It’s now 2:15 and I explain to her how I’m supposed to be on the flight to Vienna leaving right now. She asks me why I’m just now checking in. I nearly climb over the counter but instead use every ounce of self control to explain, through clenched teeth, that I’ve been at the airport for over three hours. She refers me to the lovely ladies at the ticket counter behind us. Apparently I raised my voice when I responded, “I don’t want to talk to them anymore!”. She picked up the phone.
My latest adventure will be to England and--officially--it's a business trip. I leave Saturday for two weeks for an initial visit to get some of the logistics for my return squared away. In early July I will go back and I'm taking my wife with me. The official assignment is for 90 days, but in my business anything can happen and, as usual, that's exactly what you'll read about here.
The hurricane left us alone, the evacuees are returning home, and I don’t even remember what a car alarm sounds like. We’ve had a good run for the last three weeks, it’s been relatively quiet for us in the Lone Star State. Even Cindy Sheehan left. And thanks to a couple of Road Scholars groupies (is there such a thing?), the smoke alarms have become mute…for the most part.
What kind of idiot did this guy mistake me for? Did he honestly think that if I knew the answer to that question it would have been a “noise complaint” call? If I knew to whom that piece of shit car belonged, Officer Lone Star would have been investigating a homicide. No we don’t know who the damn car belongs to, come on man! He proceeded to give us the speech:
I admit, in the past I have been accused of hyperbole, and rightly so. I assure you, however, that everything you are about to read is fact. The names have not been changed because there’s nobody innocent to protect.
Those readers who have had the pleasure of an early morning wakeup call of the seismic variety will appreciate what I am about to describe. For the next few nights, Jen and I were afraid to go to sleep. We watched TV, left lights on, and stared at the ceiling. After an earthquake, every creak of a two by four or squeak of a door is a possible betrayal. You develop a sixth sense called paranoia. I even saw dead people. Here in Texas we don’t have earthquakes, we have smoke alarms.
We've had our furniture over a week now. As the holiday weekend comes to a close, I am happy to report that everything is officially unpacked and, except for the lone martini glass, unharmed (including the prized and famed state mug collection). Having furniture hasn't been all sunshine roses and rainbows though. Now that we're finally able to start settling in, we're becoming aware of some of the charming quarks our new digs have to offer. Pay attention future visitors, this information may benefit you during your visit—it might even dissuade you from coming at al
It has been twenty-seven days since we were exiled here to Texas. Yesterday is just a blur of subconscious mind tricks. I remember driving Jen to work. We were hungry. Maybe she was uptight; maybe it was me who was high-strung. It doesn't really matter to a police officer.
In the initial correspondence I was sent from the movers, I was told to only contact my "personal move coordinator" in Seattle for any communication regarding my move. Today I decided to call the company in Tustin that picked up my goods directly. It's my stuff, I will call whomever I damned well please.
We stayed at the Bates Motel last night and lived to tell the tale. When I called enroute to make our reservation, I asked if they had any vacancy for that evening. I found out when we arrived why the girl on the phone chuckled a little when I asked her that question.
They may not keep schedules and everything might take a little longer, but New Mexico has California beat in friendliness and hospitality. Nothing illustrates this better than a phenomenon that causes me to literally laugh out loud every time I see it: The Hand Nod.
I've mentioned that there is quite a bit of downtime associated with my particular duties out here. Seeing as how I just floated into another waiting session, I'd like to pontificate a bit on this topic and introduce you to a couple more lessons I have learned this week.
My job this week is to collect data about small chunks of ice that are being shot out of an air gun, hence the irony that I should be showered with projectile water at the airport. If nothing else, the experience has taught me quite a bit about testing procedure and the technical nomenclature that is used in a test environment. It's amazing the knowledge one can glean just from active listening.
I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. All those airplanes, airports, baggage handlers, carousels—it was only a matter of time really. In a way I'm relieved. It's like a rite of passage out of the way. Now I can go to my next swanky cocktail party and, martini in hand and head swaggering ever so slightly, talk about that time I flew in to El Paso, Texas. "I don't know where they sent my luggage" I'll say, "but it wasn't El Paso!". Everyone will laugh. I'll casually sip my martini.
It has been over two weeks since my last update, and for that I apologize.It has been a busy couple of weeks and, reading over my last update, much less poetic. I have just returned from two days of removing splinters (mostly from children’s dirty feet), building fires, and blowing my nose—an event otherwise known as camping with a cold. Sunday night I went with a handful of other counselors to set up the campsite (about 30 minutes away) for the arrival of the children Monday morning. Alas, I need to back up…
Getting lost WITH someone is kind of a thrill. There is something strangely exhilarating about not knowing exactly where one is going. Approaching intersections and asking each other “OK, which way?” was the theme of our Monday afternoon. At the end of the day it was a different story. Since it was raining, we decided to utilize my car and drive 45 minutes over the border to France. I will admit that before this weekend my feelings about the French were technically unfounded, as I had not actually experienced any of the things that people usually complain about. I can now make those complaints.