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shannon_a"We're fixing a seat, a seat is broken. We have maintenance aboard and they're fixing the seat. We should get you on board in five minutes."
It's fifteen minutes after boarding should have started.
Five minutes later it still hasn't.
And it's not going to be the last seat-related problem of the day.
150 Hours Earlier.
I begin my training regimen for the trip on Saturday morning. I wake up at 8am. I roll out of bed, but I'm groggy and barely functional.
It takes me another day to realize it's the drugs. I've stopped taking my decongestant because that can apparently cause problems for the chronic issues I've been having. No, no doctor bothered to mention that, as usual. I've learned it from research.
I'm now just taking an antihistamine, in the hope of still warding off allergies and the crippling sinus headaches that come with them, but with fewer potential side effects.
But it's a new antihistamine, Zyrtec, and it's making me tired.
So I quit.
By Tuesday morning, I've rolled my schedule back to 7am, and I'm actually awake in the morning thanks to the lack of Zyrtec.
I do what I've been planning the whole time. I get out of the house by 7.15 and climb up the hill that lies above us.
Three days in a row, I do this. I make a loop between the Stonewall Trail that comes up from the south side of the Clark Kerr campus and the unnamed trail that runs to the north, moving between them along the Snakebite cutback.
(That's my own name; the encroaching brush and the overhanging branches make me wary of snakes.)
On the middle day I reverse the direction to maintain some variety.
It's invigorating. By Thursday morning I manage 5,000 steps and 50 flights of stairs before 8am.
Mind you, waking up at 7am isn't going to be enough. By Friday morning, I need to be at the UN by 5am, California time.
But at least it's a start.
I expect to be rushed on Thursday morning, but I actually have a luxurious amount of time. I'm up at 7am, out of the house by 7.15, hiked by 8.15, and showered by 9am.
Kimberly and I then make a brief sojourn to Subway, a necessary step for modern-day air flight.
The new Subway guy is there, the one who seemed afraid of the sandwiches (and the register and the oven) when we visited on Sunday before To Kill a Mockingbird. He's been given the run of the store today, and he does seem to be doing better.
I order up my turkey sandwich, and it's going swimmingly until we get to the sauces. I tell him to give me lite mayo, but just a little. Then for emphasis, I say, "I'm not going to eat it for a while, so I don't want it to get soggy".
Faster than I can gasp out "Stop!" he's dumped on a gallon of mayo.
I gasp out "Stop!"
It's going to be a soggy sandwich.
Funny story. I don't think I've flown on my own in a generation. I flew to St. Louis on my own when I was young, but my last trip was when I was 12 or 13, I think.
In the '90s I flew to Maryland, then Britain with Eric R., and all my recent flights have been with Kimberly. The only ones I'm not sure of are my two Gen Con trips, to Wisconsin and Indianapolis. I'm quite certain that I flew one of them with Chris. I don't remember which of the trips it was, but I know I read David Brin's book about clones and that he upgraded us to first class for one of the legs. (Chris, not David Brin.) I still remember the smell of fresh-baked cookies wafting through the first-class cabin. As for the other, I think I flew with Mike B. or Par, but I'm not certain.
Anywho, this is the first time I can remember flying on my own in 30 years, the first time I can remember landing on the other side, and having to find my own way to my destination.
It's a little exhilarating, a little freeing, and somewhat surprisingly not the least bit anxiety provoking.
SFO airport is mass chaos. I've apparently forgotten that it's so much bigger than Oakland. I haven't been out here since we stopped flying United several years ago.
I'm surprised to see that JetBlue flies out of the international terminal. It's a little hard to find on SFO's maps, because you have to look at the international terminal listing, and then off to the side where it reads "Domestic Carriers".
Yep, that makes sense.
If there's a map of where all the check-in desks are, I can't find it. So I just keep walking aimlessly down through the main international hall, looking down each row at the signs for the carriers, which really aren't that big or obvious.
I should have faith, because there it is in row 10, "JetBlue".
Check-in is quick. I'm in and out in 5 minutes.
It's relatively easy too, except when the clerk asks the very disturbing question, "What last name are you registered under?"
"A*********," I say. I don't say, "The same last name on both the boarding pass and the driver's license I handed you."
"Oh," he says. I think he's realized that it's the same last name on both the boarding pass and the driver's license that I handed him.
I hope that I don't end up trapped in New York by whatever reason caused this guy to ask me that weird-o question.
Security is absolute chaos. It's everyone running back and forth like rats in a maze.
There's a sign right next to the only entrance reading "Priority". A nearby sign says, "Plebian Scum" or something of the like, but there's no way to go in there. I shrug and go through the "Priority" entrance. As I move through the maze beyond I become convinced it was the only way in.
A dog runs in circles sniffing people about halfway through the line. This is a unique feature not found at Oakland.
Soon I'm up to all the machinery and I note two more features not present at Oakland.
First is a guy yelling at everyone to keep on their belts, keep on their shoes, and not take anything out of their bags. He says it again and again, and I have to smile because he's fighting against 15 years of fear-mongering.
Second is the almost total disuse of the cancer-causing microwave machines, which I usually opt out of. Only the guy with metal knees has to go through it.
I toss my backpack onto the x-ray belt, then walk through a metal detector with my hat, overshirt, shoes, and belt on.
A minute later I'm out of there.
For that minute, air travel doesn't suck.
JetBlue didn't know what gate it would be at when I checked in on Wednesday.
By the time I dropped off my luggage, they told me gate A-8.
By the time I get to my gate it's been changed to gate A-10.
JetBlue helpfully sends me an email notifying me of this, as I walk from the luggage dropoff to my gate.
I've still got an hour before boarding when I sit down at the gate.
I sit down to eat my sandwich.
It's very soggy.
It turns out I have an hour and a half before boarding, due to the broken seat. They eventually get it fixed, and we start loading the plane about 30 minutes late.
When everyone's on board the plane, another drama begins in the seat right ahead of me. The lady there can't pull her seat belt tight.
Yup, it's another broken seat!
Apparently it's contagious.
We had backed out of the gate before the seatbelt drama began, but now the flight crew starts talking about heading back.
Then the lady to my left comes to the rescue. She's a larger woman, and she says that she doesn't need any slack in her seat belt. So the problem is irrelevant if they switch seats. The steward has to get the OK from the captain, but he does, and soon the swap is made.
It seems to work fine.
By now we're running about 50 minutes late.
The 10.30 flight, that was probably going to get me to the Upper East Side by 11.30 is now looking … later.
Which seems to be the only way air travel works for me now.
By the time I get aboard the plane I've got a headache that I suspect is from my allergies reasserting themselves.
I do have the Zyrtec in my suitcase if I need it in the days to come, but I'm hoping that whatever I'm allergic to won't be around in New York. Because that's the experience I tend to have in Hawaii.
We're flying over Nevada now, with Utah just ahead.
I type on my laptop and prepare to upload the file using the plane's free wifi.
Plane travel may suck a lot more now than it did when I was flying to St. Louis 30 years ago, but that's all thanks to the government's fearmongering
The actual future, this place of a global internet that I can access from 35,000 feet.
That's *(#(ing amazing.
It's fifteen minutes after boarding should have started.
Five minutes later it still hasn't.
And it's not going to be the last seat-related problem of the day.
150 Hours Earlier.
I begin my training regimen for the trip on Saturday morning. I wake up at 8am. I roll out of bed, but I'm groggy and barely functional.
It takes me another day to realize it's the drugs. I've stopped taking my decongestant because that can apparently cause problems for the chronic issues I've been having. No, no doctor bothered to mention that, as usual. I've learned it from research.
I'm now just taking an antihistamine, in the hope of still warding off allergies and the crippling sinus headaches that come with them, but with fewer potential side effects.
But it's a new antihistamine, Zyrtec, and it's making me tired.
So I quit.
By Tuesday morning, I've rolled my schedule back to 7am, and I'm actually awake in the morning thanks to the lack of Zyrtec.
I do what I've been planning the whole time. I get out of the house by 7.15 and climb up the hill that lies above us.
Three days in a row, I do this. I make a loop between the Stonewall Trail that comes up from the south side of the Clark Kerr campus and the unnamed trail that runs to the north, moving between them along the Snakebite cutback.
(That's my own name; the encroaching brush and the overhanging branches make me wary of snakes.)
On the middle day I reverse the direction to maintain some variety.
It's invigorating. By Thursday morning I manage 5,000 steps and 50 flights of stairs before 8am.
Mind you, waking up at 7am isn't going to be enough. By Friday morning, I need to be at the UN by 5am, California time.
But at least it's a start.
I expect to be rushed on Thursday morning, but I actually have a luxurious amount of time. I'm up at 7am, out of the house by 7.15, hiked by 8.15, and showered by 9am.
Kimberly and I then make a brief sojourn to Subway, a necessary step for modern-day air flight.
The new Subway guy is there, the one who seemed afraid of the sandwiches (and the register and the oven) when we visited on Sunday before To Kill a Mockingbird. He's been given the run of the store today, and he does seem to be doing better.
I order up my turkey sandwich, and it's going swimmingly until we get to the sauces. I tell him to give me lite mayo, but just a little. Then for emphasis, I say, "I'm not going to eat it for a while, so I don't want it to get soggy".
Faster than I can gasp out "Stop!" he's dumped on a gallon of mayo.
I gasp out "Stop!"
It's going to be a soggy sandwich.
Funny story. I don't think I've flown on my own in a generation. I flew to St. Louis on my own when I was young, but my last trip was when I was 12 or 13, I think.
In the '90s I flew to Maryland, then Britain with Eric R., and all my recent flights have been with Kimberly. The only ones I'm not sure of are my two Gen Con trips, to Wisconsin and Indianapolis. I'm quite certain that I flew one of them with Chris. I don't remember which of the trips it was, but I know I read David Brin's book about clones and that he upgraded us to first class for one of the legs. (Chris, not David Brin.) I still remember the smell of fresh-baked cookies wafting through the first-class cabin. As for the other, I think I flew with Mike B. or Par, but I'm not certain.
Anywho, this is the first time I can remember flying on my own in 30 years, the first time I can remember landing on the other side, and having to find my own way to my destination.
It's a little exhilarating, a little freeing, and somewhat surprisingly not the least bit anxiety provoking.
SFO airport is mass chaos. I've apparently forgotten that it's so much bigger than Oakland. I haven't been out here since we stopped flying United several years ago.
I'm surprised to see that JetBlue flies out of the international terminal. It's a little hard to find on SFO's maps, because you have to look at the international terminal listing, and then off to the side where it reads "Domestic Carriers".
Yep, that makes sense.
If there's a map of where all the check-in desks are, I can't find it. So I just keep walking aimlessly down through the main international hall, looking down each row at the signs for the carriers, which really aren't that big or obvious.
I should have faith, because there it is in row 10, "JetBlue".
Check-in is quick. I'm in and out in 5 minutes.
It's relatively easy too, except when the clerk asks the very disturbing question, "What last name are you registered under?"
"A*********," I say. I don't say, "The same last name on both the boarding pass and the driver's license I handed you."
"Oh," he says. I think he's realized that it's the same last name on both the boarding pass and the driver's license that I handed him.
I hope that I don't end up trapped in New York by whatever reason caused this guy to ask me that weird-o question.
Security is absolute chaos. It's everyone running back and forth like rats in a maze.
There's a sign right next to the only entrance reading "Priority". A nearby sign says, "Plebian Scum" or something of the like, but there's no way to go in there. I shrug and go through the "Priority" entrance. As I move through the maze beyond I become convinced it was the only way in.
A dog runs in circles sniffing people about halfway through the line. This is a unique feature not found at Oakland.
Soon I'm up to all the machinery and I note two more features not present at Oakland.
First is a guy yelling at everyone to keep on their belts, keep on their shoes, and not take anything out of their bags. He says it again and again, and I have to smile because he's fighting against 15 years of fear-mongering.
Second is the almost total disuse of the cancer-causing microwave machines, which I usually opt out of. Only the guy with metal knees has to go through it.
I toss my backpack onto the x-ray belt, then walk through a metal detector with my hat, overshirt, shoes, and belt on.
A minute later I'm out of there.
For that minute, air travel doesn't suck.
JetBlue didn't know what gate it would be at when I checked in on Wednesday.
By the time I dropped off my luggage, they told me gate A-8.
By the time I get to my gate it's been changed to gate A-10.
JetBlue helpfully sends me an email notifying me of this, as I walk from the luggage dropoff to my gate.
I've still got an hour before boarding when I sit down at the gate.
I sit down to eat my sandwich.
It's very soggy.
It turns out I have an hour and a half before boarding, due to the broken seat. They eventually get it fixed, and we start loading the plane about 30 minutes late.
When everyone's on board the plane, another drama begins in the seat right ahead of me. The lady there can't pull her seat belt tight.
Yup, it's another broken seat!
Apparently it's contagious.
We had backed out of the gate before the seatbelt drama began, but now the flight crew starts talking about heading back.
Then the lady to my left comes to the rescue. She's a larger woman, and she says that she doesn't need any slack in her seat belt. So the problem is irrelevant if they switch seats. The steward has to get the OK from the captain, but he does, and soon the swap is made.
It seems to work fine.
By now we're running about 50 minutes late.
The 10.30 flight, that was probably going to get me to the Upper East Side by 11.30 is now looking … later.
Which seems to be the only way air travel works for me now.
By the time I get aboard the plane I've got a headache that I suspect is from my allergies reasserting themselves.
I do have the Zyrtec in my suitcase if I need it in the days to come, but I'm hoping that whatever I'm allergic to won't be around in New York. Because that's the experience I tend to have in Hawaii.
We're flying over Nevada now, with Utah just ahead.
I type on my laptop and prepare to upload the file using the plane's free wifi.
Plane travel may suck a lot more now than it did when I was flying to St. Louis 30 years ago, but that's all thanks to the government's fearmongering
The actual future, this place of a global internet that I can access from 35,000 feet.
That's *(#(ing amazing.