Thursday morning I woke and had breakfast with Gingy and Chris and then Gingy and I went to Acequia books, a great used bookstore in Albuquerque run by Gary, a true bibliophile, and Marilyn Stablien a fantastic writer and artist. (Vermin, The Census Taker, a memoir of her travels in India) I bought books, though I had no room in my luggage and the volumes made dognapping Ben a definite impossibility.
Sarah Paine, Graduate Student, writer, assistant extraordinaire, took me to the airport after I had eaten yet another serving of green chile. (Green Chile enchiladas, green chile stew, green chiles on roated chicken sandwich, green chile quesadilla, yes, all in only two days. Why did I gain 2 pounds while I was gone? I didn't even think that was possible.)
At the airport I found that my flight's departure time had been changed from four pm to seven thirty pm. I now had four and a half hours to hang around. Perhaps because of this the airline put a code on my ticket. SSS. When I gave my boarding pass to the guy at security he announced that my airline had chosen me for special inspection. Yahoo.
I stood at the sign with all the s's and waited and waited. I finally yoo-hoo-ed and the security team at the regular line glared at me, snapped to wait. Finally, two young men escorted me to the special machine that would discern if I were carrying explosives in the lining of my bag or not.
Apparently people with heart conditions often get a false positive and have to go through additional interrogation, a process that seems rather ironically dangerous and not a little heartless. The guy told me people do get a little bent out of shape when chosen for special inspection, but he merely crooks a finger and they quiet down real quick when the cops swoop down. I behaved myself.
I ate a quesadilla here. TEN tv sets. Nine were on the Dallas San Antonio basketball game.
Hours and hours, and hours later we were over LA.
in our very small plane.
I finished the Thursday NYT crossword puzzle and then we landed. Hard. It was like the pilot thought the ground was ten feet farther down than it really was. Louis was waiting for me outside of baggage. Ah, home.
Sarah Paine, Graduate Student, writer, assistant extraordinaire, took me to the airport after I had eaten yet another serving of green chile. (Green Chile enchiladas, green chile stew, green chiles on roated chicken sandwich, green chile quesadilla, yes, all in only two days. Why did I gain 2 pounds while I was gone? I didn't even think that was possible.)
At the airport I found that my flight's departure time had been changed from four pm to seven thirty pm. I now had four and a half hours to hang around. Perhaps because of this the airline put a code on my ticket. SSS. When I gave my boarding pass to the guy at security he announced that my airline had chosen me for special inspection. Yahoo. 
I stood at the sign with all the s's and waited and waited. I finally yoo-hoo-ed and the security team at the regular line glared at me, snapped to wait. Finally, two young men escorted me to the special machine that would discern if I were carrying explosives in the lining of my bag or not. 
Apparently people with heart conditions often get a false positive and have to go through additional interrogation, a process that seems rather ironically dangerous and not a little heartless. The guy told me people do get a little bent out of shape when chosen for special inspection, but he merely crooks a finger and they quiet down real quick when the cops swoop down. I behaved myself. 
I ate a quesadilla here. TEN tv sets. Nine were on the Dallas San Antonio basketball game.
Hours and hours, and hours later we were over LA.
in our very small plane.
I finished the Thursday NYT crossword puzzle and then we landed. Hard. It was like the pilot thought the ground was ten feet farther down than it really was. Louis was waiting for me outside of baggage. Ah, home.
1 comment:
I laughed: "I were carrying explosives in the lining of my bag or not." Isn't it hectic now. Traveling used to be soooooooo relaxing and calm. The good'ol days.
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