Last Tuesday the CEO arrived at PDX an hour and half before my flight was to leave. The line at the United ticket counter wove around and all the way back to the Powells. No way in hell am I making it on this flight says I. Still I stand there just the same, and the line is moving at least a little bit. Then, a stroke of good luck: I hear a United rep asking “Is anyone in this line on flight 837 to Denver?” Hey, I’m on flight 837 to Denver! I got to go to the very front of the line, and was checked in with an Economy plus seat, through security, and at my gate all in about 20 minutes. Score one for the CEO.

Often when I’m at the Denver airport I have something wrong with me. It may be just that I’m sick, or tired from getting off a flight from the East coast, or have a wicked hangover. I’ve also tried to navigate that airport with an almost broken ankle (stupid fancy running at the CTO’s wedding) and twice with a suppurating leg wound, one of those times with said leg wound also being infected by stripper cooties. Suffice to say, the Denver airport this time around was pretty easy, boring even. The flight from Denver to New York though? Sucked. We sat on the runway for an extra hour due to thunderstorms stretching from the Great Lakes to Louisiana, and then once aloft we had to fly north of the Great Lakes to get around the weather. I was supposed to be at an event in Midtown at 8:30; my plane landed at La Guardia at about 8:30. I knew a cab ride to Midtown should be roughly $30 or $40 depending on where I was going, but since I was late I paid $50 to one of the ‘car service’ guys who hang out at the LaGuardia baggage claim. It was nice to have the air conditioning and a clean ride, and at the fixed rate I was pretty sure the driver would haul ass and I was in a hurry. It was a wise move: the dude had me at the event hotel in what felt like 10 minutes. Quick check-in, quick shower, and then I was out the door to my social engagement.

The big selling point of the place I was going was that it had a an open rooftop bar on about the top floor of a tall building. As I enter the establishment dozens and dozens of people are coming down the stairs — a torrential downpour had started. All of a sudden this place is a lot less fun, and becomes just another packed, crowded and hot New York nightclub. Not my scene; I headed back to the hotel.

On Wednesday I did business. Talked to the people I needed to talk to, got some information I was looking for, and made myself available to any and all comers. It was nice: some of the people that go to these sorts of things are actually friends, and in an industry as small as mine it’s good to maintain connections with folks. I was able to duck out at lunchtime and see an old friend from Bellevue, so that was nice too. It was classic New York: I met him under the clock in the middle of Grand Central Station; we ate pastrami for lunch.

Thursday was more of the same: a lot of handshakes and business cards. I had a flight to catch Thursday afternoon so at about noon I checked out and made my way to La Guardia. I had asked the hotel concierge what a cab to the airport should cost. The old guy looked at his watch (to gauge the potential traffic or construction maybe?) and said that a cab ride would be $27. Not “$25 to $30“, not “around $27“. $27. I test this with a cab driver: “I’ll give you $30 for a ride to La Guardia.” He thinks about it for about 5 seconds, and says “Done — get in.” It was the best cab ride of my life and made the guy from Tuesday look like a Granny out for a Sunday drive. We were running lights, weaving like Andretti, and basically driving like we were being chased by Sheriff Roscoe. We went past the UN building: I was going to get a picture but the camera phone doesn’t work well when the vehicle in which you are traveling is doing 70 mph and is half on the sidewalk. My parents are taking a trip to NY in a few months. I am definitely not recommending this tactic to them; my mom would not have enjoyed this. She in fact would have wet her pants, repeatedly.

La Guardia looks like Sea-Tac did in 1985. That isn’t a compliment. At least my plane left on time, depositing me eventually at O’Hare in Chicago. My layover there almost made me insane. The terminal was packed; every gate was in non-stop use. There was nowhere to sit that wasn’t next to someone. And the bar had about six seats in it, and of course there were 50 people packed in there. And it was hot and muggy. And I was tired. In retrospect it really is remarkable that I didn’t beat someone up in Chicago.

Speaking of people that I considered beating up: I was on the plane and finally settled in, had my book out, and was starting to relax. The drink cart had come by, and I treated myself to a little Beefeater and tonic. The tonic was not good (Seagrams tonic water barely drinkable; if I’d have known that was my only option I would just asked for a Sprite), but it was good enough. Then, the movie started. It was the surely delightful “Wild Hogs“, featuring Tim Allen, John Travolta, and Martin Lawrence. I was not watching the movie but it turned out the guy in front of me was. Evidently he was enjoying the film: every five minutes or so he would laugh so hard that the table tray attached to his seat would violently shake. If you didn’t hear the laughter but only saw this guy you’d call 911 and report that someone was having convulsions. The first time he had a laughing spasm part of my drink spilled; luckily paperback books these days are quite absorbent.

When I park my car in the PDX garage, I don’t necessarily try to get a spot closest to the elevators or doors. Instead I try to choose a floor and row that will be easy to remember when I get back. I don’t try to memorize the letter-number combo, but instead create a word, image, or catchphrase to help me remember. For example, if I am parked in row 2-B, I might think about the B-2 Stealth Bomber, and when I get my bags at the end of a trip and try to think about where my car is I’ll remember visualizing a Stealth Bomber, which leads me to 2-B eventually. This time around? I got a spot in a row that may have been the easiest yet for me to remember: 3-B. If any of you hosers can tell me why this one was so easy to remember, I’ll give you a prize, personally hand selected from the Chief Educator’s house.

UPDATE: I just learned that the Chief Bride won $500 playing bingo last night. Two prizes from the Chief Educator’s house then.