Return to Vegas, Part V: Conclusions

The Travelin' Thornberries at the "rear" of their trip.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010—Same S**t, Different Plane

Alas, all good things do come to an end, and our second Vegas trip was no exception.

The Guacamole Glop From Hell

By the time we checked out and got to the airport, it had been 90 minutes since we'd eaten breakfast, and Jennifer was hungry for lunch. So we stopped at a small airport restaurant. Again, I was on a different eating schedule from her, and I decided a small appetizer like the bait I had the previous night would be perfect right before a plane flight. So I settled on a small plate of nachos with jalapeno peppers and cheese. I figured Jennifer could help me polish it off and there would be no waste.

They brought me an entire roasted hog, sizzling on a spit over an open fire. THUNK! Right there on the table in front of me.

Okay, maybe not. But I *do* recall a vast plane of undulating cheesy chips. It was a field of food so huge that Jennifer was only a distant floating head on the other side, like a setting sun. More, they must have had Jabba-the-Hutt lick the contents of the plate before they brought it out, because it had a huge glob of slimy green guacamole hocked up all over the top of the chips. Both of us had to tiptoe around the "glopamole" as Jennifer later called it, and only extract the chips clear of its pathogenic border. The worst part about it was that the cheese fossilized as we ate it, cleaving the chips to themselves and tasting more and more like mouse butt. At last, we gave up trying to pick at it, each of us sorry we had to waste so much food. We pushed away from the table and headed for our gate.

The Angry Announcer

Any other hassles we encountered this round were pretty typical for any flight. However, we did notice that an undercurrent of resentment seem to afflict the staff in the Las Vegas airport. While we were waiting to board, an Angry Announcer came on over the intercom, making sure to tell us rather snidely, "you're going to have to know your alphabet and your numbers now." He went on to explain the boarding procedure, which is based on the letter and number on the tickets we have in hand. But he did so in a very patronizing manner. We suspected him of having dealt repeatedly with the hassles of "cows" and louts, the former being those who can't figure out the boarding process, and the latter, those who disregard the rules and do whatever they want, no matter who they hurt.

Shut up, You Cripple!

That line I found so funny from the movie three days ago returned to haunt me as we boarded the plane. As usual, it was a free-for-all dive to find seats together, and as we moved further back in the plane, it was looking less and less like we were going to be successful. So when Jennifer spotted one on the right-side aisle, I immediately zeroed in on one on my left that was only a row removed. Unfortunately, that required I step into the seat area with my right foot, then pivot on my left to fall into the seat. As I did, I heard a sound like industrial-sized metal objects being bent, followed by a loud pneumatic explosion. No, wait, that was my knee joint! Severe pain reverberated throughout my left leg, and I believed I was going to retch up fossilized nachos. But I didn't get long to nurse my newfound pain. At that time, Jennifer spotted two seats together, and I had to jump up quickly to follow her. After that, I just sat and throbbed, not in a good way.

The Sarcastic Stewardess

While I suffered, we listened as our last significant character,the Sarcastic Stewardess, did all the usual announcements. Of course, we know the FCC requirements must be even more boring for the flight attendants than they are for the passengers. How many times can it be fun to show us how to use the seat belts, the oxygen masks, the life preservers and emergency exits? Not only are these provisions government-issued common sense, but most passengers probably don't listen that closely to it anyway. I usually at least try to make eye contact with them and give some sense that what they're saying matters. But most passengers don't. Usually, the attendants handle this with finesse and a resigned, mechanical delivery. This one, however, seemed rather churlish. She would make comments like, "If we could pretend to have your attention for a moment, you might just notice in the seat pocket in front of you...oh, look, a safety brochure!" When the plane landed in Chicago Midway airport, three hours later, she got on the intercom and stated, "Alright, get out." At first, I thought she might be suffering burnout, but after awhile, I started to suspect she just had a sarcastic style of humor and thought she was being legitimately funny; I'm not so sure the other passengers would agree. She made us feel like we were freight and not people.

Conclusions:

The rest of the story is uneventful. We spent a couple of hours in Chicago, eating McDonald's hamburgers while sitting at a kid's table. I learned how my knee would bend and how it would not, but only by trial and error that left me limping clumsily by the time we returned to our home airport. It had been an eleven-hour ordeal that saw us walk in the door to greet our kitties at nearly 1:00 a.m. Nevertheless, such experiences are what make us glad to see our fat little fuzzy four-foots, and our encounters with the world give us grist for these stories we tell.

Thanks for being with us on this one, Our Darlings! :)

Ye Ende