Airport
Okay so I haven't flown in a long time, my how things have changed. I made it to the airport at the butt crack of dawn, said goodbye to hubby, grabbed my full bottle of water and rolled my 1 suitcase to check-in. First time ever, there wasn't a crowd of people waiting for the ticket counter. I went straight for the ticket agent when I was directed to a line of computers directly in front of the counter. No biggie, I can handle this. I have plenty experience thanks to Walmart and their self checkout. I followed all the prompts confirming my name, flight info and such. It then asks about luggage, I press 1 bag. It says it'll cost $15.00, how do I want to pay? Thinking I messed up, I looked for a real live person behind the counter to ask. Nope, no mistake. They charge per bag, is that not crazy? The cost of the ticket itself was outrageous!
Before it'll print my boarding pass, I have to show the live ticket agent my driver's license. From 16 to probably 25, I've lost a dozen or so driver's license. It's been the running joke in my family. Over the years, Mom and Dad have found my missing driver's licenses in all sorts of places. But now that I'm a responsible adult and put away those childish ways, I confidently whip out my license for the ticket agent. Lo and behold, she informs me my license expired at the end of March. They allowed me to fly but I would have been screwed a few months back when I'd been grounded for an expired ID, off to security.
What luck, no line at Security either. Maybe 5am at the airport is not so bad after all. As I enter the line, a security guy eyes my drink and then informs me that I can't take my water through security. I haven't even opened it yet, that stinks. I took one drink, tossed the bottle in the trash, placed my purse and folder in the bin to be scanned and headed for their metal detector. I guess I noticed some others taking their shoes off to be scanned but it didn't register until face to face with that security guy treating me like a 5 year old, "Uhm. . .Ma'am, you must put your shoes and jacket in the bin too." It's like he was that comedian saying "Here's Your Sign, You Moron" as I scooted past him in socks, grabbed my stuff, slipped my shoes on and headed for the gate.
I must say, everyone at the airport is unbelievably friendly and helpful. I bet they're trained on what to say and how to say it in attempts to minimize stress because let's face it, it's not natural to be that friendly in the morning. I think they're fighting a losing battle anyway, the definition of airport is a place of stress, no matter how friendly they get.
On the way to the gate, I first smell and then see heaven on earth, it's a Starbucks. Forget friendliness, give me coffee and I will de-stress. I walk to the gate to ask someone if I can take coffee on the plane. Wouldn't you know it, no one's there, only a screen monitor with boarding instructions. I read through the prompts. After 5 minutes, the prompts start over not mentioning drinks on the plane. Permissible or not, I need coffee so I go to Starbuck's.
With a cafe mocha in hand, I make it back to the terminal. At the last minute, a live person came to board us. When people began to approach her, she ordered them back to wait in their seats. It was kinda like she was the teacher and we were her class. She started boarding by calling First Class and all the rich folks lined up. Next, she called for Executive Platinum, not sure what that is but a bunch of suits lined up. Next, she called for Priority Access. I thought that was for passengers who need assistance like those with small children, handicapped, etc... But the ones that lined up didn't look the part, not sure who they were. Finally, she called for those with Boarding Pass 1, that was me.
I boarded the plane and began looking for my seat. It was at the back of the plane next to the engine. It blocked most of the view out the window, however there weren't any seats directly in front of us just the flight attendant's station (notice I didn't say stewardess, how about that for political correctness?) so we had more leg room then anyone else, that was nice. The plane was dark as everyone settled into their seats. The flight attendants helped some with their carryons, and began making preparation for take-off. One came over to my row and told me and the woman next to me that we would have to store our carryons as well as our purses in the overhead bin. What? Both of us complaining some, we put our stuff overhead. The plane started with a low, vibrating roar. We definitely had the loudest seats on the ride to Dallas.
The flight to Dallas was uneventful and not that loud once we reached our flying altitude. I didn't talk much to the woman next to me partly because the roar of the engine but mostly because it was still the butt crack of dawn. I noticed she kept her wallet with her, mine was overhead. . . that wasn't too smart. As we made our approach, I initiated small talk and asked in my most pleasant LOUD voice, "Where are you headed?" She lives in Tulsa but was heading for Florida. When she found out I was going to Tennessee, she perked up and said she used to live in Jackson, Tennessee, my hometown. What a small world.
I had less than an hour to change planes as I guess most others because no one waited for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign but instead fought for space in the aisle. I don't know what it is about me and a bunch of people in a confined space that makes me have gas. Does this happen to anyone else? On the concourse, it reminded me of the Amazing Race. All of us passengers sprinting for the tram trying to catch connecting flights, it was really exciting. The woman I sat next to on the plane followed my lead. I guess she didn't see the "Complete Moron Sign" but instead a "World Class Traveler Sign", works for me. I found the tram, took a seat at the front and began reading all the wall advertisements in the tram. There was one for The Cereally Bar, a restaurant in the airport that served cereal. That's crazy, I wouldn't think there'd be a huge market for Cheerios, Corn Flakes and Captain Crunch.
At last, I made my flight. It was a smaller plane with a single row of seats lining one aisle and a set of 2 seats on the other. Jealous of those assigned a seat by themselves, I squeeze next to a big muscular guy that took up mine and his seat both. He's cute enough, probably early 20's, has dreadlocks and a bright orange golf shirt on. I automatically assume he's a Big Vol's Football player, how about that for profiling. We sat quietly through take off. I was going back and forth on whether to break the silence, not sure if I was in a talkative mood or not.
When I was young and flew all the time on Skyways (Scareways) a little commuter plane, I would entertain fellow passengers by holding my own little concert, poor guys. As I remember, they were always good sports and applauded after each musical selection.
Not much after takeoff, I started a conversation with my supersized travel buddy. He was from Houston heading for Knoxville for work. He works for a non-profit company that sells an after-school reading tutoring program to churches and non-profit agencies. That is similar to my business and therefore I had a million and one questions like how it's funded, what's the curriculum, how's the management structure, how about marketing and so on. He called their program Freedom Schools. He was a really cool, interesting guy. The 2 hour flight flew by and before I knew it, we were landing. I wished him well as we got off the plane.
I knew I was in Tennessee when I hit the bathroom and heard Kenny Rogers, The Gambler blasting through the speakers. "Know when to hold them, know when to fold them, Know when to walk away, Know when to Run."
Dad is coming out of surgery so my thoughts turned to him and getting to the hospital.
Before it'll print my boarding pass, I have to show the live ticket agent my driver's license. From 16 to probably 25, I've lost a dozen or so driver's license. It's been the running joke in my family. Over the years, Mom and Dad have found my missing driver's licenses in all sorts of places. But now that I'm a responsible adult and put away those childish ways, I confidently whip out my license for the ticket agent. Lo and behold, she informs me my license expired at the end of March. They allowed me to fly but I would have been screwed a few months back when I'd been grounded for an expired ID, off to security.
What luck, no line at Security either. Maybe 5am at the airport is not so bad after all. As I enter the line, a security guy eyes my drink and then informs me that I can't take my water through security. I haven't even opened it yet, that stinks. I took one drink, tossed the bottle in the trash, placed my purse and folder in the bin to be scanned and headed for their metal detector. I guess I noticed some others taking their shoes off to be scanned but it didn't register until face to face with that security guy treating me like a 5 year old, "Uhm. . .Ma'am, you must put your shoes and jacket in the bin too." It's like he was that comedian saying "Here's Your Sign, You Moron" as I scooted past him in socks, grabbed my stuff, slipped my shoes on and headed for the gate.
I must say, everyone at the airport is unbelievably friendly and helpful. I bet they're trained on what to say and how to say it in attempts to minimize stress because let's face it, it's not natural to be that friendly in the morning. I think they're fighting a losing battle anyway, the definition of airport is a place of stress, no matter how friendly they get.
On the way to the gate, I first smell and then see heaven on earth, it's a Starbucks. Forget friendliness, give me coffee and I will de-stress. I walk to the gate to ask someone if I can take coffee on the plane. Wouldn't you know it, no one's there, only a screen monitor with boarding instructions. I read through the prompts. After 5 minutes, the prompts start over not mentioning drinks on the plane. Permissible or not, I need coffee so I go to Starbuck's.
With a cafe mocha in hand, I make it back to the terminal. At the last minute, a live person came to board us. When people began to approach her, she ordered them back to wait in their seats. It was kinda like she was the teacher and we were her class. She started boarding by calling First Class and all the rich folks lined up. Next, she called for Executive Platinum, not sure what that is but a bunch of suits lined up. Next, she called for Priority Access. I thought that was for passengers who need assistance like those with small children, handicapped, etc... But the ones that lined up didn't look the part, not sure who they were. Finally, she called for those with Boarding Pass 1, that was me.
I boarded the plane and began looking for my seat. It was at the back of the plane next to the engine. It blocked most of the view out the window, however there weren't any seats directly in front of us just the flight attendant's station (notice I didn't say stewardess, how about that for political correctness?) so we had more leg room then anyone else, that was nice. The plane was dark as everyone settled into their seats. The flight attendants helped some with their carryons, and began making preparation for take-off. One came over to my row and told me and the woman next to me that we would have to store our carryons as well as our purses in the overhead bin. What? Both of us complaining some, we put our stuff overhead. The plane started with a low, vibrating roar. We definitely had the loudest seats on the ride to Dallas.
The flight to Dallas was uneventful and not that loud once we reached our flying altitude. I didn't talk much to the woman next to me partly because the roar of the engine but mostly because it was still the butt crack of dawn. I noticed she kept her wallet with her, mine was overhead. . . that wasn't too smart. As we made our approach, I initiated small talk and asked in my most pleasant LOUD voice, "Where are you headed?" She lives in Tulsa but was heading for Florida. When she found out I was going to Tennessee, she perked up and said she used to live in Jackson, Tennessee, my hometown. What a small world.
I had less than an hour to change planes as I guess most others because no one waited for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign but instead fought for space in the aisle. I don't know what it is about me and a bunch of people in a confined space that makes me have gas. Does this happen to anyone else? On the concourse, it reminded me of the Amazing Race. All of us passengers sprinting for the tram trying to catch connecting flights, it was really exciting. The woman I sat next to on the plane followed my lead. I guess she didn't see the "Complete Moron Sign" but instead a "World Class Traveler Sign", works for me. I found the tram, took a seat at the front and began reading all the wall advertisements in the tram. There was one for The Cereally Bar, a restaurant in the airport that served cereal. That's crazy, I wouldn't think there'd be a huge market for Cheerios, Corn Flakes and Captain Crunch.
At last, I made my flight. It was a smaller plane with a single row of seats lining one aisle and a set of 2 seats on the other. Jealous of those assigned a seat by themselves, I squeeze next to a big muscular guy that took up mine and his seat both. He's cute enough, probably early 20's, has dreadlocks and a bright orange golf shirt on. I automatically assume he's a Big Vol's Football player, how about that for profiling. We sat quietly through take off. I was going back and forth on whether to break the silence, not sure if I was in a talkative mood or not.
When I was young and flew all the time on Skyways (Scareways) a little commuter plane, I would entertain fellow passengers by holding my own little concert, poor guys. As I remember, they were always good sports and applauded after each musical selection.
Not much after takeoff, I started a conversation with my supersized travel buddy. He was from Houston heading for Knoxville for work. He works for a non-profit company that sells an after-school reading tutoring program to churches and non-profit agencies. That is similar to my business and therefore I had a million and one questions like how it's funded, what's the curriculum, how's the management structure, how about marketing and so on. He called their program Freedom Schools. He was a really cool, interesting guy. The 2 hour flight flew by and before I knew it, we were landing. I wished him well as we got off the plane.
I knew I was in Tennessee when I hit the bathroom and heard Kenny Rogers, The Gambler blasting through the speakers. "Know when to hold them, know when to fold them, Know when to walk away, Know when to Run."
Dad is coming out of surgery so my thoughts turned to him and getting to the hospital.
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