I hate travel
I hate travel
I hate travel.
Seriously–should it REALLY take seven hours to get from Portland to San Francisco? On an airplane? Really??? Every time?
Not only that. But, it’s like 106 degrees in Portland (which, for the record, I think is fantastic, but that’s only because I’m tired of crying and shivering in the dark all summer down here). They finally Finally FINALLY put us all on the teensy-weensy plane (only an hour late), get us buckled in, make us turn off our phones, etc etc. Then the announcement comes: We need to refuel.
We wait. And wait some more.
Then the refueling truck comes.
Then he refuels.
Then he refuels some more.
Then he’s done refueling.
We’ve now been sitting at the gate, buckled in, for 45 minutes. The gigantically pregnant woman who is my seatmate is shifting around uncomfortably. And then–then!–they cut the power.
No lights.
No AIR CONDITIONING.
I’m not a fan of air conditioning. I live in a city with natural AC, and I hate it. I like to be hot. But, friends, stuck in a tiny metal suppository under a burning sun in 106 degree weather next to a gigantically (and clearly suffering) pregnant woman–yes, my friends, I wished for the AC to come back on.
Oh, it was only off 10 minutes or so. But please.
Anyway, eventually we took off, eventually we landed, eventually the bus came, eventually I drove home, eventually I found parking, and, 7+ hours after Jay brought me to Portland airport, I am home.
One more thing: I didn’t do it. It was there when I left. I swear. Wayyyy too heavy for carry-on luggage anyway.