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The Day: Part II - De File — LiveJournal
Does Collecting Make You Feel Dirty?
cbertsch
cbertsch
The Day: Part II
happily conversing with the woman next to me about parenting, I didn't give it too much thought. I was already too late to care about being much later. But when we finally arrived at the gate -- or the "gate," to be more precise, since we ended up having to walk across the tarmac before making it inside the airport -- I noticed, looking through my window, that our plane was surrounded by emergency vehicles. I had clearly mistaken "something" for "someone."

It turned out that an American Airlines flight from Dallas that had arrived shortly before us had made an emergency landing. Upon entering the terminal, I saw paramedics left and right and personnel in those shiny, silver moonsuits they use for fighting high-temperature fires. No one looked to be seriously injured, but there were plenty of people coughing. The lingering fear in the air was disturbing to say the least. Some of the passengers on that flight had clearly feared for their lives.

The man who assisted me in getting my rental car appeared to be half-asleep, on heroin, or both. But he did put me in a pretty nifty little Volvo, which is so much nicer than last year's Dodge Charger it blows my mind. It's nice to drive a rental car that actually handles and accelerates. Unfortunately, that was the highlight of my night. When I arrived at my Orbitz-booked hotel, I discovered that it had been overbooked. The non-smoking room I'd requested was not available. Not only that, the smoking room the front-desk man wanted to give me lacked the wireless internet I'd been promised. And he claimed to be incapable of doing anything about it.

I huffed and puffed about how unacceptable that was, then left to see if I could find something else nearby. Apparently, though, there are big conventions in town. The only room I found was way too expensive. So I trudged back to the place I'd booked and was pleasantly surprised that the front-desk man had, against his better judgment, found me a non-smoking room with wireless. "It's the jacuzzi room. I hope I don't get in trouble for giving it to you."

I thanked him for his generosity, then went to check the room. In this part of the United States, a "jacuzzi room" looks an awful lot like a regular room with a bathtub in the middle of it. Still, I was counting my blessings that I'd avoided inhaling the stale scene of cigarette smoke. That wouldn't have helped me fight off this bug that I'm trying to ward off. Needless to say, the wireless internet doesn't work in my room. But I'm at least able to sit here in the lobby and get an intermittent connection. Or was. Oh, well. It's time for bed, assuming that the odd banging noise in the room next to me ceases.

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