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Brenda turns 60! Everyone wonders how she looks so young. Well, it's no secret. Just a good diet and exercise.
And, of course, the occasional soul of a Gelfling or the heart of a fallen star helps too. I should not talk so much. She's getting really good with those knives.
Jade and I went out to dinner tonight. Then we went shopping and then
a late night hanging I'm the car eating ice cream. It's our new game
of where she eats an ice cream and I watch her eat it silently crying
on the inside as I regret my diet for a short while.
April 4th...
It's a first for me. I missed a flight for the first time. Normally, I'm at the airport 2 hours before hand. I'm not feeling great about that but it beats almost causing a national news scare in a Philadelphia airport.
I explain.
The morning did not start off great as I woke up late. I didn't follow my code of using my phone as my alarm clock. I trusted the hotel clock and it got me up an hour late.
I showered and cursed for a good 15 minutes to run down to an empty front desk. I ran out later than expected. But I was okay, as long as nothing else went wrong.
Right.
So, I discovered that Pennsylvania state law requiers that all gas stations have to be hidden. None were found on the way there. It was making me nervous because Avis has an aggressive gas return rental policy. It was something like 9 dollars a gallon and a good shot to the kidneys. And it was raining and everything was hard to see. I'm driving, and my GPS is guiding me to the airport. I pushed the button to find me the nearest gas station. It was then I learned that my GPS hates me.
"Why don't you ask your mac?" it read.
I look down quickly and saw the screen quickly change. She then guided me to a gas station well lit and welcoming Sunoco.
It was closed for the next hour. Crap.
I hit the button to find another place, and the GPS sighed, 'Whatever!"
It took me to a very scary Hess station next to some boarded up buildings. I think I was in the heart of crime section Philadelphia. I was reassured because a police officer was parked in the other gas lane. I started gassing up with my corporate card and tried to hide it. Nothing spells, "soft white guy" like American Express. I leaned on my car and breathed a sigh of relief. I needed to look cool . Like I belonged here. I leaned against the car and watched a car pull up behind me. His license plate read, "DIE GEEKS" or something to that effect. I turned around.
I continued to play the part like a confident martial artist without being one until I heard,
"YO!" Coming from behind me.
I turned and saw gas spitting out of my rental car all over me. I quickly yanked the pump out of the car and quickly pressed for a receipt. The receipt never came. My only thought was how much gas spilled out. I looked around me and it didn't look like too bad. No huge puddles. It looks like I soaked up a majority of it.
"uh...I guess it's full now" I said.
He didn't laugh.
I quickly got back into my car and told the GPS to take me to the airport. It decided to take me past some more scary neighborhoods and then took me to a highway to the airport. I was real close. Whew. I was so relieved I decided to make two wrong turns into the rental car return. I stopped my car behind another and waited. And waited. The guy appeared from over at the kiosk I. had to wait for took his time getting to my car.
"How are you doing?" I asked which really meant, "COME ON! WILL YOU HURRY UP!"
"Oh, man I'm hurting," He told me. And then decided to hang a bit and explain his aches and pains for a good too many minutes. He then let me know I needed to walk over to the end of the kiosk to get my receipt"
"Okay, thanks" I said. Die now.
I ran to the rental bus which almost got away and to the Southwest terminal. I sped to the electronic kiosk. It spat out a, "you've got to be kidding me." receipt letting me know the time. It then gave me a stern lecture concerning airport arrival times. I rolled my eyes. Now, the kiosk was really mad. It would not take my luggage. Fortunately, the good people of Southwest convinced the computer to let me go. Well, until the guy asked, "Do you smell gas?"
Oh no.
"Yep, my rental car spit up on me." I smiled trying to remember to look as calm as a dead man.
He shook his head and pointed me to the security gate.
Before I went through, I headed for the bathroom and tried to wash my legs and sneakers off. It worked a little bit. I scrubbed my jeans succeeding in removing 1/100th of my new 3.24 a gallon cologne.
I headed for the security gate. I grabbed my three bins. One for shoes and jacket, the other two for my two laptops. (Yes, I travel with two. Now be quiet.)
I went though the first guard and no problems. I said a prayer to St. Bernie, patron saint of the common cold to give the other TSA agents a temporary sinus infection. I smiled at a professional woman who was about to comment on my three bins. I loaded my laptop and bag in without paying attention. Again, playing it cool. I was calm, relaxed, and one with the airport.
"Hey!" I froze.
"You have two laptops?" She asked. A TSA agent who was breathing normally.
"Yes, I thought I put them in correctly." I offered.
"No, you stacked them."
"I'm so sorry."
The professional lady frowned. I went over and corrected it and waiting far off on the other end. Now it was until now I thought the gas went mostly to my legs which I spent much of my time washing off. It occured to me that my sneakers might have gotten nailed to. Actually, my sneakers got the worst of it. They were in bin number one. I knew this because the agent stopped the belt and shouted, " I smell gas!"
They stopped the line. My laptops were stalled. She called over other agents. Professional lady looked at me like I was her ex-husband. The words, "gas" and "Call Fox news" were floating up and down the line. I tried to tell them it was me. They didn't hear me. I tried to walk up to her and explain as discreetly as possible where the gas smell was coming from. She told me to step back and called over her supervisor. Oh crap.
"IT''S ME. I SPELLED GAS ON MYSELF GETTING HERE." I shouted. All conversations stopped. Every comutter delayed fixed rays of pure hate in my direction. I felt like Pee Wee Herman at a Harley rally. Professional lady grabbed her stuff and checked me into the x-ray.
The TSA officers looked at me. Started the belt back up and handed my stuff back. I got everything together. I waited to be arrested.
Nothing happened.
I waited for a detainment of "you smell funny." But nothing happened.
So with stinky Nike's in hand I slowly walked away. No search. No arrest. Not even a stern lecture. I smell like a lawn mower and that was it.
I walked over to the bathroom and through my sneakers in the sink and scrubbed them as much as I could. It greatly improved. I got my flight rescheduled. And now I'm off for a 10:35 AM and I got here for a 7 AM flight.
Oh, well. The fun part will be the flight coming home. But don't worry, I'll look calm and cool and...
I'm eating dinner at the Outback in an undisclosed location in
Pennsylvania. I noted to the waitress that she should be getting
more pay because she hands all her customers these large knives. She
looked at me for a moment. And then repeated the daily soup special.
It's times like these where I really miss Bren. The wait staff usually
look at my wife with a look of apathy and walk away shaking their head.
Mellow Mushroom is a pretty good pizza place in Atlanta. It's a pity I
was in Nashville. Here the energy and vibe was found wanting in this
place. In Atlanta, they blasted 80's music and it was Trivia Tuesday.
Here, it was short on life and seemed like a safe place to bring your
parents to ask for more beer money. It was Meh Tuesday in Tennesse.
Such is the way with chains, even small ones.
But all was not lost. I found a great comic shop 2 blocks down the road.
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