Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Washington, DC to Paris, France
Jumping on the Marriot shuttle to Reagan I was met by two guys commenting on how big my jacket was. That was the second time in two weeks I have had a man say something about my clothes. Now, I am not the most fashionable woman in the world, but I’m beginning to think either they are on to something or I am just so hot they can’t find another topic to talk with me about. At any rate, I tell them I’m headed to Paris so I need to stay warm and ask where they’re going. They reply Knoxville. Yeah’, good luck with that. Been there, done that, got Dolly and Kenny to sign my t-shirt.
After checking in I slide on over to the good ol’ US Airways counter where I ask the guy to move me up on my second flight out of Philadelphia and he tells me it will cost me $30. Even though the seats are empty? I can move there myself for free when I board. Walking down to the US Airways special agent counter the lady smiles, bumps me up to row 7 and says “Have a nice time in Paris, Ms. Bubenik.” Now, was that sooooo hard? Leaving Reagan out of gate 35A, which is by far my favorite gate there, b/c it means I will for sure be delayed, I hop into the shuttle to take me to the tar mat. When the jam packed shuttle gets to the tar mat we are told we can’t board the plane b/c the crew isn’t on board. Are you kidding me? I have put up with a lot of shit from US Airways, but never has the crew not arrived on time. Sitting it out for 20 minutes, we wait until three straggling employees roll up and finally we are granted the stairway to hell. Once on there’s another delay, that sends us back 30 minutes and by the time I land in Philly I have 20 minutes to connect to my Paris flight. I am in the F terminal and need to be at A26…a full mile and outside shuttle away. I run down, alerting everyone in my path to get the hell out of the way, then stop at a ticket counter to ask if they can call gate A26 and let them know I’m on the way. He tells me he’s closed for the night. I will deal with him later. I step up into the shuttle and tell the driver “Go, go, go!” Several turns later we are at A1, still far away from my final destination. With my laptop backpack on, I begin sprinting in my new winter boots and down coat down the airport until I have no breath left and realize the two vodka sprites D’Ann talked me into back in DC might have been a mistake now that I am forced to exercise. By A17 I wonder how I ever ran a marathon in my life and at A26 the gate agent replies “You’re FAST” when I tell her I arrived from the DC flight. She might think I’m fast, but my lungs are so winded right now I would pay for an oxygen tank.
Finding my seat the guy next to me does not look please as I make him rearrange and get up. A few minutes later we are in the air and soon I realize my TV doesn’t work. I am supposed to fly across the Atlantic without a TV set? This will not do. So, I head back to row 26 and set up base camp until we land at CHG in Paris when I return to the front and deboard quickly. After getting up to the window at customs the guy smiles big and greets me with a “Como Tale Vu?” and I wish for a second I had taken French back in high school. I have no clue what he’s saying even though this is a pretty easy term and I look at him like “WTF?” He clues in and switches to English before asking me if I’m in town for business or a holiday. Both. But, we’ll pick holiday this time around. He smiles big again and says “Welcome to Paris!” Who says the French are all snobby?
After retrieving my luggage I follow the step by step instructions that my friend Catherine has sent me to find the train into town. She’s spot on down to the details of ATM cards at the Metro kiosk and I find my way to Terminal B where I hop on the train into Paris. After connecting in the bustling mid-town terminal I wind up at Phillipe August and drag my luggage several blocks down to Rue de Charon where Catherine and her fiancé Jerome live. The concierge is supposed to have a key for me, but when I arrive he’s gone to a two hour lunch. I am so tired and dirty and have an hour and a half to kill now, so I head off to a café where I pay $7 for a muffin and Sprite. Ah…welcome to the Euro. They are still paying us back for voting Bush into office twice. Finally, I gather the key while attempting to introduce myself to the concierge in French. He looks at me as though I am speaking Russian and after some charade playing of me pretending to open a door he offers up the key. Entering Catherine and Jerome’s apartment I am met by their dog, Lola, whom I’ve been instructed not to pet b/c she’ll pee all over. Instead I take a shower and clean myself up for the mean streets of Paris.
Taking a look at the map I decide I can walk to Notre Dame b/c it’s only 2.5 kilometers. Down the street I go, but it’s only a few blocks before I am lost and wondering with no real sense of direction. I wind up at a cemetery where there are hundreds of people wondering through, so I follow suit. I have no clue where I am since I can’t seem to find this place on a map, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out that I am somewhere important when there is a directory inside the cemetery. Down the street I find Batiste and home to a famous French prison. Also home to a round a bout and I head down another wrong way, which does lead me to Notre Dame, just about an extra hour later. Finally, I stumble upon the Stein river and there is magnificent beauty before me. I am blessed with sunshine in the middle of November while in France. The light shines down on the river, statues stand high above me and lovers stroll across bridges, their hands and lips locked together. On both sides of me men are pushing artwork for cheap Euro prices, but I continue onward and into Notre Dame. The cathedral is tall and inside the blue stained glass peers down at me with a strange purple glow. Off to the side there are people waiting for confession, but the booth is no longer a booth, but only an office that is almost see through and the priest sits face to face with the parishioner. I’m not Catholic, but I do know that if I was headed to confess some of my most private things I might not want anyone looking me directly in the eye.
Back outside the sun is beginning to set and I have no clue where I’m going. So, I follow the crowd and wind up at the famous Hotel de Ville, which lights up the night sky. In the courtyard the IRCR is hosting an art show and I wonder in. The theme is war over the years and the pictures touch each person in the room as one woman is brought to tears. Afterwards, I am back on the streets of Paris and make it back to Rue de Charone the correct way. It’s much faster without all the detours. Catherine is home from work and when Jerome joins us the three of us head down to a local wine bar where we meet up with a large group to celebrate Beaujolais. There are only two bottles left and the bartender hands us plastic cups to drink out of, but we cheers each other anyway. After one sip I understand the plastic cups, but not the sale out; this stuff is not good. We all look at each other and force it down. Isn’t France supposed to be the home of good wine? When does that part of the trip start? Around 11 PM we call it a night and head home. I have thoroughly enjoyed my first day in Paris.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Paris, France
After sleeping for twelve hours I forced myself to get up. I didn’t come to Paris to sleep the entire time, but my body was calling for me to slow down!!! After putting myself together I decided to have a full on tourist day and walked down Phillipe August to Nation. Along the way I helped myself to a lunch of French bread and Camembert. Delicious. Where else in the world can you eat just a block of Camembert and not feel guilty? Once on the Metro I take it all the way to the Louvre and hop off. I have a small map in the Lonely Planet (oh, we meet again), which isn’t telling me much, so I check out the map provided by the Louvre. It’s completely in French but I believe my good sense of direction will not lead me astray and soon I am inside the most beautiful building I have ever seen. Angels have built this building. From top to bottom it is perfection. Through the courtyard I am met by hundreds of tourist enjoying the glass pyramids which look down into the museum. There is water sprouting up and I need time to sit there and enjoy the magnificent beauty I see before me. Without a real map I just follow everyone else down a long street and see more gardens and the large ferris wheel, which scares the living crap out of me. There’s no way in hell I’m ever taking a ride on that thing. I bypass it quickly and stroll down the most famous street in Paris. White tents are set up all along offering over priced sales items to tourist. Keeping clear of them I veer to the left and find the Air France compound and soon the Eiffel Tower. At the Eiffel Tower there are guys trying to rob you on each corner, miniature tower trinkets for sale- “Only $5 Euros, mademoiselle!” The guy yells as I keep going. There’s a fun band playing; about ten girls dressed up in leftover Halloween costumes. The line to get into the Eiffel tower is about two hours long and the top floor isn’t even open. I take my photos and leave, cross the street to the Aquarium which is covered in large water fountains spewing into the street. On both sides there are staircases leading upwards and I sit down on them to look back at the view. I am met with an exquisite view of Paris, museums, the Eiffel tower, and water fountains fill the background. Tourists walk the streets and locals fill the roads driving through round a bouts. After the short break, I disappear into the Metro, work my way back to Charonne and take a nap.
As evening progresses Catherine and Jerome head home. We welcome the weekend with wine and walk down to a local eatery that specializes in French food. The floors are covered in hay and the owner speaks at least three different languages. There’s a friendly dog that accompanies him wherever he goes and the bar is rockin’ as people kick off Friday night. Catherine talks me into getting some sort of beer that taste like Sprite and afterwards the three of us enjoy a bottle of the best wine the restaurant offers while I order confit and potatoes. It is followed by a chocolate melting dessert and ice cream while we take in the crowd. To my left is a large man, too big for the t-shirt and jeans he has decided to wear out tonight and his shaved head leaves me wondering how Paris became the fashion capital it is today.
Back at home Jerome cons me into trying some Martinique rum that lights my mouth on fire and sends me into a deep sleep for the night. What a great life; all people do here is drink and eat delicious food.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Paris, France
After Catherine and I finally drag our lazy butts up this morning the two of us head down the streets of the 18th district for some errands. We pick up dry cleaning, step into the pharmacy, and gather some croissants to enjoy with morning coffee. At home I devour the chocolate croissant before the two of us clean up and cross the street to rent bikes for the day. There’s a small kiosk near her house that holds about 30 bikes; you can pick one up there and drop it off across town. What a fabulous idea! The machine is touchy/feely with my US credit cards, and Catherine explains to me that in France they use ATM cards for everything. But, my ATM card is only working at the bank. They’ll give me all the Euros I want but forget about bike service. After we get the bikes situated, there are none left working and we run across the street to catch the bus to Batiste. There’s another bike rack there and we punch in our reservation number before heading out. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how to use the kickstand properly but once I’ve got it going we are gone. Busses are nearly touching my sleeves as we peddle away, but this is so fun! Between concentrating on not getting killed and sightseeing, Catherine yells “Take a left” but by then it’s too late and I take a right towards the Opera House. Turning back she’s nowhere in sight and the two of us are now separated. I wait for several minutes but when she doesn’t appear I fear I’ve gotten myself lost on the streets of Paris with no cell phone, computer, and a touchy/feely credit card. Walking my bike backwards, Catherine suddenly appears from around the corner and the day is on track again. After locking up the bikes we take in the Opera House, where they are getting ready for the nutcracker. A few blocks away we shop at H&M and La Fayette; it is decorated in hot pinks and greens for Christmas. This years theme is gingerbread men and each window has gingerbread men dancing in various stages. It is the Macy’s of Paris.
It’s now time for lunch and we sit down at a small café nearby that sells crepes. I decide on the Champigne, or cheese and mushrooms. Catherine chooses us a Rose bottle of wine and as we enjoy it all the café is perfect for people watching. Set in the busy heart of Paris, there is something for everything as I watch small children in their rain boots, young models trying to make it, and tourists shuffling through the masses. Once we are finished it is time for a nap and we fall asleep on the Metro before making it home. Waking up just in time the two of us walk home and crash for several hours before waking up and preparing for a night out in Paris. Jerome’s brother and his girlfriend are in town; we are also meeting up with many other friends. By the time we make it to the restaurant there are 13 of us crowded around a small table built for 8. But, the fondue and wine starts flowing and soon the cheese, meat and bread is mixed into everyone’s dish. All you can eat/drink (Wine!) for $20 Euros. Every time I looked down there was another bottle of wine; where was it coming from? Three hours later we are all pretty drunk and it’s near midnight. The rain has started but that doesn’t deter us from patronizing a bar down the street, on the corner of the middle of Paris. More bottles of wine follow and soon the waiter informs us it is 4 AM and we MUST LEAVE NOW! Ines tells me we must go to Notre Dame and jump across the star, b/c it means I will definitely return to Paris again! Tomas agrees to escort our drunk butts down there and we slosh in our dresses through the rain before seeking out the star in the dead of night. Tomas laughs at us girls as we yell “Where is the star?” Ines swears she knows where it is, but minutes pass before I am finally jumping across like a gymnast on a balance beam. People laugh as they walk by, but I may only be in Paris once…this is my golden opportunity to return. Ines swears. Clamoring back down the cobblestone streets of Paris, it is a miracle I don’t twist my ankle in the 4-inch stilettos I thought were a great idea 8 hours ago when I dressed myself. Now as the group continues to take in the streets of Paris so early in the morning I slip and slide all over the place. There’s really no leader of the group at this point and we all laugh, scream, hug while enjoying the early Paris morning before somewhere near 6 AM I crawl into bed.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Paris, France
Sleeping. Today is sleeping. I wake up and decide that was a bad idea and roll over where I promptly close my eyes again. At 2 PM Catherine says she’s still tired, but will feel bad if I spent my last day in Paris sleeping. I tell her there are worse things then sleeping off a night in Paris. Eventually we throw on some clothing and head out to dinner where we meet up with Stephan and Kim Lee from last night. Stephan tells us his head was aching and hurting all morning. In America we call that a hangover Stephan.
Jerome and Catherine have taken me to an all-you-can-eat mussels restaurant for my last night in Paris. For $15.50 Euros I get all you can eat mussels, French fries and dessert. They are so delicious and I order another bowl. Sorbet follows and finally all of us begin to feel like real people again. Kim Lee gives me a bottle of champagne and tells me to enjoy the rest of my trip, then we all kiss goodbye. Before going to bed Jerome and Catherine drive me around Paris so I can see it all lit up at night. Spectacular and breathtaking; my eyes are spoiled by the sights. At exactly 11 PM the Eiffel tower begins glittering and glows purple. I never want to leave. The streets have chandeliers hanging from them and the Louvre has a large white crystal tree welcoming you to the courtyard. Cartier, Gucci, Rolex all light up the way and one day when I win the lottery I’ll come back to visit the inside of the stores.
Near midnight we roll back home and it is time to call it a night. It has been a great four days in Paris but my train leaves early for Geneva in the morning. I must get some sleep now. I can not believe I finally made it to Paris; each moment was magical.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
North Carolina to Miami, Florida
Monday, November 9, 2009
Miami, Florida
The thing I love about US Airways is that they never make anything easy; especially for their Dividend Preferred members. Because they KNOW that we are just suckers enough to keep coming back for more airline miles since we have nowhere else to go. Yesterday I had to drive all the way back to Raleigh from Charlotte, to get on a flight back to Charlotte today that connected to Miami. Why? B/c the US Airways direct flight from Charlotte was $70 bucks more than flying out of Raleigh. I really hate you, US Airways. By the time I got to the Miami airport, I remembered why I try to fly into Ft. Lauderdale, too, with all the crazy people connecting South America. Perhaps they’ve read what I thought of their countries in my book. At least in Ft. Lauderdale it’s just cruise passengers; here you’ve got cruise passengers and drug dealers trying to push dope through security.
Steering clear of everyone I hopped into a cab and headed straight to South Beach. Once I am there I notice that the palm trees are nearly sideways and turn on the news to find out there is a hurricane of sorts down in the Caribbean. FANTASTIC! I always do love coming to Miami when hurricanes hit. The only thing that could be better is if I was ON a cruise ship right now. I open up the windows to my hotel room to get the true ocean breeze, then toss on my running shoes and hit the SoBe running trail. The wind has calmed down some, but by the time I get done with a few miles my hair looks like it was in a bar brawl and lost. I leave the outskirts of SoBe and look for a Publix grocery store, venturing out to areas I’ve never been to before and find houses where people actually live. In all my times in Miami I’ve somehow only made it into bars and clubs, so the fact that people live here comes as a surprise and I hope to stumble upon JLo shopping for Cheerios with the twins. No such luck and I carry my bags back to the hotel where I realize I have no butter or olive oil to cook my chicken. Improvisation kicks in and I take a scoop of my strawberry yogurt, toss it in the Pyrex and 30 minutes later I have some sort of new dish I call dinner. I get busy with Monday Night Football and have the first relaxing evening to myself in months.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Miami, Florida
I have a love/hate relationship with SoBe. I LOVE the beach. I LOVE the water. I LOVE the sunshine. I HATE the men who work outside of the clubs and make me dress up like a hooker to get inside. Seriously, I know how to play the game…wear short skirts, make my boobs look big, etc, etc, but at some point in my life I have decided that I no longer need to whore myself out for a $20 cover charge. Let the young girls take over. Of all the places in the world, Miami is the worst. At least in Vegas they know who their audience is. In Miami the bouncers seem to think they are God and you are there to praise them. This trip I decide to sit the club nightlife out and just enjoy the beach.
So, today I instead to work on my tan. The hurricane like breezes have moved towards Louisiana and it is a perfect Southern Florida day. I take my beach towel outside and set up shop near some Europeans in their Speedo’s. Might as well have a good laugh while I’m at it. After several hours and a nice Coppertone feel, I head down to promote my book on Lincoln Road. The outside café’s are filled with rich people who have nothing else to do but listen to me self-promote and after two hours I feel like I’ve talked at least three people into downloading the chicken bus on Kindle.
As the afternoon comes to a close I throw the bathing suit back on, relax in the hot tub and put a movie on. Kind of a boring Tuesday night, but exactly what I need after a month of hiking in Utah and traveling back and forth from coast to coast.
Wednesday, November 12, 2009
Miami, Florida to Washington, DC
Veterans Day! Exiting onto the street I stumbled onto a Miami parade, full of local high school bands, fire trucks, and businesses waving flags to support veterans. I walked with them along the parade route until I came upon a park where 500 people were gathered for a Veterans Day celebration. As I held my hand over my heart for the Star Spangled Banner my eyes welled up and I was reminded again why I am so proud to live in the GREAT USA!
Afterwards hot dogs were passed out to the crowd and I walked around thanking as many veterans as I could. Following the kisses and hugs, I hopped in a cab and went back to the Miami airport. I had just purchased some brand new TSA approved carry on luggage when to what to my wondering eyes did appear? This non-TSA, simple security worker on a power trip. I recognized her from the last time I was at this airport and she wouldn’t let me finish my bottled water while waiting for the actual TSA agent to call the line forward, towards the trash can. Perhaps she recognized me, too? So, she tells me that my brand new carry on is too big and I have to go check in…for a fee of $25. I tell her no. She tells me yes. We could do this forever, but I just get out of line and attempt to go back down to a different gate. There are many gates at Miami airport, with no lines, just a TSA agent waiting to look at your ID. However, I am not allowed to go through them (even though they all connect up top), so I am forced back to J where the line is an hour long. This makes no sense to me US Government. Lines here, no lines there. Seeing as how I have time to wait it out and I’m still not paying to check this bag, I sat there for over thirty minutes until the security lady went off duty and then headed to the line. What do you know? The next lady whisked me through and pushed me over to the VIP lane. Thanks airline miles. Sometimes the better woman (and having time on my hands) wins out. Miami may be TSA airport of the year, but their customer service sucks. After finally getting up to the x-ray scanner, I am greeted by some new machine that will scan my body and see if I have any non-approved objects shoved inside my little body. Even newer and more approved than the blower machine, I step in and am completely scanned by what I can only describe as a full body MRI right there in the Miami airport. Approximately three minutes later a little old TSA man tells me the light turned green and I’m good to go.
Down at US Airways I smile and thank how it’s not good to be back. But, I’ve almost got enough air miles for that African safari. Attempting to get on an earlier flight to Washington, DC I am told “there’s room on the plane, but it’ll cost you $50.” I’m sorry, but why? How about you just put me on the flight since you have room? I sit down and wait again. When my flight finally leaves Miami I have a whole row to myself until creepy-Crawler comes and sits next to me. He coughs like he’s carrying the swine flu and I stare down at my laptop ignoring his little ‘under the breath’ comments. Finally he flashes his American Airlines badge at me as though I’ll be impressed and I reply “all my miles are here on US Air.” Go away. But, he doesn’t. And he keeps talking to me about flight patterns and airports…I hate to tell him this but I could probably fly those routes in my sleep, badge or no badge. I don’t know what brings it around to the conversation but somehow we figure out we both went to Appalachian State and he says “Yeah! Class of ’89!” Sorry, buddy, before my time. Finally, I land in Charlotte for my connecting flight where I see my plane is delayed until 11:30 PM. No way in hell. I know this means I’ll really be spending the night in Charlotte; I’ve been down this road before. If they had only put me on the earlier flight as requested, everything could have just been avoided! Glancing up at the flight schedule, I see that another flight is leaving is 20 minutes heading into Reagan (I was scheduled to Dulles) so I sprint to the US Airways preferred people counter and the nice man behind the counter makes the switcheroo. Running into the plane I am THAT person…the last one on the plane…the reason the plane can’t leave. Attempting to place my carry on above me I see two duty-free bottles of rum. Maybe my lucky day? No. I kindly ask the people below me if I can scoot them over so we all have room for our carry on’s, but they aren’t interested. Are you kidding me? After getting the flight attendant involved, they suddenly seem kind hearted, all carry on is put away and I take a seat. I just want to get to DC.
One hour later my wish is granted as I land at Ronald Reagan International airport. A hop, skip and a jump across the street I enter D’Ann and Wade’s house. A crazy day has led me here to peace and quiet. I curl up in the comfy bed and am so thankful for darkness.
Miami, Florida
The thing I love about US Airways is that they never make anything easy; especially for their Dividend Preferred members. Because they KNOW that we are just suckers enough to keep coming back for more airline miles since we have nowhere else to go. Yesterday I had to drive all the way back to Raleigh from Charlotte, to get on a flight back to Charlotte today that connected to Miami. Why? B/c the US Airways direct flight from Charlotte was $70 bucks more than flying out of Raleigh. I really hate you, US Airways. By the time I got to the Miami airport, I remembered why I try to fly into Ft. Lauderdale, too, with all the crazy people connecting South America. Perhaps they’ve read what I thought of their countries in my book. At least in Ft. Lauderdale it’s just cruise passengers; here you’ve got cruise passengers and drug dealers trying to push dope through security.
Steering clear of everyone I hopped into a cab and headed straight to South Beach. Once I am there I notice that the palm trees are nearly sideways and turn on the news to find out there is a hurricane of sorts down in the Caribbean. FANTASTIC! I always do love coming to Miami when hurricanes hit. The only thing that could be better is if I was ON a cruise ship right now. I open up the windows to my hotel room to get the true ocean breeze, then toss on my running shoes and hit the SoBe running trail. The wind has calmed down some, but by the time I get done with a few miles my hair looks like it was in a bar brawl and lost. I leave the outskirts of SoBe and look for a Publix grocery store, venturing out to areas I’ve never been to before and find houses where people actually live. In all my times in Miami I’ve somehow only made it into bars and clubs, so the fact that people live here comes as a surprise and I hope to stumble upon JLo shopping for Cheerios with the twins. No such luck and I carry my bags back to the hotel where I realize I have no butter or olive oil to cook my chicken. Improvisation kicks in and I take a scoop of my strawberry yogurt, toss it in the Pyrex and 30 minutes later I have some sort of new dish I call dinner. I get busy with Monday Night Football and have the first relaxing evening to myself in months.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Miami, Florida
I have a love/hate relationship with SoBe. I LOVE the beach. I LOVE the water. I LOVE the sunshine. I HATE the men who work outside of the clubs and make me dress up like a hooker to get inside. Seriously, I know how to play the game…wear short skirts, make my boobs look big, etc, etc, but at some point in my life I have decided that I no longer need to whore myself out for a $20 cover charge. Let the young girls take over. Of all the places in the world, Miami is the worst. At least in Vegas they know who their audience is. In Miami the bouncers seem to think they are God and you are there to praise them. This trip I decide to sit the club nightlife out and just enjoy the beach.
So, today I instead to work on my tan. The hurricane like breezes have moved towards Louisiana and it is a perfect Southern Florida day. I take my beach towel outside and set up shop near some Europeans in their Speedo’s. Might as well have a good laugh while I’m at it. After several hours and a nice Coppertone feel, I head down to promote my book on Lincoln Road. The outside café’s are filled with rich people who have nothing else to do but listen to me self-promote and after two hours I feel like I’ve talked at least three people into downloading the chicken bus on Kindle.
As the afternoon comes to a close I throw the bathing suit back on, relax in the hot tub and put a movie on. Kind of a boring Tuesday night, but exactly what I need after a month of hiking in Utah and traveling back and forth from coast to coast.
Wednesday, November 12, 2009
Miami, Florida to Washington, DC
Veterans Day! Exiting onto the street I stumbled onto a Miami parade, full of local high school bands, fire trucks, and businesses waving flags to support veterans. I walked with them along the parade route until I came upon a park where 500 people were gathered for a Veterans Day celebration. As I held my hand over my heart for the Star Spangled Banner my eyes welled up and I was reminded again why I am so proud to live in the GREAT USA!
Afterwards hot dogs were passed out to the crowd and I walked around thanking as many veterans as I could. Following the kisses and hugs, I hopped in a cab and went back to the Miami airport. I had just purchased some brand new TSA approved carry on luggage when to what to my wondering eyes did appear? This non-TSA, simple security worker on a power trip. I recognized her from the last time I was at this airport and she wouldn’t let me finish my bottled water while waiting for the actual TSA agent to call the line forward, towards the trash can. Perhaps she recognized me, too? So, she tells me that my brand new carry on is too big and I have to go check in…for a fee of $25. I tell her no. She tells me yes. We could do this forever, but I just get out of line and attempt to go back down to a different gate. There are many gates at Miami airport, with no lines, just a TSA agent waiting to look at your ID. However, I am not allowed to go through them (even though they all connect up top), so I am forced back to J where the line is an hour long. This makes no sense to me US Government. Lines here, no lines there. Seeing as how I have time to wait it out and I’m still not paying to check this bag, I sat there for over thirty minutes until the security lady went off duty and then headed to the line. What do you know? The next lady whisked me through and pushed me over to the VIP lane. Thanks airline miles. Sometimes the better woman (and having time on my hands) wins out. Miami may be TSA airport of the year, but their customer service sucks. After finally getting up to the x-ray scanner, I am greeted by some new machine that will scan my body and see if I have any non-approved objects shoved inside my little body. Even newer and more approved than the blower machine, I step in and am completely scanned by what I can only describe as a full body MRI right there in the Miami airport. Approximately three minutes later a little old TSA man tells me the light turned green and I’m good to go.
Down at US Airways I smile and thank how it’s not good to be back. But, I’ve almost got enough air miles for that African safari. Attempting to get on an earlier flight to Washington, DC I am told “there’s room on the plane, but it’ll cost you $50.” I’m sorry, but why? How about you just put me on the flight since you have room? I sit down and wait again. When my flight finally leaves Miami I have a whole row to myself until creepy-Crawler comes and sits next to me. He coughs like he’s carrying the swine flu and I stare down at my laptop ignoring his little ‘under the breath’ comments. Finally he flashes his American Airlines badge at me as though I’ll be impressed and I reply “all my miles are here on US Air.” Go away. But, he doesn’t. And he keeps talking to me about flight patterns and airports…I hate to tell him this but I could probably fly those routes in my sleep, badge or no badge. I don’t know what brings it around to the conversation but somehow we figure out we both went to Appalachian State and he says “Yeah! Class of ’89!” Sorry, buddy, before my time. Finally, I land in Charlotte for my connecting flight where I see my plane is delayed until 11:30 PM. No way in hell. I know this means I’ll really be spending the night in Charlotte; I’ve been down this road before. If they had only put me on the earlier flight as requested, everything could have just been avoided! Glancing up at the flight schedule, I see that another flight is leaving is 20 minutes heading into Reagan (I was scheduled to Dulles) so I sprint to the US Airways preferred people counter and the nice man behind the counter makes the switcheroo. Running into the plane I am THAT person…the last one on the plane…the reason the plane can’t leave. Attempting to place my carry on above me I see two duty-free bottles of rum. Maybe my lucky day? No. I kindly ask the people below me if I can scoot them over so we all have room for our carry on’s, but they aren’t interested. Are you kidding me? After getting the flight attendant involved, they suddenly seem kind hearted, all carry on is put away and I take a seat. I just want to get to DC.
One hour later my wish is granted as I land at Ronald Reagan International airport. A hop, skip and a jump across the street I enter D’Ann and Wade’s house. A crazy day has led me here to peace and quiet. I curl up in the comfy bed and am so thankful for darkness.
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