123Valerie Strikes Again

Unprecedented Self-Indulgence.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Gray Tubs, Gray Skies and Gray Hair

It's weird to walk around in your bare feet in front of strangers.

It's also weird and kind of squishy to put shampoo in plastic baggies.

Further, it's weird that all of the tubs at any airport security checkpoints are gray. I wonder if the manufacturers had an abundance of gray-colored polymers or if there's a specific reason for it. Anyone know?

So, today's airport experience was ridiculously cliché. My departure from San Fran was delayed for a couple of hours and no one wanted to tell us why. A lot of rudeness and vastly overpriced cheese fries.

I'd just about accepted that if I got to Atlanta, my connecting flight—the last one of the day—would probably have left. Sleeping on the floor of the Atlanta airport started to seem like a viable option.

I was okay with the delay and possible slumber party with strangers because I wasn't entirely sure I was going to have enough money to get my car out of the airport parking lot at Ronald Reagan. The longer I was stuck in Airportland, the longer I put off paying my $150 parking tab.

Of course, it also meant I was racking up additional parking charges, so that plan sort of bit me in the ass, but shurt urp.

The good news is that I've made it home, and it's only 4:30 a.m. Also, for some mystical reason, the parking guy's machine accepted my debit card even though I am positively positive that I didn't have the money in my account. I will worry about that tomorrow. Does anyone know of a good plasma donation site?

Yeah. I'm all growed up and mature-like, flying across the country with about $40 in my bank account.

I had a lot more in there until last night, but I lost it somewhere in San Francisco. Along with some of my brain cells and a really rad lipstick that fell out of my purse in the cab.

On the upside, during the first long wait in San Fran, I had one of the best crab rolls in my life, courtesy of Klein's Deli. If you're ever at the SFO airport near gate 36, do stop by.

The second long wait in Atlanta wasn't nearly as much fun, though I did buy some Barbecue Corn Nuts.

The flashing lights and beeps and airport frenzy definitely took their toll, though. My mind is even foggier from the time change and the perpetual hangover and the 14-hour days spent talking to people about which publication will help them best fund their retirement, not to mention the fact that, this week, I found myself extremely attracted to a 48-year-old man.

I'm 26, kids. This is new for me. I typically have a 10-year rule that I've never even come close to exercising. No worries here, though—he's the married one who wanted to "rake his hands through my flowing red hair," which #1Laura pointed out was strange verbiage.

When he first said it, I was staring at his distinguished silver hair and gloomily handsome face and thought, "That is an incredibly sexy notion."

But a little contemplation makes me think that "rake" probably wasn't the best word choice. In any case, I'm feeling a little out of sorts for many reasons, the least of which is my broke/potentially stranded status.

In the Comments section, tell me about an interesting airport experience you've had. The winner of the best story gets a crab roll from Klein's Deli and the chance to rake their fingers through my red hair.

5 Comments:

  • At 2:04 PM , Blogger Kristin said...

    My best airport story includes bloody feet in sexily strappy sandals, O'Hare airport a German expat trying to get home to his wife and life in Argentina and Mike Tyson. It's a loooong story. I'll share it over beer some time.

    Glad you're home!

     
  • At 7:06 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    I was still recovering from a wicked flu that put me in bed for three days and decided to fly with a stranger to Barcelona, Spain from London. I remember getting on the bus to take us downtown, my eyes glazed from the heat of my fever. The bus driver was asking me for money in Spanish. He said whatever he said twice. I shook my head rapidly to find out if I dreaming. The stranger kindly told me I owed the man some change. I had no idea what to give him. Adding another forgein currency to my wallet only made the matter worse.
    Glad you made it home, Val. I was going to call you last night but realized I do not have your number. Wish I could be dancing to "I fucked your boyfriend" tomorrow night. We will get together soon. ~ G-pussy

     
  • At 11:58 PM , Blogger brinki dink said...

    I'm always on airplanes and airports and nothing fabulous ever happens to me. I've had dealys stretching over hours and hours and lifetimes, I've had many a sad goodbye, one time missing luggage. The worst airport, in my humble opinion, is Las Vegas due to the incessant slot maching noise. The best airport I've been to is Santa Barbara because it's small and smells like eucalyptus (and they have a lovely bar).

     
  • At 9:22 AM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    I was flying back from NYC with one of my world class hangovers. We arrived at the airport after I think I stopped to hang over EVERY trash can in New York City. I was carrying around a small bag from the Strawberry dept. store...you know, as my hold-everything-that-was-once-in-my-stomach bag. I really didn't want to part with it, even for the second it takes to run through that x-ray baggage check thing. I opened it for the lady, pleading with her to not take it from me, and she practically gagged and made me run it through.

    How embarrassing!!!

    I wonder what x-rayed stomach acid looks like.

    :P

     
  • At 3:53 AM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    Val,
    Hi babe! I know I don't have to tell you my most interesting airport experience! That will always be my favorite! Thought I would comment though anyway. Love ya, miss ya!

    ~April

     

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