« Clarke 4.7 Gallon Desert Tank | Main | San Francisco's Bring Your Own Big Wheel (BYOBW) April 24, 2011 »
April 25, 2011
The 7th Level of Hell
In the morning, I drive to the off-airport and climb onto the shuttle.
"Hey, stranger," She knows me but I don't recognize her.
She drives around the parking lot picking up random people until I finally ask the guys next to me "Do you 'reckon she'll ever take us to the airport?"
Eventually, she takes us to the airport and I'm queueing up for the Airport Monkeys and the Security Theatre. I try to judge which of the idiots is fastest at scanning the luggage of innocent citizens and get in line. When I'm unpacking my laptop and disrobing for the groping, however, I realize there's a problem. I've got some $30 tube of hair creme they tricked me into buying in San Francisco. It's a gel that, after you wash your hair, you rub in to make it look like you didn't wash your hair. For reals.
So I have this $30 tube of hair gel and I know the TSA will find it. They didn't find it last time, which explains how it got to Denver, but they'll find it this time, just because I know how my luck runs.
So sure enough, they find it and make me go back to the dunce line and I stick it in my pants when they're not looking and I just get rescreened and they're so stupid they don't realize I stuck it in my pocket. Security Theatre, 101.
So I get out to the gate and find the fight is delayed so I make myself comfortable and plug in my laptop and everyone around me is sniffing, which drives me nuts.
Like, can you not blow your fvcking nose? Your mom's not here any more. And I don't want to hear you sniffling for the next fifteen hours.
But they're sniffling and then some guy comes and wants to sit right beside me and makes me move my backpack so he can sit right beside me, when there are other seats of course. So he sits right next to me and he starts sniffling and I'm like "Christ. WTF is wrong with you people? Is the whole world sick except me?"
So, I'm sitting here, and i keep getting pages from SouthWest telling me the flight has been delayed and delayed again and the people around me a sniffling like kindergarten children and I'm about to snap. I've got my headphones on and the free wireless internet at DEN sucks so hard I won't event talk about it here. But people should be charged. Should be held accountable
Now, the entire time, Southwest Gate C46, the monitor at the gate says "Boarding". Now, they're clearly not boarding. There's no plane out there for Christ's sake. So, I'm pissed enough now that I approach the gate.
"Are we boarding?" I ask.
"We will be just as soon as we get a plane and a crew to fly it," she replies.
"So, we're not boarding then?" I challenge.
"We will be very soon."
"That says we'll depart for San Francisco in 10 minutes. Do you think that that's going to happen?"
"That what will happen?"
"That we'll be leaving for San Francisco in 10 minutes if we don't have a plane or a crew." I reply.
"We'll see." she smiles. She hates me, but not nearly as much as I hate her. I want to put a grenade behind the counter.
Some woman approaches the desk and asks the SouthWest troll the obvious question, "Are we boarding?"
"No," I reply," We're not boarding. And they won't change the sign to say we're not either. I already tried."
I'm not happy and I'm willing to lower myself to their level at this point.
"We are changing it right now," she grunts, which is a totally different answer than she'd given me for whatever reason. She certainly hadn't volunteered that she was willing or able to make the sign change from "Boarding" to "Royally Screwed".
And with that, the SW troll waves her little scepter and the sign changes from "Boarding" to "Fvcked" and the departure time goes up another hour and she smiles at me, proud of her little victory.
I get another page that it's been delayed yet again and I stomp off to get a coffee. I come back and there's an open spot at a table with electricity and a little stool, away from the sickly demons I've been sitting by.
"MInd if I join you?" I ask the guy at th table.
"Sure."
'You're not sick are you?" I challenge.
"Nope."
So I start slowly moving all of my items over to the counter. First, I set down my coffee and napkins,then I go back and fetch my laptop. When I return and set my laptop down, a woman approaches the counter from the other side and sits down.
"Oh. Are you going to take my seat?" I ask her. Like, OK. I'm the man here. I'm supposed to defer to the woman. I know the drill. But Godd@mn it makes me mad that she came and took my seat right in front of me. Like, seriously? Could you not at least ask? But I just defer and I collect my things and walk back to the sick ward with my tail between my legs to wait for an eternity with the lousy internet service and the sniffly drooling adults in Terminal C.
I want to take my laptop and my camera and smash them into the carpet because, let's be honest, this sucks. This blows. I got up at 6:00 a.m. and drove 50 miles to sit here with these mental dwarfs in the 7th level of hell.
At some point, we finally board the airplane and take off and my old laptop won't work unless it's plugged in and my new laptop won't work no matter what so I don't have a laptop I can use as we fly across the country. And my mind is racing from the coffee like a car revving the engine while it's in neutral. I can't type or write or anything. I can't shoot because it's cloudy so I just sort of drift off and finally we land in SFO.
It's not raining, in San Francisco, which is an absolute miracle. This city has the worst weather of any place I've ever been and I dash outside and get on the shuttle and this guy knows me. He won't ever take me to the Covered Parking, which is amazing, but this is where we are.
So, we get to the Fast Track parking lot and he won't take me to the covered parking and I've told him several times that's where I want to go. But he's not falling for it. So I get out of the shuttle and walk to covered parking and I see some little minion walking around and I decide that I want to explain to him that the shuttle driver needs to take me to covered parking when I tell him to take me to covered parking. Of course, he's oriental and he can't tell what I'm saying so I go to leave the parking and this girl knows me. She's the one bright spot in my little travel hell. I don't know her name, but she's always nice and helpful and I tell her..."I want that freaking driver to take me to covered parking when he drops me off. Tell Will to set him straight."
And I get out on the 101 and I'm blowing North on this highway and you can't know how windy it is. Just inane and it's blowing me from one lane to another and my helmet's too large and I'm just hunkered down..running North at 75 mph...no plates...blowing from lane to lane between trucks and cars....way late for my meeting in SF.... and I'm thinking...it's got to get better than this.
Posted by Rob Kiser on April 25, 2011 at 10:10 AM
Comments