Here I am again. I would probably not be blogging had I not found myself trapped in Boston. The Marriott in which I was staying was around thirty minutes from the airport in no traffic. With the Red Sox game that evening, I decided to leave at three to give me plenty of time to make my 5:30 flight. Go Red Sox. I found myself in a new black suburban with two other travelers on the way to the airport. One was from Florida, and the other was from the UK. Our driver was probably in her mid thirties, from Boston, and dang proud of it. Everyone seemed to really like talking, except for the Brit and me. I loosened up a bit with time and had a few laughs. We would all find out later why my British companion was so quiet.
The freeway was a parking lot, and I got a good long, slow look at the city as the time passed. Mr. Florida liked to talk about hurricanes, beer and lobsters. I asked questions, and the little British guy looked out the window. Time was moving, but our car was not. We all heard a siren and saw a fire engine trying to get through traffic. We were on a bridge, but everyone still tried to make room for the fire engine to pass on the right. Mr. Florida reached out to pull the mirror in to make room for the truck, and Mr. UK expressed his concern for Mr. Florida’s arm. Apparently, a serious accident was responsible for the delay.
As I slowly began to accept the fact that I would not make my flight, the Brit began to accept that he was not going to make it to the privy. He suddenly had the driver’s attention.
“We need to pull over now.” The driver looked back in her mirror trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation.
“You mean here in the middle of the overpass?”
“Yes, it’s either going to come out in here or out there.”
Everybody started laughing, except of course, the Briton. He hopped out and quickly ran around the door and relieved himself. Unfortunately, such a spectacle does not go unnoticed. In no time, the Brit had three lanes of undivided attention. The symphony of horns began, and our party was doubled over with glee, driver included.
As you know, I missed my flight. The Sky Cap would not take my bag, and I watched the debates and the Red Sox game from the airport Hilton.
It was oddly depressing to watch Boston beat the Angels on TV when they were just a few miles a way. Nearly everyone in Boston was celebrating their team, and I was sitting alone in the muted roar of jet exhaust. I knew I should have at least tried to get there. After the debates, I drifted to sleep, knowing I would be getting up at 3:30 Utah time.
Would you believe I almost missed my flight Saturday? I gave myself two hours to get ready and get to the airport. After all, I was already staying at the airport. By the time the shuttle dropped me off at Delta’s terminal, I had around thirty-five minutes to departure. All the lines were very long, and they won’t take your bags if you’re inside thirty minutes of departure. I did something I have not done in years. I cut in line. I explained my situation to the guy in front, and he let me in. When I got to the ticketing agent, he tried to send me to the end of the line because I had cut. I plead with the second ticketing agent, and he allowed me to check my bag because there was no way I would make my flight otherwise. I was grateful, but I felt like a slime bucket for a good five hours.
I have completely lost my faith in airport security. Some of you know I have slipped through security with knives undetected, but this demonstration of incompetence is unreal. The ticketing agent gave me two boarding passes. Since this is normal, I thought nothing of it. I also don’t make a habit of reading all the information on a boarding pass. I generally need to know my gate and my seat. I don’t think I’ll ever take my name for granted again, for my boarding pass was carefully tucked behind Steve Andrews’s.
As far as TSA, Delta and Boston were concerned, I was the respectable Steve Andrews, en route to San Diego. As Steve, I made my way through security with my official Sam Carter ID. They checked me off like they do everyone else, and I was set to go. To my everlasting gratitude, I had chosen the wrong terminal, and I had to exit and go through security again. I almost made it through the second time, but I got picked for the baggage search. TSA asked for my boarding pass and ID, and they’d caught their criminal.
You have seen the movies; the dimly lit, smoke-filled rooms. The donuts on the table you’re not allowed to eat ‘till you talk. The two-way mirror that you somehow forget is two-way when you’re sitting there. This all came to mind as six TSA officials discussed this strange man with a secret identity. There were so many ways I could quickly shape my future, or perhaps even end it. One word, bomb, and I would have been tackled and killed. A mad dash for either exit or terminal would have ended only in gunfire. I could not indulge these fantasies too much. I had a flight to catch.
Needless to say, I made my flight this time. I like Boston. I like it a lot, but I have to admit that getting out of there was probably tougher than getting out of hell, or perhaps Liberty Park on the fourth of July.
There you have it. Gear up for another dry spell.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Thursday, October 07, 2004
As many of you watched the debates, I watched my boss bib wine at the Outback Steakhouse in Nashville. We spent the evening discussing dog training, kid training and our respective failures in these areas. After dinner, I drove us back to our seedy little rooms at the local Comfort Inn. I thought of it as the fun house; the floors were uneven, carpet askew and the halls smelled like marijuana. I mentioned the odor to my boss the next morning. She hadn’t noticed.
Meetings on the following day went about as well as one could expect when one’s boss is present. Getting there is a lot like our appointments. I drive, she coaches. She said little about my driving this time, and I was grateful. On our trip to Buffalo in February, she made several negative comments, yet refused my repeated offers to take the wheel. Since she’s just sitting there, I suggested that she navigate. No-could-do. She can’t see out the windows while wearing her reading glasses, and she can’t read a map with them off. After our meeting in Nashville, I was to drop her off at the airport. Her flight back to Salt Lake left several hours before my flight to Boston. Needless to say, I navigated (without help) to the airport in great haste, and tore out of there to get some breathing room, sans boss.
After driving through some lovely wooded areas outside of Nashville, I filled the car’s tank with gas, and returned to the airport around the time my boss’s flight was lifting off the ground. It was going to be a long evening. I was headed to Atlanta, where I would then catch my flight to Boston. It seems that I never have a direct flight anywhere. The flight to Atlanta was uneventful. There’s not much that can happen in thirty-five minutes besides taking off and landing.
For an airport terminal, Atlanta’s E is about as good as they come. Generally, the important international flights arrive and depart from terminal E. In a way, this was the highlight of the trip. I found myself sitting somewhat close to the woman’s restroom. Within ten minutes, I noticed the sound of a broken suitcase wheel, loudly complaining as its owner pulled it along. Atlanta’s terminal E does not have much carpet, so the “clack clack clack” of the broken wheel seemed to announce its owner’s arrival. She was a well-dressed middle aged woman wearing a navy blazer and dress slacks. She was also visibly irritated by her disagreeable companion. She walked past me, and clack clacked her way right into the bathroom. I could hear her turn the corner, and I realized that her nasty little luggage was betraying nearly everything she was doing in there, even though she was well hidden from sight. Indeed, I thought I could tell when she turned left and right. I could hold it back no longer, and I began laughing uncontrollably. There was no TV in sight, nor book in hand. I must have been a sight in my own right. Distracted by my own laughter, I somehow lost the suitcase. It could no longer be heard trailing its unhappy owner in the ladies room. Just as I began training my ear towards the bathroom, the woman emerged, suitcase stuffed under her arm. She didn’t look any happier, and she surely wasn’t. The suitcase had complained without refrain or remorse, and had thus earned its free ride through the airport. As she exited, our eyes briefly met, and I looked away, ashamed. I had been a peeping Tom, or perhaps a listening Sammy. If this name were to catch on, I would be forever disgraced. Consider what I dug up out of Webster’s:
Peeping Tom, first recorded around 1796, has become a term for a voyeur, not at all a pleasant fate for this legendary fellow. As W.H. Auden has said, “Peeping Toms/are never praised, like novelists or bird watchers,/for their keenness of observation.”
I dislike overused clichés. Instead of using the all-too-familiar “squeaky wheel,” I’m going to use the “clacking wheel” in its place.
Sam: “Serves him right. You know what they say about the clacking wheel.”
Biographer: “Clacking wheel? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Sam: “Well then. I have a story for you…gets carried through the airport by its owner...keenness of whom has long been overrated
I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.
Sam
Meetings on the following day went about as well as one could expect when one’s boss is present. Getting there is a lot like our appointments. I drive, she coaches. She said little about my driving this time, and I was grateful. On our trip to Buffalo in February, she made several negative comments, yet refused my repeated offers to take the wheel. Since she’s just sitting there, I suggested that she navigate. No-could-do. She can’t see out the windows while wearing her reading glasses, and she can’t read a map with them off. After our meeting in Nashville, I was to drop her off at the airport. Her flight back to Salt Lake left several hours before my flight to Boston. Needless to say, I navigated (without help) to the airport in great haste, and tore out of there to get some breathing room, sans boss.
After driving through some lovely wooded areas outside of Nashville, I filled the car’s tank with gas, and returned to the airport around the time my boss’s flight was lifting off the ground. It was going to be a long evening. I was headed to Atlanta, where I would then catch my flight to Boston. It seems that I never have a direct flight anywhere. The flight to Atlanta was uneventful. There’s not much that can happen in thirty-five minutes besides taking off and landing.
For an airport terminal, Atlanta’s E is about as good as they come. Generally, the important international flights arrive and depart from terminal E. In a way, this was the highlight of the trip. I found myself sitting somewhat close to the woman’s restroom. Within ten minutes, I noticed the sound of a broken suitcase wheel, loudly complaining as its owner pulled it along. Atlanta’s terminal E does not have much carpet, so the “clack clack clack” of the broken wheel seemed to announce its owner’s arrival. She was a well-dressed middle aged woman wearing a navy blazer and dress slacks. She was also visibly irritated by her disagreeable companion. She walked past me, and clack clacked her way right into the bathroom. I could hear her turn the corner, and I realized that her nasty little luggage was betraying nearly everything she was doing in there, even though she was well hidden from sight. Indeed, I thought I could tell when she turned left and right. I could hold it back no longer, and I began laughing uncontrollably. There was no TV in sight, nor book in hand. I must have been a sight in my own right. Distracted by my own laughter, I somehow lost the suitcase. It could no longer be heard trailing its unhappy owner in the ladies room. Just as I began training my ear towards the bathroom, the woman emerged, suitcase stuffed under her arm. She didn’t look any happier, and she surely wasn’t. The suitcase had complained without refrain or remorse, and had thus earned its free ride through the airport. As she exited, our eyes briefly met, and I looked away, ashamed. I had been a peeping Tom, or perhaps a listening Sammy. If this name were to catch on, I would be forever disgraced. Consider what I dug up out of Webster’s:
Peeping Tom, first recorded around 1796, has become a term for a voyeur, not at all a pleasant fate for this legendary fellow. As W.H. Auden has said, “Peeping Toms/are never praised, like novelists or bird watchers,/for their keenness of observation.”
I dislike overused clichés. Instead of using the all-too-familiar “squeaky wheel,” I’m going to use the “clacking wheel” in its place.
Sam: “Serves him right. You know what they say about the clacking wheel.”
Biographer: “Clacking wheel? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Sam: “Well then. I have a story for you…gets carried through the airport by its owner...keenness of whom has long been overrated
I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.
Sam
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Cristie, Lizzie, Joe, and I watched the debates with varying levels of amusement, generally rising from youngest to oldest. (Lizzie's participation consisted mostly of a vacuous stare). Both the candidates tried to "shut the door on each others' faces", but I thought failed to deliver any knock out punches. While I thought Kerry was the clear winner in last week's debate, I give the edge to Cheney in last night's contest. I thought his shorter answers and "passes" mostly worked, especially the one where he passed on the opportunity to comment on the gay/lesbian issue.
Edward's inexperience was evident. His arguments also displayed a kind of empty passion somehow. Something he does with the corner of his mouth and his tongue also got on my nerves. I know I'm being petty and not focused on the issues with that observation, but hey, it got in the way.
I agree with Ed, Bush is in trouble. The momentum shifted with the debate last week and to get it back, he's going to have to come out swinging Friday night. He obviously was not prepared for the first debate. And Kerry surprised and impressed me with his articulateness, his handling of the flip flop criticisms, and his grasp of the issues.
Now, Melissa, I'm willing to consider Mr. Van Damn (heh, heh). I checked his website. Generic pablum. Where does he stand on the 2nd Amendment initiative? Gun control? Iraq? North Korea/Iran? Moving the state prison? (lol)
A writer in Newsweek compared the styles of the candidates. He says Bush is a "go with your gut" snap decision maker and Kerry might lean toward analysis paralysis. His conclusion is that the best presidents combine intuition with a deep knowledge of the issue at hand to make the best decision. Can we elect them both?
Edward's inexperience was evident. His arguments also displayed a kind of empty passion somehow. Something he does with the corner of his mouth and his tongue also got on my nerves. I know I'm being petty and not focused on the issues with that observation, but hey, it got in the way.
I agree with Ed, Bush is in trouble. The momentum shifted with the debate last week and to get it back, he's going to have to come out swinging Friday night. He obviously was not prepared for the first debate. And Kerry surprised and impressed me with his articulateness, his handling of the flip flop criticisms, and his grasp of the issues.
Now, Melissa, I'm willing to consider Mr. Van Damn (heh, heh). I checked his website. Generic pablum. Where does he stand on the 2nd Amendment initiative? Gun control? Iraq? North Korea/Iran? Moving the state prison? (lol)
A writer in Newsweek compared the styles of the candidates. He says Bush is a "go with your gut" snap decision maker and Kerry might lean toward analysis paralysis. His conclusion is that the best presidents combine intuition with a deep knowledge of the issue at hand to make the best decision. Can we elect them both?
Well, I ran over a cat yesterday. I was driving Eddie to school. It just darted right out in front of me. Thump, thump went the minivan. I got out and looked under the van. Amazingly it was still alive. It hurriedly wobbled under the fence and into it's backyard.
I knocked on the door. A woman answered, and I told her "I hit your cat". asked me for my number so that she could send me the vet bill. I was incredulous and said so. "How am I responsible? I wasn't speeding, I wasn't doing anything wrong". "What, I am supposed to teach my cat manners" she exclaimed? Again, I was incredulous. "Lady, I'm not responible for YOUR cat!" She rebutted, "that is what your insurance is for... that is what my insurance is for too, but you can't expect me to pay for this". Then I dared her. "Okay, fine Lady(I really think I called her Lady). That's my house down there. Call the police, send me the bill. No one is going to buy it, because it's absolutely ridiculous! If I'm supposed to be responsible for all the animals on this street, whether I know they exist or not, then I get to say whether they can be outside or not". Of course she heard very little of this because she shut the door on my face saying that we shouldn't be arguing in front of her daughter. That was the start of my day....
Did anyone watch the VP debates last night? I'd be interested in hearing what y'all think. It seemed that they spent a lot of the time calling eachother a liar (in politically correct jargon, of course).
According what I heard on NPR this morning, they both were liars. Okay, maybe not straight out liars. But they muddled the facts, (or were confused about the facts) or gave misleading information most of the time.
Cheney seemed a little too comfortable sitting there. He passed up quite a few opportunities for rebuttle, which may have worked for him, I don't know. And Edwards, in my opinion, was less than impressive. It's a good idea to back up and fully support your presidential nominee, but come on. At least pretend that some of these opinions are built on your own convictions. One of these guys could become acting president in case the worst should happen..
OH, and for all you Utahns out there, consdier voting for Paul Van Dam for Senate!!! (Sam is groaning right now). Bob Bennett has a huge campaign budget (2.1 million spent on cutesy billboards), but no campaign or agenda. Don't let him win just because you see his name out there. Check out his website (and Van Dam's). He literally has NO PLANS. He thinks it's a free ride. This is a guy that votes for stuff in Washington. Vote for someone who acts like they care what you think, and would take their job and vote a little more seriously.
Just my humble opinion. (And you know I always have one).
Okay, I'm finally done now.
I knocked on the door. A woman answered, and I told her "I hit your cat". asked me for my number so that she could send me the vet bill. I was incredulous and said so. "How am I responsible? I wasn't speeding, I wasn't doing anything wrong". "What, I am supposed to teach my cat manners" she exclaimed? Again, I was incredulous. "Lady, I'm not responible for YOUR cat!" She rebutted, "that is what your insurance is for... that is what my insurance is for too, but you can't expect me to pay for this". Then I dared her. "Okay, fine Lady(I really think I called her Lady). That's my house down there. Call the police, send me the bill. No one is going to buy it, because it's absolutely ridiculous! If I'm supposed to be responsible for all the animals on this street, whether I know they exist or not, then I get to say whether they can be outside or not". Of course she heard very little of this because she shut the door on my face saying that we shouldn't be arguing in front of her daughter. That was the start of my day....
Did anyone watch the VP debates last night? I'd be interested in hearing what y'all think. It seemed that they spent a lot of the time calling eachother a liar (in politically correct jargon, of course).
According what I heard on NPR this morning, they both were liars. Okay, maybe not straight out liars. But they muddled the facts, (or were confused about the facts) or gave misleading information most of the time.
Cheney seemed a little too comfortable sitting there. He passed up quite a few opportunities for rebuttle, which may have worked for him, I don't know. And Edwards, in my opinion, was less than impressive. It's a good idea to back up and fully support your presidential nominee, but come on. At least pretend that some of these opinions are built on your own convictions. One of these guys could become acting president in case the worst should happen..
OH, and for all you Utahns out there, consdier voting for Paul Van Dam for Senate!!! (Sam is groaning right now). Bob Bennett has a huge campaign budget (2.1 million spent on cutesy billboards), but no campaign or agenda. Don't let him win just because you see his name out there. Check out his website (and Van Dam's). He literally has NO PLANS. He thinks it's a free ride. This is a guy that votes for stuff in Washington. Vote for someone who acts like they care what you think, and would take their job and vote a little more seriously.
Just my humble opinion. (And you know I always have one).
Okay, I'm finally done now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
