Monday, January 28, 2019

Leaving Las Vegas

So, my trip home started by leaving The Mirage in an Uber on Saturday at about 6:30AM local. (If you're considering buying a Nissan Altima, they have cavernous trunks. We fit two large suitcases and several smaller bags.)

Got to LAS plenty early and nursed a Bloody Mary until my 0930 flight, a short hop to John Wayne Airport in Orange County.

Once there, I had a three-hour layover, which I whiled away at California Pizza Kitchen, reading Ghettoside: A True Story of Murder in America.

Boarding was a snafu. Of course the gate lice all piled around the boarding area the minute it seemed like were were near boarding, so even if you had paid for early boarding and extra legroom, you got to elbow your way through the steerage passengers to get there.

There was about a fifteen minute delay in starting the process, no doubt because the plane was waiting on lemon-scented moistened towelettes, and then once in the plane, the winds shifted and they had to turn the airport around.

Well, they don't actually turn the airport around, they just switch which direction is the active runway. We were in a 757, however, and for eldritch reasons involving size, weight, and noise abatement, we could only take off in the one direction, so we went from being first in line for takeoff to fourth.

The end result of all this was that we pulled up to Gate A19 in ATL at 9:48PM local. My boarding time for my connecting flight to IND was 9:42PM. According to the Delta app on my phone, I'd already been rebooked on a 9AM flight, but I was damned if I was gonna be spending the night roaming the halls of Harstfield-Jackson.

I checked the monitor and the IND flight was departing from Gate B13, so I hefted my bigger camera bag, not even bothering to deploy the handle, stumbled down the escalator and lurched through the already-closing doors of the tram.

Back up the escalator at B Concourse... I think I hurt my shoulder lugging the bag like I did ...I  jog shuffled the last few gates to B13, which was just finishing the boarding process.

At the time I was uncertain if my bag was going to try to make the flight, too, or if it was going to be sent home in the morning on the flight on which I'd been re-booked, but that was a chance I was willing to take. After a week on the road, I was more than ready for my own bed.

Fortunately, my checked bag made the connection, too. By half-past midnight, I was dragging my baggage through the snowy front yard and home to Roseholme Cottage.

Now if you'll pardon me, I have a week's worth of laundry to do.