It's more than a week since I've returned from the Mensa Annual Gathering (the "AG") in New Orleans. Even while I was there, the days all blended together, and I'm beginning to forget even major events, so I guess it's time to document the week, before it's all gone. Again, this is for me, for diary purposes. Read on only if you are a glutton for punishment.
I met NJ at the Newburgh airport on the way to N.O. She tapped me on the back as I was putting newly purchased ID tags on my luggage. We both screamed and jumped up and down. Last time I had talked to her, back in maybe April, she said she wasn't going because she couldn't find a flight that didn't involve a multi-hour layover. She finally found one that had a plane change with a one-hour layover in Cincinnati. My flight, on a different carrier, left a half-hour later, with a change in Philadelphia, arriving a half-hour after hers.
I had taken three "disposable" cameras. At the security station, I took them out of the carryon and put them into a little bowl. As usual, my gate was at the far end. I walked to the gate. Then I walked back to pick up the cameras. Then I ran to the gate.
In Philadelphia, repeat from "At the security station".
I felt like I had walked to New Orleans.
I hate traveling. I hate airports. I hate airplanes. The Newburgh to Philadelphia (and return) flight was a commuter flight, and the seats were so narrow I couldn't shift my bottom (my feet don't touch the floor), and there was no support for the small of my back. I stuffed my purse behind my back, but I really worried that it was going to put my back out, and then I'd really be in trouble.
NJ and I had agreed to meet "at the airport shuttle desk" in New Orleans. We didn't know that there were seven shuttle desks.
Her flight was delayed about 40 minutes. Mine was delayed 10 minutes. Which means we arrived about the same time, at two different gates, at opposite ends of the terminal. We each then discovered that there were seven shuttle desks. She shrugged, declared it a lost cause, got on the shuttle, and went to the hotel. I found out that her flight had been late, so I dragged my bags the length of the terminal inside to ask for her at all seven desks. Then, since I knew she couldn't go an hour without a cigarette, I dragged my bags back the length of the terminal outside, looking for her. Then I had to drag them back to her end, because that's where the shuttles left from. I worried about her, and felt bad leaving without her, but by then it was more than an hour since we had landed.
I felt like I had walked to the hotel.
I found NJ sitting in the bar in the hotel lobby.
She came to the hotel desk with me while I registered. I had reserved a luxury room, high up, great view, king-sized bed, smoking, for that night, Wednesday, through the next Monday night. They had screwed it up, and had me leaving Monday. I couldn't get that room through 'til Tuesday. So they put me in a different (smoking) room, smaller, two queen beds, 20 floors lower. When NJ had made her reservations, there were no smoking rooms left, so when she saw that I was getting one, she asked if she could get one, too. She got MY luxury room! At the same group rate! Because she was leaving Monday! Whoa! You can bet that for the next week I didn't let her forget that was MY room! MY refrigerator! MY view! MY bed! Harumph!
The kicker came when the airlines and trains canceled service Sunday and Monday because of the hurricane, and she couldn't leave until Tuesday, anyway. The hotel had originally said they couldn't extend any reservations, then changed their minds when reservations were getting canceled because nobody could get into New Orleans, either.
I coulda had that room!
~~Silk
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