It has been years since my travel has been broken and chaotic. One of the reasons that I pay the least for flights that I can, ignoring buying seats, places in line, and worst, paying an extra $500 for First Class, is that these investments in comfort are only marginal improvements (as far as I am concerned but you do you) and the planes are still late and miss connections. Direct flights are better, and I would spend more there, not paying $75, as one person described it, “to be able to cross your legs for a few hours.” But I won’t spend too much more for direct as they cancel, and soon you will be rebooked on some four airport odyssey.
Thus, I woke at 2:45 for my 3:15 taxi appointment, known as too-f**king-early, for my flight boarding at 4:45. I wanted extra time in case this flight was late and I had to be rebooked again. I dressed, packed a few items, got out, and checked multiple times to ensure everything was back in its place for travel. I changed into a clean T-shirt and a sweater as the planes are sometimes cold. Since the chemo, Oxaliplatin (not recommended by me as a party drug, “let’s do some chemo and get cold!”), I feel frozen, but this is more unusual; I am not cold, but instead, I just feel it.
There is no f**king coffee. There is no coffee maker in the room. There is no coffee at 3 at the desk, “The restaurant opens at 7.” F**K!!!!!!!! Unprepared with caffeine, I must face the Louis Armstrong Airport. No dose of coffee and certainly nothing liberal here in the red of red state (and oddly highly taxed with sales tax–9.4%, income tax–three percent to four, and property taxes–3/4 percent). Yikes.
Aside: Housing values in New Orleans (NOLA), from Zillo, lost about 7% last year, with some housing costs about 50% of Beaverton (French Quarter can still be millions). According to other sources, rent is about 8.5% lower in NOLA than here, but food costs may be higher (hard to imagine and likely a lack of comparison data, I think). A big real estate rush in 2022 seems to have passed now. A shotgun house in a poor neighborhood just out of the French Quarter and towards the lake near the Marigny section (the up-and-coming alternative to the French Quarter) and slightly worn is about $90,000 and is a tempting buy (arranged into four small bedrooms for that B&B experience). I picked the house as I may have walked by it. However, the fully remodeled firehouse in the French Quarter is only $4.2M (for those well-off would-be ghostbusters). I remember checking last year, and it is still unsold. I suspect the lack of parking is the issue; the entire building is now modern living without a garage.
Returning to the narrative, I found a kiosk, produced my boarding passes, printed my bag tag, applied it, and delivered my bag—all without coffee. Next, I joined a long line of would-be travelers, all waiting for the TSA to wake up and let us in. Shocking, this is not a 7/24 airport. After ten minutes, two agents started the process. Soon, I was beltless, shoeless, and happy that when I raised my arms to be scanned, there was no extra exposure. I passed and recovered all my stuff without issue or loss of pants. I suspect yesterday’s high-calorie meal helped the pants stay on. I gained back four pounds and am now at 232, which is not terrible considering all the food and booze.
Various types of coffee, the dark corporate brew, Starbucks, which tasted like the Pacific Northwest, and also of billionaire ego rocket projects, were available. I walked by a line of folks waiting for another one to open; I continued to walk and found one by my gate open that was friendly and without a line. They poured the cream into my coffee for me (as the cream was not out yet). Smiles and friendly words work here.
With caffeine, I tried to find my gate. The gate numbers are not in order for reasons that are only clear to the airport’s architects, and I found my gate, B11, between B8 and B14. I drank more coffee and thought Douglas Adams was laughing somewhere in infinity. I opened my American Airlines-purchased snacks. I had fruit and cheese for a too-fucking-early breakfast (food places are still cleaning and trying to find their way).
I wrote in yesterday’s blog while waiting for my flight. I looked up, and the board said I was headed to Philadelphia. I blinked, turned away from B8’s board, and saw that B11’s board was still headed to my connection in Dallas. Again, the unique arrangement had no chairs actually pointed at B11, f**k. As Douglas Adams would suggest, the universe has noticed me.
I boarded in the last group, turning down the $33 cost to board earlier when I got my boarding pass. At that time, I was relieved that American Airlines remembered I had already paid for my bag, $35. On the plane, I had the window and was alone in my three seats—thank you, kind agent, for booking me a more comfortable seat.
The Airbus was warm, and the less-than-two-hour flight was tolerable. I was nodding off during the landing when suddenly, the engines roared as the pilot aborted the landing. I was now awake and looking out the window. We did a scary flight around the airport and were told that a plane was too close for us to land on the first try. We landed on the next pass without issue for a still-on-time landing. I did not need any more coffee to be awake.
I arrived in Texas and immediately paid back the water I had received last time with something for Louisiana. I found the train and road it for twenty minutes as the sun started to rise, my second sunrise in Dallas, and found my gate. I tossed my last set of snacks as it faired poorly on the warm plane. I also needed no food as my gumbo blood level was still relatively high. I suspect you could detect New Orleans Cooking School spices in my blood! I had a ginger ale with ice on the first flight and managed not to spill it this time. The bubbles and sugar help me be ready for Texas. Yet-another-full-flight-to-PDX (seldom have I flown a non-full flight into PDX) was my lot, and an aisle seat (again, thank you, kind agent). It was cold on the Airbus, and I was comfortable in my sweater.
And the universe messed with us again. Someone had a medical emergency in the back of the plane, and a doctor volunteered to help. I will not describe that, and I tried to be unaware, as it is not my place to take advantage of someone else’s distress for a good story. I my last EMT training was in the 1980s–best to stay out of the way. We landed in Portland, and the passengers did not jump up and start getting their stuff until told, as we were all unsure if the paramedics were coming. We were told to go, and everyone, slightly subdued, knowing that events were unfolding, got their stuff and left. We all sent good thoughts to the impacted passenger(s).
I walked and walked, then turned around and walked again to baggage claim. The exercise was welcome, but it was a long walk and hard on some. The construction is still ongoing at PDX, but we will soon not have to use the bypass, and we can walk directly out. I took a picture of my shoe, not on the usual unique PDX carpet but on the new wood floor on the way to baggage claim. Maybe this is a new tradition.
My bag was slowly appearing, but soon, I rolled onto the streets and found the red economy lot-headed bus. I mistakenly mentioned that I had avoided the Taylor Swift crowd. For my benefit, I received a white-spaining of how bad Ms. Swift is. “Devil’s music” and “I fear for her soul.” And other less-than-pleasant comments about Swifties and their focus on worldly goods. I smiled politely; there was no reason to argue on the bus to the red economy parking. Yikes, again. The universe was still baiting me.
Air Volvo was still at F1 and ready to fly home. I checked the tires and the sides for damage—all good. I was able to pay $105 (yes, for the economy and often free parking if you spend the night before you’re at PDX for $200+) using my credit card for my ticket (that way, I don’t have to find the paper card).
I enjoy the trip home in Air Volvo. I like flying Air Volvo across Portland and Beaverton. I do witness proof that I am back in Oregon. The merging, lane changes, and simple stupidity of inexplicable braking in full, fast-moving traffic remind me why there are so many car body repair shops in Beaverton! I avoid contact and paint loss and arrive home at the Volvo Cave.
I began unpacking and was happy to see my suit unwrinkled and ready for use (I did not wear it on the trip). I was less thrilled to find a TSA note that they searched my bag. One last twist from the universe. I had lined the bottom of the bag with books, and my pocket watch for my suit was mixed with some wired earphones I carry as a backup set. Yes, I imagine that the image of a timer, wires, and books might have upset someone. F**k. Everything was there, but slightly in a different order than I last saw it.
I finished the blog about Wednesday and published it.
I arranged laundry into piles and loaded The Machine, and soon, my mail arrived. I put my mail on hold and arranged for delivery on the return day. I write a memo to the mail carriers as it seems to work better. I arrived only twelve hours later than planned and soon was reading my mail.
The folks at NW Parking sent me another complaint about my parking ticket, which I had already paid for, and the check had cleared. Frustrated at their attempt to get me to pay twice for the ticket, I printed copies of the check with their deposit marks on the back and sent all of it back to them, making a copy of their letter so I have a record. I will have to pay my lawyer for help if this goes on. F**k.
Dear readers, their Parking NW app failed to charge me when parking for the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival across the street, and I missed that I did not get a confirming email that I had paid for the parking. This is how I got into this mess. I am frustrated.
Corwin and I meet for Corwin to get his T-shirt and a bandana from Preservation Hall and again later for an early dinner (I am pretty messed up by time changes) and pick Nonna’s for Italian food. Corwin was delayed as he was being paid for plasma donation, but a fault in the machine had left him not getting his blood cells back. F**k!
Corwin was unusually quiet, but soon, some food and drinks returned him from his blood deficit (!). We talked about how I cooked gumbo and learned to make jambalaya and other foods at the New Orleans Cooking School. He is making what I would call techno music, and he took some online classes. Now, Corwin was using new tools with better results. We talked about cooking, music, and plans. Corwin will have the house available for the holidays as I plan to be in Michigan during those days and have OK’d parties and so on at the Volvo Cave, with the requirement that everything is laundered and cleaned before my return. And while some of you, dear readers, may be wincing, since the house would be here and he might decide to use it, it is best to set parameters instead of being surprised. The house rule, now revised, is don’t do anything that will piss off Michael (previously Susie) and make him talk to you in his corporate voice (a terrible experience, according to Corwin).
I had spaghetti with two meatballs, which I completed except for a few bites of pasta (slightly overcooked). Corwin had veal piccata (remembering Susie’s love of veal). It was all good. The bread coming with the meal was thin slices of toasted bread now, not huge bits like before. I think it is an improvement.
Air Volvo returned us to the Volvo Cave, and soon Corwin left to rest from his food intake and blood cell reduction. Having started at 2:45 in another time zone, I was fading (zoning out?!). I continued with laundry and set an alarm. I shower and find my PJs (I have two sets after enjoying brain surgery with so many people at the house). I read the NOLA Vampire cookbook and nodded off. Waking to the alarm and the house feeling spooky after reading about vampires and food (when I am tired, I get scared of the dark; it is best for me to sleep through!), I rise and get in the next load. I return to reading. I wake at midnight and stumble and finish the laundry.
I crawl into bed, satisfied that my trip is not over (it is not over until the laundry is washed), and I sleep without issues and a few ignored shadows that could be vampires. I wake at 6 thinking it is still yesterday evening and I have laundry to do, but then remember when it is and that I done with that. I roll over, but soon rise.
And I can end the story of Thursday there. Thanks for reading!
Alohawild (Michael Wild's) Website 