I'm home in rhode island for the weekend, as a surprise to my big brother for his birthday. he's a professional chef and doesn't exactly get days off - ever - and so I rarely get to see him or spend time with him. he's working while I'm home of course, but the restaurant is closed on monday so we'll get to celebrate then. I'm excited to be here with my family for the next four days.
I tried to blog yesterday in the airport, but the internet connection is expensive for no reason and impossibly slow (logan airport is the worst place on earth but the wifi is fast and free. I think it's a yin/yang thing). so you get my day-old musings, which I typed out while I sat there waiting for my flight. enjoy.
I got to the airport around 3:00pm, which, in retrospect, was too early. I have really mastered the art of ATL-South security. I know which line moves the fastest because it’s the least logical one to use. I don’t mess around with my quart sized zip-top bag or my laptop. I don’t panic self-consciously like less experienced people in the security line do about the pressing glares of the travelers behind me. Security lines are anxious places. As long as you don’t do something inexcusable like ignore the plentitude of annoying yet plainly instructive reminders about what can’t go through line and yet manage to subsequently show up at the front of the line still wearing your belt, your over the knee lace-up shoes, seventeen elaborate necklaces, and pockets full of change, you are probably fine. Unless you buried your liquids bag in the bowels of your suitcase. Or you sent your suitcase through the scanner with your laptop still inside of it.
If you’re not a moron but it takes you 20 seconds to pull out your laptop and liquids bag, which are in a handy place, and take off your shoes, which don’t have lots of laces or buckles, and you haven’t wasted everyone’s time with elaborate jewelry, you’re probably fine. Stop stressing everyone out by maniacally grabbing your laptop and throwing everything else you own on the floor in your frenzied attempt to not inconvenience the masses behind you.
So, security. When it was my turn, I did well. I can’t say the same for my fellow passengers, but it’s ok. I had time.
Something I love about the ATL airport: the exhibits set up in between the terminals. If you don’t feel like lurching from point A to B on the monorail, you can walk between terminals. There are moving sidewalks but I took the old fashioned road. Sculpture and photography exhibits from around the world! Granted, they are pretty low-interest. But I still like taking the time to smell the proverbial flowers.
I rolled into terminal B feeling good. For whatever reason, I convinced myself that I had received an e-mail a while back about $15 day passes to the Delta Sky Club. I’m a SkyMiles member but so is everyone and their mom and I have enough points to maybe earn a free mug of tea…what I’m saying is, I’m no VIP. Not even close. But in my pea-brain, this was an inexpensive thing to fix. Day club pass here I come! Open bar and cozy chairs! I shall read my book and sip comped cocktails!
Reality check: Day passes are $50. Confirmed: I am a delusional idiot.
Needless to say, I did not indulge in the Sky Club. Instead, I found Platform 9 ¾ (ATL Terminal B Gate “B8”). It used to be a gate but now it’s not. All the chairs are still there. There’s still a secured door to what could presumably be a jetway if they hooked one up. There’s just no desk and the TV monitors are all switched off. Very mysterious. B8 is right across from the Smoking Lounge and all the chairs were empty. I decided to ignore the very occasional wafts of gross smoke and make myself at home amongst the unclaimed power outlets and adjustable footstools.
apparently my sitting there signaled to other passengers with long waits that this was the place to be. I was quickly joined by a rotund Indian couple sharing a bag of salt and vinegar chips, chomping happily with their mouths open (shudder). followed by an employee on her break with a posse of employee boyfriends who came to sit with her and share headphones and listen to god-awful loud music and bounce their feet on the footstool I was using. RUDE. then came a very shaken-looking woman carrying two cats, who proceeded to let them out of their cages and put them on leashes to use the bathroom. yes. the cats peed on the carpets of gate b8. I didn't take any pictures of any of these characters because that sort of thing is frowned upon, but I wanted to. I hope mental images are enough. a few minutes later I saw someone walk by carrying a pudgy english bulldog like a baby, potbelly up. he (the pup) was looking very pleased with himself. I knew I had to in the direction of whatever happy place the people with puppies were going. I was out of there.
I spent the next two hours sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and reading tina fey's bossypants and laughing OUT LOUD rather immodestly because my god, that woman is hysterical. I read the entire book cover to cover in the space of five hours while waiting for my flight.
then we finally (!!!) boarded and I quickly fell asleep, drooled all over myself, and woke with a jolt on the tarmac in rhode island. my brother was surprised, but I was kind of expecting it to be like the happy jumping up and down people from that surprise homecoming show (with less billy ray cyrus) and instead it was kind of like this:
success.
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