Holy Fuck!
I'm taking my father to another Serra convention. We flew out Thursday morning.
Yes, I flew in the middle seat. Or most of the middle seat. My father took up at least a third of mine. It's hard to hold a book when the passenger sitting next to you has his elbow jammed in your chest.
Yes, I yelled at the ticket agents. Yes, I called another United helper a moron because she sent me to the wrong ticket agent. My father's ticket requires special care because he flies with an oxygen concentrator. You have to talk to a human to get his ticket. United hasn't decided which person that should be. During the last three trips I have gone to three different locations. None of them knew what the hell they were supposed to do. Today, I browbeat the woman until she gave me the tickets. I am through playing. Okay, maybe I started out the day angry because my mother descended to the kitchen ten minutes before our departure with a list of chores to be completed.
And maybe I'm angry (no maybe about it) because my father's pants were less than fresh smelling. Thankfully they smelled worse in the car than they did on the plane.
We did get to ride the cart through Houston international which was entertaining. And the hotel is in the airport so we got to take a small train from baggage claim to the hotel, where they had lost my room reservation. for a minute I thought my father had booked us into the same room. That horror show wasn't going to happen. I couldn't imagine spending three nights in the same room as my father. But the Marriot had screwed up. My father had booked two rooms. The Marriot people had just lost any mention of my room. It took them about twenty minutes to find me a room that was available. The desk clerk was very complimentary about how calm I was being. I told him I had shot my anger wad in San Francisco at some United clerk. (We had a similar room screw up in Washington. I'm just going to blame my father.
Since my room overlooks the United Terminal for the airport, I'm going to spend the rest of the evening mooning the planes.
Tomorrow, I ditch my father for a tour of the Johnson Space Center.
I'm taking my father to another Serra convention. We flew out Thursday morning.
Yes, I flew in the middle seat. Or most of the middle seat. My father took up at least a third of mine. It's hard to hold a book when the passenger sitting next to you has his elbow jammed in your chest.
Yes, I yelled at the ticket agents. Yes, I called another United helper a moron because she sent me to the wrong ticket agent. My father's ticket requires special care because he flies with an oxygen concentrator. You have to talk to a human to get his ticket. United hasn't decided which person that should be. During the last three trips I have gone to three different locations. None of them knew what the hell they were supposed to do. Today, I browbeat the woman until she gave me the tickets. I am through playing. Okay, maybe I started out the day angry because my mother descended to the kitchen ten minutes before our departure with a list of chores to be completed.
And maybe I'm angry (no maybe about it) because my father's pants were less than fresh smelling. Thankfully they smelled worse in the car than they did on the plane.
We did get to ride the cart through Houston international which was entertaining. And the hotel is in the airport so we got to take a small train from baggage claim to the hotel, where they had lost my room reservation. for a minute I thought my father had booked us into the same room. That horror show wasn't going to happen. I couldn't imagine spending three nights in the same room as my father. But the Marriot had screwed up. My father had booked two rooms. The Marriot people had just lost any mention of my room. It took them about twenty minutes to find me a room that was available. The desk clerk was very complimentary about how calm I was being. I told him I had shot my anger wad in San Francisco at some United clerk. (We had a similar room screw up in Washington. I'm just going to blame my father.
Since my room overlooks the United Terminal for the airport, I'm going to spend the rest of the evening mooning the planes.
Tomorrow, I ditch my father for a tour of the Johnson Space Center.
As a matter of fact, my anger does keep me warm