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Being sick in a foreign land.

There is a serious skill to travelling while sick that I just do not have.

Like, at all.

I flew up to the snowy North to see my adult kidlets

I was healthy when I got there.

And then my immune system turned on me like a pitbull in a roomfull of toddlers.

(I weighed the amount of whining and bitching I KNOW I will receive due to that line. But it made me laugh. Bite me.)

I spent a portion of the trip playing nursemaid to my kidlets.

And then I tried to leave.

I first noticed the sore throat at noon.

I had a little bit of a barking cough all of a sudden.

I got to the airport and felt like crap.

I hate airports as a general rule, unless I am being sarcastic and make fun of people in my head. (You have your hobbies, I have mine.)

But, when I don’t feel well, I go farther down that narcissistic road.

So I was in line at the security checkpoint, grumbling to myself but trying not to call attention to myself. (I do not need to be put on the “No fly”list due to a TSA misunderstanding. (They are a twitchy bunch, prone to erring on the side of scorched earth travel rules. Much like that same edgy pitbull, its best not to mess with them unnecessarily.)

The last thing a monster wants is recognition.

And the lady in front of me recognized me.

Not me, but my condition.

The one thing about old women is that they tend to travel with a pharmacy in their purse, and this woman is no different.

So, in short order, I had some cold medicine, a cough drop and a small bottle of water to wash it down. (She would have had to toss it at the metal detector anyway, but it was still the good Samaritan move.)

If I could have just sat for an hour in the airport before getting on the plane, the cold medicine could have been in full swing when I got on the plane.

Not to be, I got thru the security checkpoint and walked right onto the plane.

Any other time, this would rock, but not when the last thing you need is a cramped airline sear and throbbing sinuses.

But, life goes on.

I soon forgot about my sinuses. In fact, I was almost wishing for some more severely stuffed sinuses.

Because the Armenian guy sitting next to me was 200lbs overweight, had on WAY too much cologne, and judging by the BO, had not bathed in the last 48 hours.

And that takes a LOT away from the whole travel experience.

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Posted by on November 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Bite my frozen ass, SouthWest Airlines.

And you bastards will miss me when I’m gone.

At that point, if you are in the mood for dirty talk, call a phone sex line, because there is not a lot of shit like this available.

At least outside of the redlight district. (Google it, I don’t have time to stop and explain.)

You almost lost me today, brothers and sisters.

Sliding down the street sideways due to black ice is not how I envisioned my visit to the cold North to see my kids.

Ok, so maybe I am exaggerating, but this is far from the “Pussy talk” my son has proclaimed it to be.

There comes a point when its just too damned cold for people to live, but we seem to be to stupid as a people to recognize.

The long and the short of all of this is I am cold.

Seems like a lot of whining.

It is what it is.

I was born and raised in Southern California, so warm weather is kind of all I know.

Winter in Southern California has always been a slightly cooler summer with the rare snap of cold, but a kinder, gentler cold, along with a less rare than usual chance of rain.

Everyone always claims that Los Angeles is in a drought, except for a few rare times where it rains a freakish amount.

But what we all seem to forget is that Southern California is a semi-arid desert.

That means that it doesn’t rain enough to keep the lawns green without piping water in from somewhere else.

Somewhere else, by the way, means Northern California, The bastard child of the prettier, smarter California that knows that SoCal is the favorite and whines incessantly.

On the plane flying home right now.

When I got to the airport, it was 26 degrees in beautiful Portland.

I have no idea what the temp in LA is, but I will guaranty that it is a minimum of 30 degrees warmer.

You might think of having to put on your hoodie, but the car is right there.

That is a proper winter.

The flight home is one of anger and frustration.

True to form, SouthWest airlines has taken my carefully scheduled flight plans, slipped it a roofy and then raped it without a condom.

My flight is leaving a half hour earlier than before and my connecting flight in Oakland, the beautiful land of drive bys, is now five minutes shy of a full hour late.

I have received a total of 5 text messages from SouthWest airlines, each one announcing yet another adventure in how to run an airline like the airline version of Obamacare.

Instead of getting in at the late but somewhat respectable hour of 10:50pm on a Sunday night, I will now be rolling in at the ridiculous hour of 12:15am, Monday morning.

Evertime I fly SouthWest I swear I will never fly with them again.

And then, Like an Alzheimer’s patient, like they have never screwed me before, I will schedule a flight and see them on the list of availables and say “Look, they are $15 cheaper than everyone else, what a deal!” and I sign up.

Its like putting the roofy in my own drink.

I get to the end of the order, know I have been screw again, and can only blame myself.

I can only blame myself.

I mean, look how I’m dressed.

 
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Posted by on December 9, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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