I woke up at 2:45 Eastern time this morning. It was almost painful. My eyes were filled with sand. I took a shower, sat on my suitcase to close it, and kissed the cats goodbye.
I drove my car to Janelle’s house, where I met a taxi to the airport. I tried to tip the driver $11, but he insisted on taking only $10.
Most individuals are puzzled by the self-check in machines. Interestingly enough, the very same people are brilliant with the Wawa sandwich-ordering computers, leading one to suspect that they had a hand in the software design.
My once-glamorous Diane Von Furstenberg suitcase weighed 50.5 pounds. The agent made me remove a single low top Converse to bring it down to 40.5 pounds. I stuffed this in my messenger bag. I felt strange carrying only one shoe. I racked my brain for superstitions relating to single sneakers, but found nothing to explain my discomfort.
The pilot for my first flight was a woman. I was delighted by this. I exited the plane behind an elderly couple. The husband turned to the pilot (she had stepped out of the cockpit to say goodbye to everyone–it was one of those tiny jets one boards by walking out on to the tarmac and walking up a set of removable stairs) and said, “Well, I’m still getting used to idea of a lady flying a plane. But Hillary Clinton sure has done a lot for your people.”
On my second flight, the young guy seated behind me talked about Benihana’s for an inordinate amount of time. I guess it is his favorite restaurant. He asked the couple next to him if he would be able to find one in Portland.
Zach and Mary retrieved me from the airport…Zach was waving a sign reading “McFarty.”
So far, I’ve already had bento on Hawthorne and coffee at Fresh Pot. Extensive conversation regarding “Van Dykes.” One becuerdo sighting. Numerous fellows in plaid shirts. Only one tie-dye (but it’s still early).
Rachel has requested “crunkedness” for tonight’s intinerary.