Gullible's Travels: Pt 3

I was only away for a day and a half. However, by the end of my trip, I was quite ready to return home. I find it funny that I rarely identify as a Seattleite in most travel situations, but in some instances I am keenly aware of the ways in which I cling to Pacific Northwest culture. I will use Los Angeles as an example. I hate driving. Being strapped behind the wheel in this particular city really makes me appreciate the luxury of being a pedestrian in Seattle. In SLC, I was thankful for fashion and a culture of fitness. When I begin to think fondly of the place I am only marginally enamored by, I know it’s time to leave.
When preparing for the trip home, I decided to plan for the inconveniences that I did not plan for on the first leg of my journey. My flight was scheduled at 7:45am. My plan was to wake up at 5:00am, leave by 6:00am, and arrive to the airport no later than 6:45am. This would allow plenty of time for any heartache that the John Wayne International Airport might want to throw my way. I woke up at 5:00am, as planned and was ready to leave by 5:30am—ahead of schedule. There was not a single car on the freeway. I arrived to the airport at 6:00am. I checked in and breezed through security. By 6:25am, I had breakfast and coffee in hand. Everything was going my way. I looked up at the flight monitor and saw that my flight was delayed by one hour—SONOFABITCH!!! This sort of thing perfectly fits with my track record of always arriving to things early or late, never on time. I ate, pouted a bit, and napped until it was time to board my tardy plane.
The flight was empty, which enabled me to have an entire row to myself. After take off, I kicked up my legs and slept until it was time to sit up and begin our descent. At that point, I slept sitting up and woke up as we hit the tarmack. It was a beautiful, dream-filled sleep.
I stepped off the plane, acquired coffee with ease and got lunch. I often wonder why airline food must be completely void of quality? I sat down at what seemed like a real restaurant and ordered a club sandwich. This club sandwich was comprised of Jenny-O lunch meat and Hormel pre-cooked bacon, yellowing shredded lettuce, a single tomato seed and a pound of mayonnaise all stuffed between two stale pieces of Wonderbread that they were calling “sour” dough. I paid $10.00 for this delicacy. Again, my appetite was discouraged by an overwhelming number of big-boned people crowding around me and engaging in worrisome food ritual. I only ate half of my sandwich.
The Vikings/Cowboys game was on the TV monitors at my gate. There was a woman intently watching when a jumbo ginger man sidled up to her asking why she would to pretend to be interested in something that was clearly a “man’s” thing? I was passing the time by texting with an old friend when this went down. I joked that I was going to ask that man to make an honest woman of me and set my roots in Salt Lake. That I would have a wardrobe full of floor-length, floral dresses and have my uterus ripped to shreds by a plethora of freakish gingers, clawing their way out of my previously pristine body. I’d be “living the dream.”
As we boarded the plane, we walked down a long corridor and came dangerously close to twin propeller planes. I nearly fainted. To be truthful, I was not terribly pleased to see that we would be flying on a very small jet, but I am relieved it is a jet all the same. We settled into our seats, fastened our seat belts, made sure our tray tables were up and that our seats were locked in the upright position. Then, a god-like voice came of the PA. “I am really sorry folks, we just found out about a last minute plane swap. So, we’ll need you to de-board and change gates. Again, I am sorry about the inconvenience.”
Seriously?