I Try To Be Good Hard Worker Man, But Refrigimater So Messy--So, So Messy
This weekend was pretty great. Perhaps I will write about it later--for now, my time is limited. I'm in the middle of 16 hours of report writing training over a period of two days, and I have never had a more thrilling experience. The trainer was showing us some PowerPoint slides earlier, and one of them had a race car on it! Vroom, vrooom! Stab me in the eye. She tried to justify its presence with some spiel about how their report writing software is high performance...come on now, lady. Come on.
On the theme of long, crappy days, I had an especially delicious travel experience yesterday. The only flight I could get out of San Antonio was already a 6am 3-jump fiasco, so imagine my pleasure when I got to my second connection (Detroit) only to discover that, due to some sort of equipment problems, I only had 10 minutes to make my next flight. I used to find it amusing to see people sprinting through the airport with luggage dragging behind--not that I wished them ill or anything, I just think people running indoors in street clothes is funny. Well now I was the chump running indoors in street clothes. Street clothes to the max. Oh, the delicious and mildly arousing irony! Truly Lord, You have taught me humility. My flight was (of course) at the furthest gate away, in another terminal. I knew there was no possible way I could make it but by GOD I didn't get where I am today by bowing to the inevitable. So I sprinted, which is an infrequent experience for me. I run a little but I do not normally have occasion to sprint--it didn't go well. I don't have the words to describe the level of disappointment I felt when I arrived at the gate--red, temples pulsing, dripping sweat, feet screaming, knees throbbing, wholly unable to speak--only to look through the window as I was stumbling down the escalator to see my ride backing out. I could swear I saw the pilot give me the finger. I will say this--it was only 40% as soul-crushing as the disappointment of finding out that the next flight out was not for 7 hours. OH, GOD. Okay, actually that's pretty funny. You got me again, Northwest!
So for the next 7 hours, I paced. I guess a normal person would have bought a book or something, or hunkered down in front of one of their many big screen TVs. I just paced, around and around, over and over. I saw some good stuff. I saw a guy practicing his pop'n'lock, I saw a little girl singing "Yakety Yak", only the only lryics she knew were "Yakety Yak, don't talk back!" and she just repeated them over and over in succession until her father threw himself into a jet turbine, I saw a bird land next to some guy reading a book, and I saw him totally flip out as a result. It was pretty awesome. Anyway, I guess I'm not really used to sprinting for my life and then pacing around for 7 hours, because I appear to have suffered the world's first pacing related injury. I woke up this morning a little sore and thought, okay, not too weird, 14 hours of travel will get you. Then I hopped on my bike and my knee exploded into a glorious explosion of explosive pain. EXPLODE! It hurt.
On the theme of long, crappy days, I had an especially delicious travel experience yesterday. The only flight I could get out of San Antonio was already a 6am 3-jump fiasco, so imagine my pleasure when I got to my second connection (Detroit) only to discover that, due to some sort of equipment problems, I only had 10 minutes to make my next flight. I used to find it amusing to see people sprinting through the airport with luggage dragging behind--not that I wished them ill or anything, I just think people running indoors in street clothes is funny. Well now I was the chump running indoors in street clothes. Street clothes to the max. Oh, the delicious and mildly arousing irony! Truly Lord, You have taught me humility. My flight was (of course) at the furthest gate away, in another terminal. I knew there was no possible way I could make it but by GOD I didn't get where I am today by bowing to the inevitable. So I sprinted, which is an infrequent experience for me. I run a little but I do not normally have occasion to sprint--it didn't go well. I don't have the words to describe the level of disappointment I felt when I arrived at the gate--red, temples pulsing, dripping sweat, feet screaming, knees throbbing, wholly unable to speak--only to look through the window as I was stumbling down the escalator to see my ride backing out. I could swear I saw the pilot give me the finger. I will say this--it was only 40% as soul-crushing as the disappointment of finding out that the next flight out was not for 7 hours. OH, GOD. Okay, actually that's pretty funny. You got me again, Northwest!
So for the next 7 hours, I paced. I guess a normal person would have bought a book or something, or hunkered down in front of one of their many big screen TVs. I just paced, around and around, over and over. I saw some good stuff. I saw a guy practicing his pop'n'lock, I saw a little girl singing "Yakety Yak", only the only lryics she knew were "Yakety Yak, don't talk back!" and she just repeated them over and over in succession until her father threw himself into a jet turbine, I saw a bird land next to some guy reading a book, and I saw him totally flip out as a result. It was pretty awesome. Anyway, I guess I'm not really used to sprinting for my life and then pacing around for 7 hours, because I appear to have suffered the world's first pacing related injury. I woke up this morning a little sore and thought, okay, not too weird, 14 hours of travel will get you. Then I hopped on my bike and my knee exploded into a glorious explosion of explosive pain. EXPLODE! It hurt.
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Ps. Complaining about commercial air travel? Holy crap, no one's ever done that before! Your lack of originality gives me constipation.
7:06 AM, July 26, 2006
7:51 AM, July 26, 2006
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