Traveling guy

The LA trip was a whirlwind. It included shopping, eating, walking around Laguna Beach, and two baseball games. I have to admit that these were not the most scintillating of games, but we got to see two different stadia.

The most notable occurrence was the guy next to me, with whom I had shared my sunscreen and chatted amiably for an hour or so, turned nasty when he was unhappy with my reaction to his spilling beer on me. I had made the mistake of noting that "Sorry, but I spilled most of it on myself" wasn't really an apology, and he continued to escalate things, telling everyone in the rows around us what an a--hole I was and ultimately offering to take me outside to duke it out. He me mentioned that he could take me with one hand behind his back because "You're old," and I'm sure he could have pummeled me if he could have gotten a firm hold of me, but I wasn't sure he'd be able to stand steadily enough to do so. Nonetheless, we took the easier course and moved to other seats. Happy father's day indeed.

The flight back was on the long side but pretty uneventful. As to the additional length, the pilot, who had begun the flight by saying he hoped that this would be the most wonderful flight we'd ever taken, reported that "We are taking the along route because of weather in the northeast, or at least that's what they're telling us." I like that last little touch; it adds the possibility that we may be diverted because of something else entirely, perhaps something sinister.

I just noticed something in the plane bathroom that made no sense to me. Next to the sink, there's a sign that says AS A COURTESY TO THE NEXT PASSENGER, WE SUGGEST YOU USE YOUR TOWEL TO WIPE THE SINK AND COUNTER. I'm generally a fan of courtesy, but I'm also a fan of using the towel to dry my hands. Isn't that what they're there for?

That flight got in about 45 minutes late, which wasn't wonderful but wasn't a disaster either. Today, on my way to Chicago, we encountered a different, though still fairly common, difficulty. My daughter is doing a program for four weeks here, for which the most succinct description would be internship camp. She's living in a dorm and working at a small record company for a few hours each day and taking some kind of class in the evenings. Activities are planned for weekends.

She needed to arrive at the dorm around noon, so we decided to fly out early that morning, rather than the night before. I'm always up for this kind of thing, though the non-morning person part of the family is not. After a late night getting ready, I awoke around 5:15 and I'm telling you, the day just feels different on 3 hours of sleep. We got to the airport and checked the bag, parked the car and headed for security, for which the line stretched halfway down the corridor next to the now useless moving walkway.

That part of the line moved pretty quickly, but once we came around the bend and saw that we had to go another 50 yards or so before we even reached the back and forth part, I began to get concerned. Getting concerned in this kind of situation helps pass the time, but it isn't good for much else. You just have to hope you get done before they close the plane door. In our case, we started on the security line 65 minutes before flight time and got on the plane, having scurried the length of the concourse, 12 minutes before flight time. This is not an exaggeration.

And the people sitting next to me on the plane have a camera that precedes every picture by saying clearly "Say Cheese."

But we made it and I will report on the rest of this trip later.