drinking in airports
February 17, 2012
today’s the day, bitches.
my mini sojourn to stockholm.
it’s already been an exciting trip
and i haven’t even boarded a plane yet.
here’s the jist:
there’s the washing/drying of clothes right up until i left my apartment – this included laying a sweater to dry in front of an air vent and turning up the heat/closing the door to my bathroom so my dress clothes had a chance in hell of drying as they hung on my shower curtain rod.
i oversleep – i’ve only had 12 hours total this whole week so that’s not really surprising.
i pack everything, shower, and get in the car and on the road in 40 minutes. not bad if i do say so myself.
i find my way to the airport with limited problems, other than listening to howard stern’s “mammary lane” where they replayed an show in which a dude ate his booger to get his band’s cd played. i was dry heaving like you wouldn’t believe listening to that. veronica, you know what that sounds like.
i arrive with plenty of time at the airport. no traffic.
i see sam bernstein. if you’re a michigander who lives anywhere near detroit you know how cool and dated that reference is.
the kiosk says there’s a problem with my ticket. wait in line for 25 minutes to find out the problem is i’m not flying delta but united. i am in the wrong terminal. this is not the first time i have mixed up the two airlines. i have no idea why.
i wait in the cold for 15 minutes for the shuttle to arrive to take me to the proper terminal. i now have 1 hour to get on my plane. i may have shat myself a little.
i arrive at the proper terminal – there is no one here. except of course the group of elderly slavic men whose papers aren’t in order so we all have to wait as they try to figure it out. (i bet they were in the wrong terminal).
i race through the airport, sweating in my new extra warm coat purchased (on sale bitches!) especially for this trip to scandanavia.
i arrive at my gate.
my flight is delayed for two hours.
it’s 9:20 in the am.