Hi Nichole,
Had a great time in Portland!
I can’t be sure if I told you about the airport. So Kathy and I get to the airport, take our anti-anxiety medication, dope our way to the correct gate for our flight and there looms the security check maze. This place reminds me of scenes of East Germany in old cold war movies. The guards all dressed in button and patch bedecked uniforms (I didn’t see a gun but I’m sure there was one close by) asking “your papers please” in that sneering suspicious accent. Kathy deftly navigates the series of obstacles designed to sooth the passengers/suspects sense of safety and security. I, on the other hand, am stymied every step of the way. I remove my exotic animal skin cowboy boots, lose my balance in doing so, catch myself mid fall making a chaotic racket, stabilize myself, commence removing my copious pieces of Navajo jewelry eliciting a comment from the ever expanding crowd behind me, something to the effect of “ Jesus Christ are you kidding me? Where do think this guy parked his mule?” then fire off the siren at the metal object check portal, turns out it’s my straw cowboy hat (what the fuck?!) it appears there is wire in my hat, get to the other side, am told that I now have to remove my computer from it’s carrying case (who knew), pass it back through, finally complete these steps towards heightened security and am told by the guard, “There you go cowboy you can go now.” A spattering of applause emanated from the twitching, obsessively watching reviewing crowd behind me.
We get to the gate, take our seats in the waiting area and, well, wait. There is a constant stream of instructions spewing from unseen speakers. “Mary Johnson, please go to the nearest security station we have your children in custody.” “Jack Billingsly, please go to the nearest courtesy phone, your son is disowning you and will not be meeting you at your destination.” “Scott and Kathy Tennyson please go to the boarding desk; you are being removed from your flight.” My stomach starts pumping acid like an oil well, I am belching profusely, I look over at Kathy, “WHAT DO THEY MEAN!?” WHAT’RE WE GONNA DO!?” “SHIT!” Kathy says in an unperturbed cadence. “I guess I better go find out what’s happening.” It turns out they’ve added a non-stop flight to Portland to the schedule. We were going to have to change planes in Reno so this will be better for us they say and besides the flight to Reno was way overbooked and they need us to help them out. So this is fine with us and all we have to do is sit in the waiting area for an additional three hours.
We are awakened by the rustling of passengers. Time to board. Together we engorge the plane fully. Kathy and I take the last two seats in the plane, at the very back of the plane. As I am claustrophobic it is extremely important that I get a window seat and surprise of surprises I am successful in this effort. There is virtually no space between me and the seat in front of me. A large female human schlepping a commensurately large baby human sits in the seat in front of me, leans back and the seat back closes the microscopic distance between she and me by fully half. This maneuver bisects the window area. I spend the two hour and forty five minute flight with my cheek pressed against the back of her seat pushing forward in an effort to maximize the available window area and thereby my claustrophobia mitigating view. She of course pushes back. It’s a battle that leaves me with a strained neck and red faced with exhaustion by the time we arrive in Portland.
In my day “service” constituted an effort or series of efforts rendered by a merchant on behalf of the customer in order to secure his or her return business. The merchant or provider would take steps, some of which might even result in reduced profits, to ensure that the customer had a pleasant experience while engaged in the transaction and as a result would suggest to his or her friends that they patronize this merchant as well. Those days are fucking gone! Now the customer gives up leg room, complimentary meals, free baggage handling, and suffers reduced flight options. Hell, I even had a flight cancelled because it was under booked. Cost me about two hours and a fucked up connection with another flight. Nobody apologized! These days the customer exists at the pleasure of the merchant. Now the question asked is, what can I the customer do to make the merchants experience more pleasant! Are you kidding me? Oh well, fuck it.
Wait a minute, this bookkeeping software that I need for my potential day job is ready to download. I’ll be right back.
FUCK! I hate these guys. So two hours of following instructions both online and on the phone have crash landed me into the same quagmire of ignorance I started from. Fuck it, I’ll call tech tomorrow. I wish the Beer & Blog meetings were held at my house.
Wait a minute, it’s Kathy on the phone. Her car is broke in the Safeway parking lot. I gotta go save her. Be right back.
FUCK! I hate these cars. So her battery is dead. No problem, it’s an American car, standard tools should work. WRONG! It’s metric. Doesn’t matter, the battery is situated in such a fashion that you have put the car up on a lift and completely dismantle the engine to remove the motherfucker. I’ll bet most of the Beer & Bloggers are at least passable mechanics. The technical expertise required for both internet navigation and modern auto mechanics are mutually compatible I would imagine. As you are well aware I of course possess no applicable skills nor will I in the foreseeable future if the events of this day are any indication.
Now, where was I? Right. Portland. The Beer & Blog meeting was really a peach. I loved how you and Kathy and I walked in there like we had lost our way to an Am-way convention and just stared introducing, and shaking hands, and grabbing peoples brains and wringing them out for all the information we could get. Of course the fact that Brian, Michelle and a couple of other extra genius people so graciously forked over their brains insured the success of our brain wringing scheme. I am looking forward to advancing our communication with these guys. I dig that bloggers are not jealous of their knowledge.
We’ll see how patient and generous the blog dwellers are after they’ve gotten load of my impenetrable cranium.
Love dad.
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