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Let’s talk about Uber, baby

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I feel like there has been a big part of my travel life that has been largely excluded to this point.

Uber.

I know there are Uber lovers and Uber haters out there, but I happen to be one of the former.

When I travel to places such as NYC and DC, where you will never catch me behind the wheel of a car, dealing with all those whirling dervishes others call traffic, I become, quite literally, an Uber VIP. I love them, and they, in turn love me.

I know people who are like, “yeah, but if you take an Uber, you have to like, talk, to your driver”.  Gasp!! Anything but that!

I actually like talking to my drivers. I have had a great many fascinating conversations in Ubers. And don’t even think about challenging me to Uber trivia. You will lose.

I’ve also had my share of odd Uber drivers. Like the guy who wanted to stop for a bottle of wine. Or the ones who have wanted me to drag my bags 5 city blocks so they don’t have to go around the block.

But my driver to the airport last week may have claimed the Number 1 worst spot.

I should have known I was in trouble when I put in my pick up spot as the hotel I was staying at, and instead of pulling up to the front door, as most normal people would do, he pulls over at the end of the block and sits there, evidently waiting for me to come to him.

The doorman and I spend a few moments debating on whether that is my car, and then he runs down the block and tells my driver to pull up and get me. He pulls up, pops the trunk, and leaves me to fend for my own bags. Okay, fair enough. Women’s equality and feminism and all that. I can toss a bag in the trunk with the best of them.

I settle myself in the back seat, and we take off for the airport. Or at least this is what I assume, as that is what I entered as my destination.

Now, I will admit, that I do not always pay very much attention when in the back of an Uber. If my driver is not the talkative type, or I just don’t feel like talking, I may just settle in and surf my phone. Or nap. Or whatever. And I hadn’t slept very well all week, so I just tucked in and was staring rather blankly out the window. After about 10 minutes of what should have been a 20 min drive, at the most, something started nudging the back of my brain, and I started to focus on the scenery outside the window.

Which is when I realized I had already seen this scenery about 5 min or so ago.

Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I decided now was a good time to engage my driver in conversation.

“Ummm, we are going to the airport, right?”

“Yes. That’s where you want to go, yes?”

“I do, but is this the way to get there? I’m pretty sure we just went in one big circle”

“I’m just following my GPS” He waves the phone in his hand emphatically for effect.

“Are you sure you didn’t miss a turn or something? Because we’ve driven by this building twice now”

“Do you know how to get there? You have directions?”

He did have me there. I can be rather directionally challenged. And I do live in a place where we have big mountains by which all navigation occurs. Take me away from those and north, south, east and west take  way more brain power to decipher.

“Well, no. I’m not from here. But I’m pretty sure we have to cross the river at some point. And not keep driving by the same building”

“I just follow my GPS! Maybe it re-routing because of traffic”

Now I have spent a lot of time in NYC lately. I know traffic. We were not in traffic.

I decide to play along. But now I am watching his GPS.

We approach the river again. The GPS is very clearly telling us to go left to cross the bridge.

We go right.

And start the circle again.

“Ok. I’m pretty sure we were supposed to go left there, and that’s what the GPS said. I think maybe I should navigate now.” I pull out my phone and start to pull up my maps.

“Ok, fine. You want to do it. Fine”

“While I’m getting this pulled up, why don’t you turn here, and head across the bridge.” This much I can figure out without my map.

So we finally make it across the bridge. Where his GPS and a HUGE sign say to keep right for the airport. Which way do we go?

You got it. Left!

And end up in the line of cars heading into Arlington Cemetery.

I realize I didn’t get a lot of sleep and may have been looking a little rough, but I really thought with a little makeup and some body work that morning, I was still passing for a live person. Not someone who needed to be taken to the cemetery.

And not only that, but my driver is literally just sitting in the line to proceed into the cemetery.

Now I am flabbergasted and more than a little irritated.

“What are we doing?? This is definitely not going to take us to the airport! This is a cemetery”

“I don’t know! I just go where it says! I..”

“Ok, well first, you need to go out that exit right there and get us back on the highway”

At least he seemed to listen to me better than the GPS.

We make it back to the highway.

“Now we just need to follow the signs. They are everywhere!”

Not that I trusted that for a minute. I still told him every turn to take.

“Can I just make one suggestion? If you are wanting to drive an Uber, I would suggest you at least learn the way to the airport.”

“I know the way to the airport!”

Of course he did. My mistake. Cemetery, airport. Easily confused.

Believe it or not, we finally made it to the airport, and I didn’t miss my flight.

If only the story ended there.

I am never anxious to leave feedback for my Uber drivers, and most times never do until the next time I request a car.

Not this time.

As soon as I dropped off my bag, I was on my phone to leave feedback on this ride.

Except my lovely driver hadn’t ended my trip and was still driving around on my dime. Probably trying to find his way out of the airport.

I text him and said “Ummm.. You need to end my trip”

I keep checking. For the next 15 min. Until he finally ended the trip.

And charged me about $10 more than it should have been.

I gave him a very good rating. And left a very long feedback message. My hope is he will not be long for the Uber world.

But despite all this, I am still an Uber lover.

 

 

Expert Packing tips for any trip

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I know some of you have been thinking “Gee, we haven’t heard from her for awhile. I hope she hasn’t run out of stories!” Fear not. There were still stories from this week.

Unfortunately, the big story from my last week of travel involved a poor gentleman who experienced a medical emergency and collapsed at the gate while we were waiting to board. And while I can find the humor in almost any situation, there is never anything funny about someone experiencing a medical emergency anywhere, but especially not in public.

The good news is, by the time the paramedics arrived, the gentleman seemed to be doing much better. Prayers everything turned out okay for he and his wife.

And now I am preparing for my next event filled week on the road. Two weeks actually.

Everyone assumes I must be the world’s best packer by now, after over 3 years of packing nearly every week.

I really wish everyone was right. I know by now it should be routine and something I can do in 20 min or less.

It isn’t.

I hate packing. Still. With a passion. For lots of reasons.

One of those reasons being that I can think of SO many things I would rather be doing with the few precious days I have at home than packing again for the next time on the road.

Like spending time with my fabulous friends and going to watch Dueling Pianos. Such a fun night listening to great performers playing all the fun and classic songs of the ages. I was actually a little hoarse from all the singing last night. For those of you thinking, “wow, the girl can sing too!” Don’t worry. I absolutely can not sing. Not even a little bit. That fact did absolutely nothing to prevent me from belting out tunes at the top of my lungs.

I’d even rather spend some of my weekend  cleaning out my refrigerator when I realize it has eaten all my food storage dishes, then packing. Just FYI, I found several dishes in there I didn’t recognize. While it may be true they’ve been in there so long I forgot I ever had them, if you by chance brought any food to my house at any time in the last few months, I may have your dish.

Hey, this is a judgment-free zone, right? And if it isn’t, I’m sure you’ve already judged me on something worse than the condition of my fridge by now.

 

Another reason may be because I may have a few too many clothes. I may have a bit of an online shopping problem. I am on first name terms with my UPS man, he spends so much time at my house. We have coffee on the porch weekly.

I know the first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. I’ll admit it. But I have no interest in solving this particular problem.

So I spend the beginning of every packing episode staring dumbly into my closet trying to figure out where to even start.

I know they have these great apps that will help you organize your closet and even put outfits together for you. It’ll even let you take pics of rocking outfits you managed to put together on your own, so you remember them for the future. I even have a couple of these apps on my phone. But it takes a lot of time and effort to be that organized. Organization has never really been my strong suit.

I do much better with the spontaneity and chaos of living in the moment.

Which may be why I always end up with stories.

So I stand and stare into my closet until something inspires me to pull it out. Then I pull out half my closet, throw it across my bed, and begin the process of trying to figure out what goes with what and what I might feel like wearing for the next 4-5 days.

By the time my suitcase is holding enough clothes for my next trip, my room looks like a typhoon has hit and I have lost hours of my life I will never get back.

And somehow I still never have exactly what I need or feel like wearing when I want it.

I really, really wish everyone was right. I wish this post was full of  lots of amazing tips I could offer everyone on how to be a great packer. Maybe someday I will be bitten by the efficient packer bug.

Instead,  I now have at least an hour of cleaning up from the typhoon of packing for 2 weeks calling my name.

Happy weekend!

 

 

 

 

The Rush for A17

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I love the heart pounding, adrenaline rush of leaving things to the last possible second. Of making a save right before the buzzer. Of rushing to your gate with literally less than a minute to boarding.

I am no novice to this travel gig. I have been doing this for a year or two. I have it down to a science exactly what time I need to leave my house and make it to my gate with 15 min or so to spare. Sometimes, if all the stars align, I even have a 30-minute buffer. I don’t like to give myself too much extra time. I already spend enough time in airports as it is.

Yesterday, all the stars most definitely did not align.

It all started with traffic, as does every good story.

For no reason that was readily apparent to my limited view of Colorado life, there was a sudden influx of cars that decided to travel between my house and the airport. It wasn’t a holiday. There was no big event going on in between, that I am aware of. No celebrity was standing on the side of the road signing autographs. So I’m not sure what led to this influx of vehicles. I even go the “back way” to try to avoid these vehicles. But evidently, yesterday so did everyone else.

The downside to the back way? It is very difficult to get around those folks who have not figured out what the long, skinny pedal does.

So I found myself stuck behind a long line of such folks.

Eventually, I made it to my off site parking spot, where they know me by name. Who needs a bar stool?

The shuttle stars were out of wack too, and there was an unusual wait for the shuttle to transport us to the airport. Of course.

This gave me a chance to spend some time with a precocious little 6-year-old. She informed me that she has already visited 26 states. And that she had just returned from one trip. But not on a plane. And was now traveling to San Diego. This time on a plane. And that, having  2 brothers, she was the only princess in her family. Naturally. Trust me.  I took notes. Being such an experienced traveler, she had a lot I could learn to become a better traveler myself. But I was more interested in the tips on being a princess.

I did not, however, take tips from her parents on packing lite. I thought I was a hefty packer. At 9 bags (not counting car seats and strollers) they had me beat by a long shot.

The stars that were the most out of line yesterday?  The beloved TSA Security.

I pay for TSA Pre-Check. Partly because I enjoy feeling like I’m in a VIP club. But mostly because I enjoy the shorter lines and the expedited experience. It’s not even about not having to remove my shoes. I regularly wear heels, so I still have to remove them. The x-ray machines are evidently biased against the steel rods in women’s heels.

But I digress.

I did not enjoy a shorter line or an expedited experience yesterday. I suspected there might be trouble when the end of the Pre-Check line was around the corner from the entrance. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw people in the regular security line getting through security faster than those of us in the expedited Pre-Check club. Yes, those regular people who have to remove their shoes, laptops and liquids were speeding through faster than us VIPs. Something was very wrong with this picture.

20 minutes later, and with slightly more than 5 minutes until boarding, I was standing in line waiting for the train to the terminals.

And waiting. And waiting. Was anything running on schedule today?

Not the train.

4 min and counting. And 3 terminal stops to go.

I finally exit the train exactly at boarding time and get stuck in the slow flow of folks funneling up the escalator.

For those of you wondering why boarding time is such a central part of my story, as opposed to the time they close the boarding doors, I have one word for you.

Southwest.

I love Southwest airlines. I fly them all the time. I am part of their VIP club.

But to fly Southwest airlines makes boarding position very important. If I was late by even a minute I could lose my coveted A17 spot.

Thankfully, I did not lose my spot. Or my front of the plane aisle seat. I walked up to the gate as the last pre-board passenger was being wheeled onto the plane.

I did have to forgo my liter bottle of water and any lunch though. At least it was only a 2 hour flight so it was very unlikely I would die from starvation or dehydration.

The one thing that happened to run on time yesterday, oddly enough, was the flight.

Where’s a good delay when you actually need one??

 

Oh, the people you will meet…

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I will admit. I did hope by taking a week off from travel I might get lucky and reset my travel karma. But it was not to be. I am sitting here waiting for my flight that has been delayed an hour.

I did miss the chance to be a part of the eventful week for travel stories though.

Like having the chance to travel with the couple who decided to wage a shirtless protest over being told to check their bags. Evidently Baby Bags, decided to regurgitate it’s lunch all over Mamma Bags’ shirt shortly after take off. Mamma Bags then decided the shirt was “unwearable”.

Now, I’ll admit that I haven’t had the pleasure of being regurgtated on by a Baby while at 30,000 feet. But I have dumped an entire Venti dark roast down the front of my white shirt shortly before boarding, and still managed to wear it for the remainder of the trip. So I suspect there may be some grey area around this “unwearable” determination.

Nonetheless, Mamma Bags removes her shirt, and Daddy Bags gives her his to wear. Very gallant. Until he proceeds to argue with the flight crew when they tell him he cannot remain shirtless for the remainder of the flight. Not so gallant.

I guess the airline needs to add the “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service” pic to their boarding passes.

Or how about traveling with this lady? She decided to do a headstand. In her seat. On a plane. Perfectly normal in-flight activity. I would probably do the same if I could do a headstand.

Possibly she had been delayed so much she finally reached her breaking point. I get it.

Or maybe she should travel on the airline, who I won’t name here, but who has the initials “AA”. Evidently they are making “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” mandatory listening for all their passengers. I think they may be  requiring an endless loop download prior to boarding.

Although, they may be on to something. If everyone is tuned into a little “Woo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh” then who will notice a shirtless dude or a lady doing headstands?

While I did miss possible interactions with all these colorful travelers, I did have the opportunity to survive the Labor Day Basement Flood.

Our Plumbing Angel left shortly before 7pm last night, after a whole day of no water or indoor plumbing. And after an early morning trip to Home Depot for Sandless Sandbags to barricade the lower level bathroom. Just in case, when they popped the toilet to rotor rooter, the totally clean and sanitary toilet backflow decided to attempt to make a trip across the basement.

Luckily, this barricade was unnecessary, as everything that went down, stayed down. No shirts were deemed unwearable, and after several long hours of fighting with Roots gone Wild (that evidently decided my pipes were precisely where they wanted to be), all passage ways were clear and flowing again.

And I was able to shower prior to my 4 hour flight East. Which I am sure the 180 close friends I will be traveling with are thankful for as well.

 

 

 

Revenge of the Plumbing

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So I knew my “boring life” wouldn’t last. I did not travel this last week, but that does not mean adventures can not occur at home!

Evidently, the toilets and plumbing world did not appreciate my post about them eating my blow dryer.

Or perhaps that was my training for handling electric appliances while standing in water.

Either way, I have been spending a lot of time standing in water today.

No, I did not decide to spend the last official weekend of summer at the beach. I had contemplated this and am now thinking I should have gone with that whim.

But  I did not.

Instead,  I decided to welcome the beach into my basement- quite uninvited.

This morning I went down to my basement, which happens to house my laundry. There I discovered a small puddle in front of my washer. No big deal. Maybe the dog spilled her water dish. I cleaned it up with a couple of towels and moved on with my day.

An hour or so later, my son went downstairs to his room and yelled up the stairs, “MOM!! There’s water on the floor down here!!”

Again, another small puddle in front of the washer. Strange, as we had not been running the washer. So where is this water coming from?? Hmmm….

An hour later, and there is a handyman in my basement, checking out this water.

We run the washer. No increase in the water on the floor. We shine flashlights in cracks and crevices. No apparent leaks or running water. We do a little deductive reasoning. Possibly, the issue could be the water line to the hose sprocket on the outside of that wall?

Ah-hah! That must be it. We rarely use that faucet. But we have a couple times in the past couple days. Once, when my lovely dog decided to play with the cute little black and white kitty around midnight. And needed a very serious bath before re-entry to the house. (But that is a story for another time) And once to clean out a cooler that should have been cleaned out several  months ago.

This must be the problem. We agree that this hose will not be used for the remainder of the weekend, and this issue can be contained through the holiday. This sounds like a good plan in order to avoid the incredibly reasonable prices of plumbers called on a holiday weekend.

Whew! Bullet dodged.

For about an hour or so.

When I go back downstairs and discover, not only is the puddle back, but it has now expanded quite a distance across the floor. This is no bueno, and I am quickly running out of towels.

My incredibly lucky sister and brother-in-law, who chose this perfect day to visit, now get sucked into the fun of the Labor Day Basement Flood. I am sure my brother-in-law was not anticipating a trip to Lowes to buy me a shop vac to replace my now dripping towels.

But there he was none the less.

So, I found myself again standing in water holding an electric appliance.

At least this time I am wearing my cute rain boots.

We have sucked up about 7 vac fills so far.

And my water is now off.

Until those extremely reasonably priced holiday weekend plumbers make an appearance tomorrow.

I have a sneaking suspicion that getting zapped holding an electric appliance while standing in water would be less painful.

 

 

The Night of the Disappearing Door

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Oddly, it’s been a week with no real stories. I know. I’m as shocked as you. I’m not sure what to do with my suddenly normal life, but I guess I should enjoy it for a moment or two.

I actually have two uneventful trips under my belt in the past week. I went to dinner with an incredibly smart friend, here in NYC last week, who looked at me cross eyed when I was lamenting about my travel woes, and said “Uh, I have one word for you. Newark” To which I returned her cross eyed stare and said “I’ve heard Newark is a nightmare. And plus, it’s like crazy far.” Neither of which is true, evidently.

So, I called and changed my flight home last week to leave out of Newark. And the flight left on time. And we landed early! Yes. Early! 

I was waiting for meteorites to fall out of the sky and strike my car on the drive home.

Nothing.

I was home, unpacked and had dinner at my own house, all before it was dark. I was completely off kilter all weekend.

And then, to top that, I had another completely on-time, uneventful trip back into Newark this week.

Eerie, right??

Almost as eerie as my night in the haunted hotel room.

I was spending a night in Boston and had been given a suite. It was a great room, and I was disappointed that I was only going to be there for one night.

It had a large,  comfortable living room with a small hallway down to the large bedroom. The bathroom was right off the hallway, just outside the bedroom door.

I spent as much time enjoying it as I could, in the short time I had, but finally I decided I needed to go to bed. As I went into my room, I closed the door, climbed into bed and was soon sound asleep.

Now, I spend a lot of time in hotel rooms, and different ones every few days, so I am used to beds, lights, doors and bathrooms being in different places, and never have an issue remembering where things are.

Or, almost never.

Sometime, in the dark of the night, Mother Nature nudged me gently in the ribs, and suggested a visit to the bathroom.

As I’ve shared in previous posts, I value my sleep and will do pretty much anything to avoid disruption to my sleep (even sleep through fires). So when Mother Nature asks to visit in the middle of the night, I do not see the need to turn on lights. Or even open my eyes any more than absolutely necessary. The idea, of course, is the less I travel out of sleep, the less I have to travel back to sleep.

Somehow, I remembered, in my semi-conscious state, that my room had a door that I needed to navigate to get to the bathroom. So I climbed out of bed, and stumbled towards where I knew the door to be, with my arms outstretched to prevent me finding it with my face. My hands found the door, and I started moving my hands around to find the doorknob that was there when I turned out the light.

Except, they didn’t find one.

No big deal. I know my depth perception may be off with my eyes barely open in a squint. So I merely expanded my search on the wall.

Further and further.

Still no doorknob.

Suddenly, I am fully awake and slightly panicked, as every Twilight Zone and horror movie I have ever seen came rushing into my brain in a jumble of plots against me! I’ve been teleported into an alien ship and I am in their holding room with no escape! Or worse, I have checked into a haunted hotel, and the ghosts have made the door disappear! I am their prisoner as they drive me mad with their psychological torture.

All of these scenarios are, of course, perfectly logical when it’s o’dark thirty and you are barely awake.

Finally, after many long seconds of panic, and me desperately clawing every square inch of wall, the doorknob reappeared, right under my fingertips. The ghosts had had their fun, and realized, if they could make me panic that quickly by just moving the door, I may not be the best candidate for psychological torture.

Or, maybe my panic had awoken my brain to the point my eyes actually had to open and I could find the door.

Either way, I made it to the bathroom with no further incident, and survived the rest of the night in my haunted room.

I still limit my intake of fluids after dinner, just in case the aliens decide to return.

 

Consistency is key

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Someday, before my time in NYC comes to an end, I would like to take the entire Laguardia airport air traffic control team out for drinks.

Seriously.

If anyone reading this is part of this air traffic control team, or knows how I can get in touch with them, please contact me immediately.

They have proven to be one of the most consistent group of people I have had the pleasure to encounter. Not once, in the now 18 weeks I have been traveling back and forth to NYC, have I had an entire trip go completely as scheduled. Not one. And every single one of these has been due to the air traffic control in NYC.

Bravo team! Well done! Consistency really is something to be proud of in this day and age!

Not that I am in a great hurry to get back to the wonderful heat and humidity that has decided to make, well everywhere but Colorado, apparently, it’s home for this summer.

I love the heat. I do. I would choose to live somewhere hot over somewhere with snow and cold any day. I may not love the humidity quite as much.

As a girl, of course I do not sweat. I glisten. Or, on a really warm day, I may even perspire a little. But sweat? Never.

Last Thursday, with a “real feel” temp of 105 degrees and 75% humidity, and a 12 block walk to my meeting,  I was glistening like an angel dropped straight from heaven.

An angel that was dropped straight into the ocean and was still dripping wet.

(Yes, I realize, now, that a 12 block walk in those conditions may not have been the wisest of choices)

I realized, about 3 blocks into that walk, that the beautiful jade green, silk t-shirt that looked so great when I put it on that morning, may not have the wicking capabilities required in 75% humidity.

And that the time I took doing my hair and make up that morning, would really have been better spent sleeping, since looking like I just climbed out of a pool is only a slight improvement on looking like I just climbed out of bed.

Luckily this was not a first impressions kind of meeting.

Needless to say, I quite enjoyed my weekend in Colorado, with a “real feel” temp of 85 and 25% humidity.

I am a quick learner, however. I do not plan on making a 12 block walk tomorrow with a predicted “real feel” of 104 and 76% humidity.

That is, if my friends at Laguardia air traffic control ever decide to let us arrive in NYC in the first place.

Just think how good those cold beers will taste when we all meet for drinks.

 

Travel! they said. It’ll be fun! they said…

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Ahhh. The glorious life of travel! The glitz! The glam! Oh, the places you see when you are someplace new every week! The joy of having wonderful food prepared to order in a new place every night. The luxury of being a slob and having your room restored to magazine quality while you are out for the day! It’s a fabulous life!

So fabulous, in fact, that they have to throw in some minor annoyances, just to keep us glitzy folks grounded. Pun totally intended.

Now, we know everyone loves an airport. The comfy seats. The abundance of power outlets to charge our endless devices. The endless selection of reasonably priced food and beverage. All at your very fingertips. What’s not to love??

That is why I am so glad I have had the opportunity to spend so much time in them over the past few weeks.

Like when my flight from NYC home was cancelled for no apparent reason. On 4th of July weekend. When there are plenty of empty seats on all the other planes.

Or when my flight back to NYC was cancelled due to weather. And the lack of pilots. No worries. It was only the last flight out that night. I’ll grab my bags and try again tomorrow. Except, apparently, when flights in Denver are cancelled, the bags from that flight are sent on a slow boat from China to baggage claim. What would be a 15-20 min trip  to the baggage carousel, were our plane to have landed at gate C35, evidently becomes an over 3 hour trip if our plane never leaves gate C35. More time to enjoy the reasonably priced food and drink.

And we can get massive tubes of steel off the ground and hurtle them through the air at 30,000 feet with all of our amazing technology. But the technology that coordinates all that on the ground is evidently not so trustworthy. A “computer glitch” or power outage can cause worldwide travel chaos. That is extremely comforting when one is about to board that massive tube of steel to hurtle through the air.

Luckily for my parents, they were traveling with me today, so they got to experience my wonderful travel luck and the joys of airport living. For several hours. At multiple airports. Lots of time to lounge in the comfy seats.

They were extremely lucky though. Their flight was only delayed. Mine was actually cancelled. I actually had to rebook my flight on another airline, whose computer system evidently meets 21st century requirements, and finally made it to my hotel room before bedtime.

They only had to deal with a delay. At least 4 times per leg. For a total of 6 hours and counting. And are still sitting in Atlanta waiting for their delayed (again) connection flight to take off. They will still be home sometime early tomorrow morning. Just think of how well charged their electronic devices will be??

What would those of us who spend our lives at 30,000 feet do, if it weren’t for these minor annoyances to keep our heads out of the clouds and our feet firmly on the ground? Our glitz and glam would be blinding to the rest of the world.

So, thank you, airline industry, for keeping it real.

 

 

Campfire Dreams

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I had been in SC for several months and had just settled in for my last night there for awhile. Soon after snapping off the light, I was snuggled safe in my bed with dreams of sugarplums dancing in my head.

Or possibly deep in a dreamless sleep. Either way, I was sound asleep.

When somewhere in the depths of that slumber, what to my slumbering ears do I hear?

The obnoxioiusly loud blaring of the fire alarm in my room. Accompanied by the seizure inducing strobe light attached to this alarm.

Now, I was sound, SOUND asleep. So it took a minute or so for these assaults on my senses to register in my brain. And for me to realize this was really a fire alarm.

As soon as I did realize what it was, I did what any normal person would do.

I rolled over, pulled the pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep.

It was 2AM. I was not about to get up. I was pretty sure the firmen would get there eventually and get the flames under control. No sense in losing out on valuable sleep.

After about 5 min of trying to block out the ruckus and drift back to sleep, I realized that probably wasn’t going to happen. Have you ever heard one of those industrial fire alarms?? Those things are LOUD! My pillow was not nearly as effective as earmuffs as I’d hoped.

So I roll out of bed and decide to find out how long I might expect to be losing out on sleep. I will admit, I did not follow proper fire safety protocol and check the door for heat before throwing it open. But who are we kidding. I was just trying to sleep through a fire.

I do feel badly for all the other hotel guests in the immediate vicinity of my room, and who apparently did not feel sleep was more important than their lives. They were already startled out of sleep, and now stood in the hall worried about burning to a crisp.

And then they are treated to the sight of me. Barging out of my room. At 2AM. After being woken out of a sound sleep.

Let me tell you that would not have been a pretty sight.

Since these life loving guests had been up longer than I had, they had already found out that this was all the result of some charming, hilarious individual, who thought pulling the fire alarm, at 2AM would be funny.

See? I knew there wasn’t really a fire.

We still had to wait several more minutes for the fire department to arrive and turn off the alarms before we could all return to our sugarplums and dreamlands. But at least no lives were lost in the making of that wonderful practical joke.

Yet.

I am still on the hunt for that charming individual.

And I didn’t even get to meet any fireman.

 

 

Why Mama always said to be sure and wear clean undies

My 30,000 foot viewLeave a comment

Well, my time in Charleston is coming to an end, and without any blog worthy stories. We had a wonderful trip, and I considered for a moment, asking my parents to travel with me on a regular basis, (they are retired, you know), as they seemed to keep things “normal”. But then I realized, without crazy stories, this blog would have to die before it gets started, so I’ll continue to fly solo for now.

But, in honor of Charleston, I decided to drag a couple oldies but goodies out of storage from my previous time in South Carolina, to share with you. There were two that were both so good, I couldn’t choose, so you get a “two-fer”.

A couple years ago, I was traveling to SC on a regular basis. On one of these trips I had the pleasure of flying out of the Greenville airport. This airport is one of those airports that you can show up for your flight 30 min before it leaves and still be ok.

And one of those airports that does not have TSA pre-check.

So I find myself in the regular security line. With all those people who do not travel often. Directly in front of me are two such people, in the form of the Two Lovely Ladies.

These Two Lovely Ladies are possibly nervous about flying, and have quite obviously been spending quite a few hours at the one and only airport bar. And have been knocking back quite a few adult libations.

In fact, I would have hazarded a guess that their actual flight may have left several days before, and they forgot to get on it and just continued to drink. Needless to say, here they were now. Well hydrated. In the security line. In front of me.

Both of these Lovely Ladies, in addition to the strong alcoholic cloud,  were toting very large bags through said security line.

Now, despite all of these factors, I really was not paying much attention to The Lovely Ladies. Until they decided to start unpacking their bags.

In the middle of the security line.

Anyone who travels on a regular basis, or for that matter, has even taken a flight even once in your life, knows this is not how things are done.

All the business travelers lucky enough to be in this security line, at this moment, are all exchanging glances and secretly fuming that this is going to ruin their personal best time of 1 min and 37 seconds to clear security.

Suddenly, Lovely Lady #1 swings around to me, gives me a quick once over and says,

“You look like you travel quite a bit”

Me: “Ummm…. Yes. A bit”

Lovely Lady #1 shoves a gallon sized bottle of perfume under my nose and says,

“Do you think they’ll let this through?”

Me: “Ummm… I’m pretty sure it needs to be 3 ounces or less”

Now Lovely Lady #2 spins around to me, holding her own gallon jar of perfume.

“Mine’s only half full. Do you think that will be ok?”

Now, I’m quickly doing math in my head, and I’m pretty sure half a gallon is still over 3 ounces, so I say,

“Ummm…. No. I still think that’s too big”

This causes the Two Lovely Ladies to hold a quick sidebar, which I, unfortunately, cannot hear. But they must decide to chance it, because suddenly everything is off the floor, back in the large bags, and we are continuing to move forward.

I assume all is well, and the worst is over.

Until we get within one person of the belt.

And the body scanner.

Suddenly, Lovely Lady #1 whirls back to face me, points at the body scanner, and says,

“Do we all have to go through that?”

Me: “Ummm… Yes”

Let me pause for a moment here to state that both our Lovely Ladies are clad in nearly identical, somewhat skimpy, sundresses and flip flops.

Lovely Lady #1 throws a rather apprehensive glance at the scanner, then turns back to me and says in a very loud stage whisper,

“But I’m not wearing any underwear!”

I blinked at her for a second or two, then I just couldn’t resist.

Me: ” I don’t think it matters. It has X-ray vision”

Somehow both our Lovely Ladies made it through security.

Their perfume bottles were not so lucky.

 

Stay tuned tomorrow for the second of the Souh Carolina memoirs.