Journey into the unknown
Well, I'm back from my rather unexpected vacation [Editor's Note: Unexpected? I'll tell you unexpected! He snuck in one day, left me a note saying he was going on vacation for an unspecified amount of time, and left! Well, I've got something unexpected for him when he shows himself next time!] from the capital of academia of North Carolina, Boone.
Anyway, this whole thing started a few weeks ago on a Saturday when an old friend of mine, Sean Hoade (who I'll refer to as Hoade from now on to avoid confusion) called me from Boone. It seems that he moved up there a few months before from South Florida, and he wanted me to come and visit him. I thought it sounded like a good idea.
My mom thought it was a good idea too, as long as I didn't get any hairbrained ideas of moving up there. Well, what she said was that I could move up there, as long as I didn't mind being disowned. Same difference. Oh well.
Since Hoade was coming down here to South Florida to see his sister paroled from Boyd Anderson High School, I decided I would fly back with him. His sister would pick me up, and drive us to the Ft. Lauderdale/Hollywood Internationally Known Insanely Designed (and overly crowded) Airport for out flight to Charlotte. The flight to Charlotte was uneventful. The car ride to the Ft. Lauderdale/Hollywood Internationally Known Insanely Designed (and overly crowded) Airport was something else.
Our flight was scheduled to leave at 8:20 a.m. Hoade was supposed to come by at 7:15 p.m. the day before so we would have at least a 40 per chance of arriving on time.
His sister didn't arrive until 4:23 a.m. to pick me up. Mom was screaming that NO ONE, no matter how good the conditions are, can arrive at the Ft. Lauderdale/Hollywood etc. Airport in only four hours. I kept telling her not to worry. We would make it.
And make it we did! And we even had time to spare. Three minutes to spare, but we did make it. We leaped out of the car, ran into the terminal, and threw ourselves on the desk.
“Yo! The line begins back there!” yelled an old lady with lavender hair. She pointed to a line that extended way down to what appeared to be the Miami Hangout for Hari Krishnas and International Airport. We ignored her.
“Has flight 42 to Charolette left yet?” inquired Hoade, between gasps of air.
“No, throw me your bags, and then run to gate f-433/a, which is down that hall, take a right, thrid left, down, next left, eighth right, second left, up, through the double doors that lead to the X-ray machine, go through, follow the corridor down, take a left, and board the plane,” she said, as she caught my bag in her left hand, Hoade's bag in her right (and his wighed slightly less than the Great Pyramids of Giza), threw them on the conveyor belt behind her, and took care of the old lady with the lavendar hair.
Our run through the airport would have make O.J. Simpson proud! We were on out way to Charlotte.
As I have said, the flight up wasn't too eventful, except when Hoade threw a sprig of parsly at me, and it landed in the drink of the man sitting next to me. He didn't notice. He was either medatating (preparing for a power-lunch in Charlotte) or he was hoping that by ignoring us, we would somehow cease to exist (the Our-mind-creates-our-reality,-and-these-two-moronic-college-students-who-thr ew-a-sprig-of-parsly-in-my-drink-are-a-figment-of-a-deranged-yuppie theory). I don't know, and I don't particularlly care.
Although the flight to Charlotte was uneventful, what happened to us in Charlotte would make a great mini-series, especially now that the writer's strike is going on. That, and other fun-filled things about North Carolina next week (as when Hoade nearly gets arrested, or our roller coaster commuter flight to Hickery).
See you then.