Where was I between midnight and 12:30am last night, you ask?
I'll tell you where I was: making loops around SFO Interational Airport trying to locate a small exotic-looking woman who is my friend Yana.
Her flight was supposed to arrive at 8:25pm but Virgin America and the God Of Lightning and Heavy Rain had other plans. After spending nearly four hours on the tarmac (or "fairway" as she charmingly called it this morning at breakfast) they finally decided it was safe to make their way over to this coast.
I'd like to preface my next statement with a firm avowal of my commitment to doing everything possible to keep our nation safe from the evildoers. That said, I have never been so provoked toward evildoerdom as I was last night the fourth time I was getting barked at by a ferocious woman in an Interceptor to circle the airport again because 25 seconds is too long to be paused in front of the door from which my friend will be emerging within moments. If there ever is an incident of destruction and violence in an airport arrivals area, I feel certain it will have been caused, rather than prevented, by one of these rabid dogs in an Interceptor.
As I pull away, I call Yana for the fourth time to say I'll be right around. She tells me she has now made her way out the door and is standing on the sidewalk.
"What airline sign are you standing at?" I ask.
"It says Door 2. I don't see any airline signs."
This is troubling to me, because the arrival area has more airline signs than San Francisco has self-righteous homeless vegans.
"Um, I almost don't want to ask but what airport are you at?" I cringe in anticipation of her reply.
"I think SFO but....uh...let me check my ticket. [dramatic pause] Yeah, SFO."
Sweet relief.
"Well you're clearly not in domestic arrivals. Is there any chance that New York flights are now coming into the international terminal?"
And there I found her: at Door 2 of the International Arrivals neighborhood of the airport.
"It's cold here."
Yes. Yes it is.
Friday, August 15, 2008
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2 comments:
Hi man. I've finally gotten past Mom's warnings that "it's impossible to regiester on that damn thing" and figured out that it's actually not too difficult. You can now count on me to be a consistent commenter. Luv ya!
Wonderful! Glad to have you and to know that Mom's efforts to limit us in our adult lives are becoming more and more futile.
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