Ackme Arrives

OK, my plane is leaving Newark for Florida at 2:00. My plane from Boston leaves at 1:05 instead of 11:30 and gets in at 1:50. Just enough to fuck with me, but impossible to make. I got the computer bag and a clothing and other stuff bag. Probably no more than 50lbs total, but I am a guy who doesn't walk to the car without breathing heavy.

Of course everyone dawdles their fucking way off the plane, and I hated them all long before we got off the ground. The idiot who has to be told three times to fasten his goddamned seatbelt, and his mother who asks "Is Continental the only airline that goes to Newark?" Asks everyone including me. What I want to say is "What are you, fucking stupid?" but since she is, I shrug. And there's the cell phone lady. Fat, housewifey, fiftiesh billing clerk. "Did you have a party? It's your birthday. Did you try the fudge? It's really good. Did you guys have some at the party?" Loud. So very important. So very close to me.

OK, so Newark. I am in the A Terminal. My plane has left. to get the next flight to Orlando, at 3:15, I have to get to the C Terminal. Not just a mile walk. No, that gets me to the Shuttle train to the A Terminal. Drops me at Security! Again. (Logan wasn't bad, considering). Coat off, shoes off, both bags, everything out of my pockets. So, I get that all done and guess what? In Boston, I opened the laptop bag far enough that they could see the Mac light "breathing" and that's enough. In Newark where I waiting behind ten times as many people (200 at least), everything goes through and some fucking Asian cunt says "HEY! You were supposed to take the laptop OUT OF THE BAG." Now I'm the big screw up. Wrecking in for everyone. She grabs the bag, takes it over to a steel table and yanks everything out. Pull the laptop out of the sleeve, can't figure out how to open it, pulls it open, finally, swabs the whole mess with some fucking bomb wand, shoves it all back in the bag and then runs it through the X-Ray again. 15 minutes at least while 200 people are getting pissed behind me because I didn't read her fucking mind.

Now I am finally in Terminal A at Gate 80 looking for Gate 133. I get to Gate 100 and guess what? The sign now points to -> Gates 170 - 130. They start counting the other fucking way! It's like 2:40 by now. All of this time has been spent walking as fast I can or going through security. At 2:55 I finally get to Gate 133. The flight is just being called DELAYED until 3:45. I had 45 minutes that oh, I didn't know about.

That's when I sat down at Dunkins and ordered the strongest iced coffee (extra sugar, no cream) they had and pulled out the laptop to see if it still worked. I was pouring out sweat, furious. Fortunately, I was able to pick up the wireless network from upstairs in the Continental Presidential Lounge. That's when I wrote to say hi.

I finished the coffee and I could barely stand up. Fortunately, the Gate was right there at the Dunkins and I only had to go about 30 feet. But I know I walked about three miles, just by adding up the gates and how far apart they were.

When they finally called us (not at 3:45, closer to 4:45) I had been off my feet long enough to be able to walk down the jetway. Got in my seat, looked out the window, and it was nearly dark. I was on the aisle and next to me was an Irish guy and his son. And of course, Dad was a talker. All about Ireland and his relatives in Boston and this one and that one and blah blah blah fucking blah. Fortunately, his son distracted him and I got the headphones on and was "asleep" when he turned back. And within a couple minutes, I actually was asleep, and slept for about an hour. I must have insulted him because he shut the fuck up when I woke up. But the stewardess was sweet. I had missed the beverages, but she got me water and coffee and two little bags of honey peanuts. Saved my life.

Finally got into Orlando at 7:00. Pitch black, of course. And the car rental place was a three mile, 20 minute shuttle bus ride. And filling out the forms was another half hour. But by then, I was pretty funny. I told the guy he could give me a go kart and charge me $500 and I wouldn't hesitate. Turned out, the full sized cars were gone, so he bumped me up, as you'll see. One of those fancy new Chryslers with the big grill and LOTS of power.

No one knew the way to Titusville. I drove out, turned right and saw a sign that said "Cocoa - Titusville." How tough was that. Forty miles later, I saw the Ramada Inn sign and the rest is history.