San Francisco
SFO is one of the most confusing airports in the country. Trying to get from arrivals to the taxi bay is an exercise in extreme problem solving.
This goes doubly so after arriving at midnight, from a six-hour flight from New York.
With Penn all but falling asleep on his feet behind him, Teller had taken to all but wandering aimlessly through the terminal. Not entirely sure how it had happened, they eventually found themselves in International Departures.
“Teller, do you even know what you're doing?” Penn demanded finally.
Admitting defeat, Teller shook his head. He stepped aside, letting Penn take the lead as he turned back around to walk down the long corridor back to security. The good thing about being in an airport at midnight is that the security lines are very small. Penn walked straight to the front of the small line, dropping his suitcase loudly on the floor.
“This bastard over here's been leading me around for twenty minutes, and we've gotten nowhere,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at Teller. “Where the hell are the taxis?”
The security officer wasn't quite sure if he should call someone over. He hesitated slightly, and then pointed at a wall behind Penn.
“It's just on the other side, there,” he said. “Go back toward International Arrivals, and then at the end of the wall, come back this way, on the other side.”
Penn stared at him blankly. “What?”
The man pointed and repeated himself, as though he'd made himself perfectly clear the first time. Before Penn could say 'what' again, Teller turned to try to follow the convoluted directions. The corridor on the other side of the wall was so small, that it was no wonder he had missed it the first time. He whistled loudly, getting Penn's (and everyone else's) attention, before disappearing down the corridor. It didn't take long for Penn to catch him up, and they were soon outside, standing on a long, curved sidewalk.
The taxi queue at midnight was almost non-existent, and the two of them stood in a confused silence as they tried to figure out their next move. After a few moments, Teller spotted someone jogging in their direction, and tapped on Penn's arm before directing his attention to the person, before moving to put Penn between the two of them.
“I was starting to think I'd managed to miss you boys somehow,” a southern accent called, out of breath, at them. “Where'd that little guy just get off to?”
Teller stepped out from behind Penn, confident that they weren't about to be mugged.
“He's right here,” Penn said simply, moving to follow their host. “I didn't know you were gonna be picking us up. We could have taken a cab.”
Their host laughed. “They keep me up late, anyway,” he said. “Fox is on day shift right now.” He led them to a waiting car, which would have already been towed, had they been in New York.
“Well, we appreciate it,” Penn said, opening the back door for Teller.
Teller climbed inside, shut the door, and immediately fell asleep, content to let Penn and Homer rattle on for the rest of the night.