Airport Stories

Yeah, airport stories. Everyone's got them. Me, too! And because I did absolutely nothing else while I was visiting my parents (okay, it's a lie....I ate and slept) I have to share my airport stories.

MSP - I'm flying out of some no name airline that even I have never heard of before. So no name airlines fly out of Terminal B. Ummm...WTF?!?! Could Terminal B be farther away from, oh, I don't know, ANYTHING? I took the airport tram to the END OF THE LINE and then still had to walk 343234387874347 miles. Some thoughts while wandering around the airport:

1) Non-stop flights now available from Minneapolis to Asheville, NC. Ummm...well, other than that bitchy girl from North Carolina in my department who talks real slow, but is quick to point out the flaws in other people's fashion choices, does anyone NEED that service? Or is that Northwest's annoying way of forcing folks TO HAVE A LAYOVER IN THE SOUTH?

2) There are huge bathroom stalls here in Terminal B. That's good when you have huge oversized suitcases like me. Side note: is it wrong that all I packed in my suitcase was dirty laundry? I didn't bring a single clean item with me. Because I'm a slacker. Hi mom and dad! Just point me in the direction of the laundry room!! I'll be there all night!! Right. So, nice bathroom stall sizes, but there aren't any televisions in Terminal B. All we have for entertainment is the world around us, full of stressed out holiday travelers who aren't use to having to walk all the fucking way to Terminal B. So, no CNN, but that's okay because that little boy is about to drive his toy car about that man's leg. I don't think that man knows the little boy. Ah, yes, there's the yell. Damn, woman, watch your damn child. Excuse me, sir, but could you watch your language in front of the children here?

3) Why was that flight attendant eating yogurt in the bathroom? I know that they are sizeable bathrooms and that the primping area is pretty plush, but EWWWW.

4) I spent some time in Fucking Milwaukee. At first I liked it as a layover place because it was fun to say. Milwaukee. Milwaukee. Milwaukee. If you say it enough times, you'll think you're smart and know another language. Anyway, all was fine in Milwaukee if you ignore the fact that it's boring as hell and all the food places are OUTSIDE of the terminal. Pre-9/11 and Homeland Security bullshit, that would be fine, but this is NOT pre-9/11, baby. Move those things into the terminal. Anyway, on my way back today, my flight from Fucking Milwaukee to MSP was cancelled and I had to catch a flight from a different airline (not such a no name airline this time). In order to get my new ticket, I had to go OUT of the terminal and RECHECK in. Great. So that meant I had to go through security AGAIN. And I was selected for the special security screening. Let me tell you what, the special security screening that allows for me to get molested is known as fourth degree sexual assault in Wisconsin. I looked up the statute. Here it is as follows: Fourth Degree Sexual Assault - A person can be imprisoned not more than nine months in the county jail and or fined not more than $10,000 for sexual contact with a person without consent of that person or sexual intercourse, with or without consent, with a person 16 or 17 years old. I am, of course, in the former category. My boobs should be felt only be a select number of people. I can think of two people who should touch my boobs and I am one of them. And the TSA lady at Fucking Milwaukee is not the other.

5) Funny guy behind me on the plane from Fucking Milwaukee to Grand Rapids. He was wearing a salmon pink shirt with FISH ON IT. Between him and the guy from my math class with the moose fleece, I wonder if anyone knows that the only animals that should be on shirts are PIGS. Because PIGS RULE.

My friend Jody is getting married next summer. I'm to be the maid of honor. She is putting together what looks like a kickass web page for it and asked me if I had any digital pictures of myself to include on the section that has my name on it. Huh? Pictures? That don't have Kodak on the back? How does that even work?

Turkey Time

I'm leaving for the airport in five hours. I'm half packed and it's two in the morning. I'm going to visit mi familia en Michigan. Oh, the joys. I'm quite excited for my pa to pick me up in his new pickup truck and for the dogs to jump on me when I walk in the door. Wheee. It will be a food extravaganza and ma said I have to help clean the house and put up Christmas decorations. I'm there. Alas, I've been sick the last couple of days and so my internal body clock is jammed with mixed signals about what I should be doing right now. Sleep? Well, it's dark out. Not sleep? What is this packing and vigorous moving you're doing? So I'll be back in five days time. Hopefully with lots of fun stories about the life and times of a small town in Michigan. And airport stories. Airports make for the best stories ever.

RIP Joe

I thought Sunday I had it all figured out. I would wash Magenta, clean the fish tank, and do absolutely no schoolwork whatsoever. And I did. And I killed Joe. After I cleaned the tank, I noticed he wasn't his usual cheery fishy self. He was sluggish. Today I came home, made dinner, and thought Joe might be hungry, too. Alas, he was dead. I killed him by cleaning his tank. That's the only explanation I can think of. Joe led a long fishy life. He will be missed. I'll get a new fish when I come back to Minneapolis after Thanksgiving.

Seven

As I typed that title, I realized it was like that bad movie about the seven deadly sins where the guy dies because they make him eat lots of spaghetti. This isn't like that. Yesterday in my math class, there was sheer boredom, followed by sheer hilarity. Here goes. 4:10 Professor starts a proof of a lemma he'd just placed on the board. Half the class immediately puts down their writing utensils because heaven knows we don't actually NEED this information. 4:11 I start writing a letter to Biker Boy. 4:15 There's this nerdy math guy sitting directly in front of me. He's wearing shorts, in November. Now, it was a warm day yesterday, don't get me wrong. I even spent twenty minutes directly before class sitting on a marble bench outside reading. BUT. Still. November. By the time our class gets out, the sun has set!! Sheesh. Okay. So, he's got on shorts. But the kicker is the green fleece he's wearing. With moose sillouhettes on it. Nice. Very Minnesotan. And under the fleece, he's wearing a blue hoodie. But not a navy blue hoodie, that would be silly. It's more like the Detroit Lions blue - not quite aqua, not quite teal, not quite anything - but certainly clashes with the GREEN FLEECE. So, nerdy guy is hitting his head with a closed fist over and over again and sighing heavy, heavy, heavy sighs. I start to giggle. 4:20 Letter to Biker Boy is going along swimmingly. Prof is babbling about finite polynomials and a Taylor series. Huh. 4:22 My eyes start to shut. I have not had a nap today. I lean back in my chair and ask this guy who sits behind me if he has anymore gum. There is a brief moment of flurried activity as he has to go through all three of his bags and his coat pockets before handing me over a packet of Eclipse. As the peppermint spears through my body, I feel energized in a way that no glass of water could ever accomplish. Continue with my letter. 4:40 So, a half hour after the prof starts the proof, it is complete. He says, "that's that! we're done!" I jerk to and decide to pay attention. Letter to Biker Boy complete. 4:41 The professor says, "let's do an example, shall we?" There is a chorus of groans. What were we thinking? That he'd let us out twenty minutes early? We're fools, absolute fools. Prof: Someone give me a smallish number. Class: Absolute silence. Prof: Anyone? Smartass #1: Two. Prof (with more enthusiasm in his voice than ever before): A bit bigger! Smartass #2: Two point five. Prof (still more enthusiasm): An integer! Class (screaming on top of one another): Three! Forty-nine! Seventeen! Sixty! Then, all at once, as if on cue, the entire room falls silent. Prof (confused look on his face): What? Here I start to giggle, muffling it with my lime green scarf. I glance at the guy who gave me gum, who normally laughs with me, and he is staring intently at the prof. Moose Fleece Guy (bored tone, very definite): Seven. Prof: Right! Exactly! Seven! Dead on!! Here the laughter can not be contained. I was doubled over from laughing so hard!! It was like the professor had been waiting for someone to say seven the whole time. If he wanted it to be seven, why didn't he just make it seven!?! Everyone turned to stare at me as I laughed and laughed and laughed. They didn't think it was funny. But I sure as hell did.

Even Nature Loves Maroon and Gold

Even nature loves maroon and gold. There's a popular U poster that has that slogan written on it with a picture of a lane surrounded by autumnal trees with leaves that do look suspiciously like our school colors. It's impressive, if a bit scary. And the grounds crew at the U has cleverly designed it so that the trees here on campus look like that. In front of the building where I have my math class, there are two of these such trees. And a little voice in my head kept repeating the slogan. Even nature loves maroon and gold. Even nature loves maroon and gold. Even nature loves maroon and gold. Even nature loves maroon and gold. Damn maroon and gold. Way to brainwash an innocent graduate student walking around the day after election day. The day the idiot incumbent gets to have a victory celebration and the day the the ass licking challenger conceded. Votes are left uncounted and he concedes. Fine leader of the free world you would have made anyway. So, four more years of insane wars without end, lying to the public, insane Attorney Generals with crazy fundamentalist beliefs limiting MY health care options, funding for the Violence Against Women Office being slashed, health care prices soaring, international law being broken, prisoners being held without being told of charges against them, political torture, and diplomatic ties around the world disintegrating. Oh, but this time something more special happens in this presidential term. Some Supreme Court justices are going to be appointed. Yay! Four more years! More like three more decades! But even nature loves maroon and gold. But nature hates liberals. Or maybe god hates us.

November 2

Okay, I voted. I got my little red sticker that says "I Voted." Don't forget to get your own sticker.