That's our job, but we're not mean
Nov. 2nd, 2004 08:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyranoOkay, back from the Florida weekend and home for a few days before OryCon.
Early morning Saturday 30 October
Parked in Terminal B at Chicago O’Hare, where they apparently have no wireless access. (All I can find with the airport is something called BACKBONE which gives me errors when I try to talk to it. Antisocial bitch.)
Last night, a few short hours ago, we caught one last dinner with moses before she departs on her own journey. A quiet dinner on the patio at the Duke’s with the housemate, where we did a surprising amount of Star Wars geeking and she experienced her first Wellington. There was, alas, no Beth; her vacation had prevented her from attending the farewell. But there was moses and Mischa and Icis and socializing. And, ironically, on our way out the door there was an Amidala (in one of her Princess Leia costumes) in the main room of the pub.
Once again let me say how much more I like the San Jose airport than the San Francisco (and probably Oakland). Less hassle getting in and out, easier getting through security, smaller, less adverse weather, and not a hub. And once again let me say how much I love sitting in first class. I really need to be disgustingly filthy rich or employed by a company with profligate spending habits and a desire to fly me around the world for trifling reasons. There was a drink waiting for me as soon as I took my seat, as well as a blanket and pillow (which I gave to one of the unfortunates in coach class, as they’d run out. There was room on either side of me, there was room in front of me, even when the girl next row up dropped her seat back. There was room in the overhead bin. There was another drink and a cheese tray with an assortment of fresh fruit and crackers. The Clearing, a film Tersa had been keen to see, was on, but I was not willing to sacrifice my entire night in order to see it. Once the food had been consumed and I’d gotten some reading done* I took advantage of the cushy seats to throw back my seat (something I’ve never done on an airplane before) and caught a couple of hours’ sleep.
She smiled upon us, as the threatening thunderstorms apparently hit Chicago at around three am and had passed on an hour before we touched down. This was one of those things that, at O’Hare, has the potential to seriously fuck up your day, so I was quite pleased. I did not have to cross the entire airport to get to my next gate, but I did have to go under a runway, and there are apparently no wall outlets in this terminal. I prowled diligently along the walls, waiting for an astute and observant passenger to report me to security for displaying an unhealthy interest in the architecture of the airport, and finally find myself with at least ninety minutes to spare curled up behind one of the boarding gates, my power cord surreptitiously snaking around to an outlet in the stand-up unit, listening to a CD I thought I’d lost but then discovered in the CD drive. At least until a gate agent comes along and gives me the hairy eyeball.
Next stop: Tampa International!
*I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it here or not, but I’m very pleased with the first part of the newest Harry Potter book. Usually, this is the most painful part of the books for me, as we are shown in hyperbolic detail that Harry is a Special Child by the manner in which the stupid boorish Dursleys, with their kitten-eating misplaced priorities abuse him with wild abandon. Much in the same manner we know that Cinderella is a Special Child because otherwise why would her step-family abuse her so, except to assuage their insecurity over their own lack of Specialness? In this book, the situation appears populated with characters who have depth, and one might occasionally have sparks of sympathy for them because they have understandable motives.
Early morning Saturday 30 October
Parked in Terminal B at Chicago O’Hare, where they apparently have no wireless access. (All I can find with the airport is something called BACKBONE which gives me errors when I try to talk to it. Antisocial bitch.)
Last night, a few short hours ago, we caught one last dinner with moses before she departs on her own journey. A quiet dinner on the patio at the Duke’s with the housemate, where we did a surprising amount of Star Wars geeking and she experienced her first Wellington. There was, alas, no Beth; her vacation had prevented her from attending the farewell. But there was moses and Mischa and Icis and socializing. And, ironically, on our way out the door there was an Amidala (in one of her Princess Leia costumes) in the main room of the pub.
Once again let me say how much more I like the San Jose airport than the San Francisco (and probably Oakland). Less hassle getting in and out, easier getting through security, smaller, less adverse weather, and not a hub. And once again let me say how much I love sitting in first class. I really need to be disgustingly filthy rich or employed by a company with profligate spending habits and a desire to fly me around the world for trifling reasons. There was a drink waiting for me as soon as I took my seat, as well as a blanket and pillow (which I gave to one of the unfortunates in coach class, as they’d run out. There was room on either side of me, there was room in front of me, even when the girl next row up dropped her seat back. There was room in the overhead bin. There was another drink and a cheese tray with an assortment of fresh fruit and crackers. The Clearing, a film Tersa had been keen to see, was on, but I was not willing to sacrifice my entire night in order to see it. Once the food had been consumed and I’d gotten some reading done* I took advantage of the cushy seats to throw back my seat (something I’ve never done on an airplane before) and caught a couple of hours’ sleep.
She smiled upon us, as the threatening thunderstorms apparently hit Chicago at around three am and had passed on an hour before we touched down. This was one of those things that, at O’Hare, has the potential to seriously fuck up your day, so I was quite pleased. I did not have to cross the entire airport to get to my next gate, but I did have to go under a runway, and there are apparently no wall outlets in this terminal. I prowled diligently along the walls, waiting for an astute and observant passenger to report me to security for displaying an unhealthy interest in the architecture of the airport, and finally find myself with at least ninety minutes to spare curled up behind one of the boarding gates, my power cord surreptitiously snaking around to an outlet in the stand-up unit, listening to a CD I thought I’d lost but then discovered in the CD drive. At least until a gate agent comes along and gives me the hairy eyeball.
Next stop: Tampa International!
*I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it here or not, but I’m very pleased with the first part of the newest Harry Potter book. Usually, this is the most painful part of the books for me, as we are shown in hyperbolic detail that Harry is a Special Child by the manner in which the stupid boorish Dursleys, with their kitten-eating misplaced priorities abuse him with wild abandon. Much in the same manner we know that Cinderella is a Special Child because otherwise why would her step-family abuse her so, except to assuage their insecurity over their own lack of Specialness? In this book, the situation appears populated with characters who have depth, and one might occasionally have sparks of sympathy for them because they have understandable motives.