Some Days in the Life - May 7, 1999

Comments

I'm there even as I type this, right after midnight. And it's going to be a long night. I wish I'd taken that nap. I get the feeling I'm going to need it.

Mason was due in on a United Flight at 12:20 am. Late, but doable.

I have it on good authority that Flight 562 has taken off, but I can't swear to it. I can't swear that Mason is on that flight, either. They're having massive midwestern storms and they just put in an entirely new radar system out there. So, they're way backed up. Of course.

Mason's now due after 1:30 am. We're at least an hour south of Wolfeboro, and you know it'll be at least a half hour for baggage claim. So, we're tracking walking in the door at three in the morning, best possible scenario. Assuming there are no problems.

There will, of course, be problems.

I call this a curse because the last time someone flew into Manchester Airport to interview at Brewster Academy, she was delayed seven hours. In Chicago. On United. Take this as a warning, kids. I certainly am.

Also like last time, I decided to come early. I would settle in here, relax, and use the ol' Powerbook for a while. So I did. I redesigned a whole new front page to the Annotations domain as a whole, for when Insanity and Round Robin launched. The Annotations home page would stop being my personal home page (and yes, I took the meaty page graphic off it). It would instead become a central home page for everything on the Annotations site, including Insanity and Round Robin, and a poetry chapbook I've started webbing up, and the "Annotations Online Review" I originally got the domain name for in the first place. Over the summer, taking advantage of the Mighty Server I had been given, I would work on developing a nice core of content for Annotations as a whole, using that word -- "Annotations" as a central theme. We'll see how far it gets, but I like the way the front page is looking.

So, I got here about nine fifteen p.m., thinking I would get some coffee and work on this thing.

Bad plan. No coffee here. Every store and kiosk closed up at nine. But planes were arriving and leaving until twelve-thirty in the morning. What kind of airport is this? Still, I found a place where I could sit and set the powerbook comfortably, and started working. I designed the rough of the page. I designed an ancillary page with appropriate copyright information. I played around with a background image in Photoshop LE. I thanked God for my active matrix screen, the terror of the East. I also decided to muck around with the font sets on the journal page, to see what I think. I'm unsure of the results, but you can look at these and at yesterday's in contrast and let me know which you prefer. And then I got up to check on Mason's flight, which I couldn't do earlier because the "Arrivals" board had only listed to 11:30 pm.

Flight 562 was on there, all right. But it claimed to be coming from San Diego, not Chicago. And it was delayed over an hour.

Uh oh.

So I walked down to the United Desk to inquire A) if 562 really was coming in at 1:30ish and B) if passenger Mason Kramer were on it.

Which would be a good idea if anyone were at the United Desk. They weren't. No one. Not a sausage.

It then occurred to me that I was thirsty. Water didn't blunt that thirst, either. So, I went on a quest for drinks. There is exactly one area in this airport with vending machines, as it turns out. So I went down there.

There was, I kid you not, Bottled Yoo Hoo in one of the vending machines. You know, Yoo Hoo. The repulsive faux chocolate drink which my friend and former writing collaborator Bill Paul once swore by. I'm not a huge fan of Yoo Hoo, but somehow it seemed appropriate to drink it while waiting for a friend who I originally knew through Superguy to arrive.

It was no better than I remember, but it was cold and wet, and quenched my thirst far better than chocolate milk or, indeed, any drink with real chocolate in it would. So, good choice there.

I spied a black courtesy phone, so I picked it up -- thinking someone could page a United representative and I could figure out what "the deal" was with Flight 562. After a few seconds, someone picked up.

"United desk, please?" I asked.

"Um... what?" the guy answered.

"Could I have the United desk? I'm waiting for a United Flight."

There was a long pause on the line.

"There's no one there," he said finally. "They're closed."

"How can they be closed," I replied. "There are flights coming in and going out. There will be baggage coming in and going out. Being closed will make these things difficult." I'm normally amazingly polite, but I was already tired so my inner child was coming out. My inner child is a twisted little girl named Trudy, which is a story and a half in itself, but suffice it to say she's generally a bad sign in conversation.

There was another long pause. "They're closed," he said again. "You could try back at six in the morning."

"Noooooooo... that won't work. You see, even delayed the flight is supposed to be here at one-thirty in the morning. Trying back at six in the morning won't do me much good if I want information about the one-thirty flight, will it?"

There was yet another long pause. "I have United's 800 number," he said.

Well, thank Heavens for small favors. I got out a pen, got the number from Skippy the Courtesy Guy, and wrote it on the palm of my hand, which I haven't done for many years. Boston University, I think. I then went to a different phone (the courtesy not extending to 800 numbers) and dialed it.

Amazingly, I got someone pretty quickly. He was in a depressingly good mood. I explained what was going on and he told me the plane was (apparently) in the air, and due in when the board said. He said that the flight originated in San Diego, which is why Arrivals claimed that. It would make more sense for i He also explained the thunderstorm/radar troubles. He couldn't verify Mason was on board. Some silly reasons like it violating FAA regulations and being an invasion of Mason's privacy.

He was cool. I liked him more or less. He wished me a good rest of the Millennium.

I wandered a bit, finishing the Yoo Hoo and disposing of the bottle in the bottle recycling bin. I found the arcade and wandered in, and proved I suck at Tekkan 3. And then I saw it.

Centipede.

Centipede.

The original Centipede. Neon pixel graphics. Funky noises. Badly animated spiders. Scorpions worth 1000 points which trigger a death fall of the centipede if they hit one of the poisoned mushrooms that mine the area. Centipede.

I wasted fifty cents on it, killed a good block of time, and proved that one doesn't lose trackball skills too easily. I died quickly in the first game, then cleared nine levels on my first man. Then the powerdiving fleas and the spiders get psycho and I died. Good good game. There's nothing like it in modern arcades, and that's a damn shame. Centipede was cool.

Just under an hour to go. Less than ten minutes of power left on the Powerbook. And, as business travelers often carry powerbooks and airports and long layovers are natural places to use them, there naturally isn't a single wall socket available for use anywhere. Anywhere at all.

Nor is there a datajack on any of the public (or "courtesy") phones, so I can't upload this.

It's 12:35 am. I'm beginning to get very tired. I told you yesterday (this morning) I was tired. I have an hour's drive after this. I'm a little concerned about that. I'm expressing that concern in a journal which no one will read if I go off the road and Mason and I die. So, there's no point in a Last Will and Testament here. When you read this, my fears will have been proven groundless.

Also, this wooden chair is making my butt hurt something fierce. Bitch moan bitch moan. I'm trying to kill time until the battery dies a horrible death. As I'm paranoid about the Sleep mode, I'm saving often in case it just shuts down on me. That's spinning the hard drive, cutting yet more of my time off.

I haven't gotten the "Reserve Power" warning yet. I think I'm pushing the limit a bit. Good old Apple technology.

I called maintenance about air conditioning for my apartment. It's an Academy apartment, so I thought maybe they'd have a spare unit or something they could throw in for me before the heat really came. No such luck. They don't do that for faculty housing. However, George -- my opposite number over in Maintenance -- grabbed me from my office and went over to look at the apartment and make recommendations for what I should buy and from whom. He thinks an 8000 BTU should do it.

Reserve power warning just kicked in. It's 12:41 am, for the record.

It's not the heat, as they say, it's the humidity. There was a ton of humidity last summer, and it fair to killed me. I was nice, cool, humidity stripped air in my apartment this year. So, I'll fork out the money for the A.C. George might give me some more tips about installing the thing.

There is something terribly adult about buying an air conditioner. This will be mine, wherever I go, until it dies. It will be heavy, and it will be hedonistic. It's a toy, but an adult one. I can't wait.

Besides, I hate being hot. Hate it. I should live in Northern Canada, or Alaska. Someplace where the summers are 60° in the sun. Air conditioning was a staple of my car. Now it'll be a staple of my apartment. Until I get a space suit set to regulate my body temperature, that'll have to do.

Besides, it'll feel so good to go out walking in the humid sunshine, getting exercise, then go home and be in cool, modulated, artificial comfort. The best of all possible worlds.

Two minute warning. This is like waiting for the Martian Rover to stop transmitting. It just keeps hanging on to life.

I'm bleary eyed now. I'll have to go get caffinated soda. I hope Mason's flight isn't delayed more.

Why don't American airports take a hint from the Japanese and get sleeping coffins for travelers and the people meeting them? Something where a credit card lets you in, you stretch out, the lid shuts, you set an alarm and go to sleep? It would make layovers so much easier to take. It wouldn't be hard to make them self-cleaning, either. I know this from modern automated car washes.

The unit says I have 0 minutes left, but no ten second warning. It's trying damn hard on my behalf.

I'm thirsty again. Damn Yoo Hoo. The gates are closed off, so I can't go sleep there and since I've never been in the same room as Mason, he can't automatically be expected to know who I am when I'm asleep, so I can't nap in a chair or something. I'm way too tired here. 12:51 am, and this is getting stream of consciousness style. I save after every sentence now. It's oddly tense -- like I'm racing the clock, or running for the airlock before my air tanks go out.

I've read too much Robert Heinlein, I think.

All the televisions just shut off, killing the drone of Airport CNN. It's just me and the dying powerbook now, and the other haunted, waiting for the delayed plane to get in with loved ones, friends, and who knows who else.

12:53 am. Ten seconds -- bye bye.

(9:00 am, from rainy Brewster Academy in the heart of downtown Wolfeboro.)

Well, we didn't die on the road.

The flight's delay increased to 1:47 am almost immediately after the battery died on the Powerbook. I wandered around for a bit, then settled on an upper level observation deck. Others came along and did the same. Someone started talking -- just complaints.

This broke the ice. We were now comrades in the night. There was no coffee in the building, though we all wanted some, so we did the only thing we possibly could. We sang Yellow Submarine.

Mason got in at about ten to two. He looks... well, like Mason, only without the beard. But he looks good without the beard, so that's fine. He's fun and personable. We hit it off in person almost immediately. That's very cool. I now actively hope he gets hired, just because I want to pal around with Mason in Wolfeboro.

Two-fifteen or so, we were on the road. I tried -- as I try every time I leave the Manchester Airport -- to find the same short-cut I take to get there. This time, wonder of wonders, it worked like a charm. The first time ever. Therefore, I now believe Mason Kramer is the Incarnate Luck Lord. He begs to differ.

We made it home about three thirty or so. I showed him around, told him how the bathroom light takes about three seconds to come on (I replaced it with a fluorescent tube-bulb after it kept burning out), got him comfortable (I hope), went to bed, and died.

The alarm went off. I got up. I came in.

Now, there are plenty of insomniac nights where I get to sleep around four. I generally feel like death warmed over the next morning. Well, not this morning. There's a big difference between lying down and trying to sleep and letting your body go into low maintenance mode and driving a car while talking to a friend about how staggeringly good Heather Alexander's voice is. I feel downright Zombieish this morning. I may have to stagger over and consume Eileen's brain at some point. Which is a pity, as I like Eileen.

This is a way long entry. I'll try to wrap it up with a few of yesterday afternoon's activities.

Picked up my laundry and dropped off an alteration and some dry cleaning (it's time to get those winter coats made springtime fresh). Most of the time I try to wash my own clothes but I know I won't have time this weekend. Besides, my launderers give me free hangers now and charge a lot less than the Laundry Service I used to use. A lot less. So, it may be worth it. We'll see.

In the meantime, I now have a ton of hangers. I'll have to bring most of them home to Mother. Now there's your Mother's day for you.

I then went food shopping. As stated in earlier entries, I don't have a lot of food in the apartment because the Academy feeds me. But, I had a guest coming so I had to go in and see what I could do.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to shop for someone from Austin Texas, when you've never been in the room with him before? I'll give you a little clue. Very.

I knew he was a Diet Doctor Pepper drinker, so I picked some of that up. And he mentioned peanut butter and jelly, so I got a small tub of peanut butter, bread and some jam -- I'm sure my parents will be just thrilled to learn there's peanut butter in my house. I got some microwaveable Healthy Choice dinners (which is what I prefer) and some cereal and the like. Staple foods, in other words. So we should be okay.

That being said, we'll probably never actually eat in the Apartment. Well, most of the stuff I've got won't go bad right away, and within the next month the students leave anyhow. When they leave, the dining hall will close until one of the summer programs kicks in.

And I'll be ready, Healthy Choice dinner in hand.

Dear Lord this is long. Dear Lord I'm tired. Talk to you tomorrow, unless I get caught up with Mason and we spend the day out... well, doing stuff. In which case I'll talk to you the next time I talk to you. It's been a pretty long unbroken streak from me, after all, so no basis for complaint.