did a similar move. He was shorter though; I did my best to make his maneuver and smooth landing. When he sat down, he wanted to talk to Ms. Dog.
“Do you travel a lot with your dog?”
“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”
“Oh, my wife and I travel a lot with our dogs.”
“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”
“Oh, yeah, my dogs have done that. Usually what we do—“
“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”
I wanted to slap both of them. Ms. Dog was a goddamn automated message with that same damn response, and Mr. Magoo over here won’t shut up about his dog travels, and won’t even listen to Ms. Dog.
The plane landed and I was in Dallas.
Dallas is a place I will never ever visit. Probably all of Texas too, although Austin I may, if needed, visit. I spent too much time in the Dallas airport. The airport is huge; probably the biggest one I’ve been to yet. When I landed, we arrived in Terminal C, my connecting flight was in Terminal A. Terminal A is on the other side of the lot, which requires using their monorail system.
I arrive in Terminal A and I see that my plane is even further delayed due to the storm that Dallas was currently experiencing. I was expected to linger for at least three hours in the airport. What a boy to do? I bought dinner. Although I know it’s incredibly horrible for you, but I figured it was the lesser evil of the options provided. I found a Panda Express and got myself a plate of greasy, MSG induced food. My other options were all topics from Fast Food Nation. I couldn’t get over how popular McDonalds was. There were many little McDonald stands at various gates.
Knowing that I was only twenty pages from finishing my book, I thought it wise to buy some new reading material. The first bookstore only had three books for sale: Harry Potter, The Secret, and a Bill O’Reilly book. Plus there were many gossip magazines and about a dozen newspapers. I figured this airport could do better. I went further down the stretch of airport wonders and saw leather shops, belt buckle kiosks, Dallas Cowboys souvenir shops (although souvenir was spelled “sue v. near.” I don’t know if they were trying to be cute or what.), and the greatest one I saw was an army recruitment stand.
I came across a bookstore that had a wider variety. I saw Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which I had been intrigued with when I first read about it coming out a while back. I purchased that and went to my gate.
Sitting there, I looked out the window and was witnessing the doom-ridden storm. All I could think was that I am in Dallas, and I am stuck here.
I am in Dallas and it is raining.
I am in Dallas and they misspelled souvenir.
I am in Dallas and there are people solely selling cowboy hats.
I am in Dallas and everyone is eating McDonalds.
I am in Dallas and there are army recruiters.
I am in Dallas and the man next to me is wearing a shirt without any sleeves, and he has not seen a dermatologist.
I am in Dallas and it is raining, and I am stuck here.
An announcement came from above discussing the flight to San Jose. The woman indicated that flight number #### will now be departing from gate C17. I was at gate A20. I have to go back on that monorail.
I am in Dallas and this is becoming hell.
I make myself comfortable at C17. I finished my book. I still have another forty minutes until the expected boarding time.
Now, I am on board. I sit next to an older man who is from Livermore (east bay area). He was really fun to talk to. The passengers across the aisle from me were crazy. I couldn’t place the language they were speaking; I thought Spanish, but there was something alternative about it, then I thought Portuguese or maybe Italian. Either way, they were not silent at all. And the family (they all looked the same) was huge. There were at least four of them in my area, and three more in the front end. The way I knew this was that they decided to move around and talk to each other when the seatbelt sign was still lit. We just left the runway and they were in wandering mode. The flight attendants had to keep forwarding them back to their seats. The one right next to me from the aisle whipped out his cell-phone a couple times (during the same time when all electronic items are to be turned off). It was never a dull moment with this family.
We all arrived safely in San Jose. I made a decent eighty-page dent in my new book. I waited for my airport shuttle. I got to my car and still had to do my highway 17 excursion. I was at my house at about 12:20 am. What a long day. And to think that I gain hours since I was traveling west bound. Going to sleep was rough since I could still feel the airplane motions in my body.
I lost count on how many Harry Potter readers there were.
1 comment:
I am in Vallejo and am glad you are back in CA where you belong.
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