OK, this is the last installment of my recent Las Vegas trip. After this installment, I hope to have some news about the car. But if you are jonesing for car stuff, go back a few blogs and read that for your fix.Or wait a few more days and see what happens.
Part 4
I am finally on the plane back, at least my first plane, and wonder of wonders, my seat is a window seat. I tossed my laptop bag into the overhead bin, and scurried into the window seat, strapped myself in, and started napping. Mr. Big climbed into the center seat, the only good thing I could think at that point, is that if we crash, he will either serve as a great big cushion, or crush me to death. OK, I lied about it being a good thing. It was a good and bad thought.
I don't even remember the plane taking off. And the next thing I do recall is hearing the stewardess, say we are landing in Chicago.. Almost home...
Chicago, you gotta love Chicago. The gate where I arrived and the gate where I depart are continents apart. I have three hours until my connecting flight leaves. Time for another note to my travel planner. “You are stupid.” So I trek on towards my destination gate. Between the miles of moving sidewalks, and escalators, I arrive at my gate with minutes to spare, and settle in to wait. But wait, they just announced a gate change for my flight.
Now, down the hallway to the left, and down the escalator. OK, again, I am settled in waiting for my plane back to Akron Canton. Resting comfortably, anxious to get home.
Whooops, another gate change. Thank you United Airlines! I needed the exercise. Well maybe I really do, but this is ridiculous! Back up the escalator and down the hall, to the gate right next to my original departure gate. Again, I settle in to await the flight home.
But back to thoughts about Chicago.
Down to earth, straight to the point. I don't care who you are, you gotta love Chicago as a Midwest, no nonsense, blue collar city.
Most airports have gentile civilized signs for bathroom facilities. “Men's Restroom”, and “Ladies Restroom” signs abound in airports outside of Chicago. But not so, in Chicago. They tell it like it is in Chicago. No “bath” here. And apparently you cant “rest” here either. In O'Hare Airport, the signs read simply “Toilets”. And who could argue with that?
And I see that Rham Emmanuel is going to be mayor of Chicago. So much, for his not being a resident of Chicago. But I guess you can get elected to any office in this country without being a resident, Wink, win for you birthers out there.... you know what I mean. But I guess you can do anything you want if you are well connected like Rham and his buddies.
Back in the 70's, I lived in Chicago. And I liked Chicago. One fond memory is that of going to the Maxwell street flea market with my wife and son Christoper. He was a year old, and we bought an already old red wagon at the flea market, to drag him around. Now rusted and hardly recognizable, that wagon is still in his mother's garage, and Chris talked about it on numerous occasions that he actually remembered being pulled around in it. Yes, I still miss him. And can't imagine a time when I will not. But times like this when I am tired, make it hard to hold back the tears completely. So if my typing gets a little sloppy, please just bear with me.
Finally the plane boards. This time, once again, I actually get the seat that I had selected. So I settled in the window seat. This was a smaller plane, and only had one seat on the one side and two seats on the other. Nice to fly on a comfortable plane that isn't huge with rows and rows of seats, making it seem like a gymnasium with wings. Why the window seat? For flights like these, especially when traveling alone, the window seat lets you lean against the plane, and comfortably catch a nap. And since I had only gotten about 5 hours per sleep per night for the last 6 days, I needed the nap.
An uneventful flight. I slept the hour and a half on the flight from Chicago to the Akron Canton Airport. The plane landed smoothly and and as usually happens folks start jumping up from their seats and filling the aisles. Some eager travelers even “stand” all hunched over under the overhead baggage compartments. I am not sure how much of a hurry they must be in. But surely it is a life and death rush they are putting on.
I sit comfortably, and wait until the aisle is clear.Once everyone else is off the plane, I reach up and grab my laptop bag from the overhead, leave the plane, and climb down the airplanes steps and move into the terminal building. My phone is dead. Apparently I forgot to charge it, and though it has a long life, it is not eternal. So as I wait for the luggage to hit the carousel, I move to a comfortable seat near an electrical outlet, plug is my phone and rest. Funny how anxious people are to get going somewhere. After hurrying to stand uncomfortable and hurry off the plane, they now stand and wait to get their luggage. They are jammed in, several layers deep, all around the carousel anxiously awaiting the time it will finally belch loudly with an alarm horn, and begin to move the metal segments of the track, and from the cavern holes in the wall, open and return their precious luggage, in some condition or another.
Finally the luggage comes, and like roaches scattering when a light turns on, they now all scurry off to their destinations. When there are only a few bags left, my phone is adequately charged, So I walk over to the abandoned baggage carousel I pass up the first bag. It is not mine. The second and third bags are mine.
No crowd to fight now. No reason to hurry. The plane left Las Vegas at around 11:30 PM, and arrived at Akron Canton airport near noon, Akron time. Why hurry now? Note to my travel planner: What a dunce, you are!!!
I take my bags, and now go to the parking shuttle. With help from the driver, my bags are loaded on th eshuttleand we head off tot he parking lot. I now look for the slip with the number of my parking spot. I know which lot I am parked in, but have no idea what slot or parking spot. Having been there twice in two days, when leaving. Once parking, and turning around and going home, I am fairly certain that I know where I parked, within a few rows anyway..
The shuttle driver is very patient, and drives to where I thought I had parked. No joy there. The car isn't there. So we drive row by row looking. Still no car. Being more than a little tired, my mind plays silly tricks. Could my car be stolen? I look around to see Lexus SUVs and Mercedes SUVs, and decide that my 2004 Pacifica probably would not be the target of car thieves, after all. So, next row maybe. All around the areas I thought were likely to hold my car. So around we go, row after row. Still no car. After covering all of the rows that I thought seemed likely, we didn't find my car. But we still had a few rows we didn't check yet, and I was sure my car wasn't there, but at this point, why not look. So we traveled there too. 10 minutes seems like a long time, when you feel really, really stupid. And I felt pretty stupid for not remembering where I had parked.
Last row.... near the end. Oh yes, now I remember. I see the car and remember that is where I parked. (and even if I did not remember it, the car is there, so that is that!)
Lots of snow packed around my car. My luggage is set down into the snow as I open the rear hatch. I tip the shuttle driver with a generous tip, partly in appreciation, and party out of embarrassment. She leaves, and I toss the bags in the back, jump into the drivers seat, and head home.
And I arrive, and I push through the snow piled in my driveway, into my garage. Home, Home at last!
End of Vegas Trip.
David
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