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
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
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.