Holiday Ass Kisses, Part One
Today is a good day. Thus far not one for the history books or more importantly for a LiveJournal entry, but it has been a nice. Now I sit here watching silver droplets slide down my windows against a cloudy sky of bright gray while nibbling slices of eggnog fudge and sipping a cold glass of milk. My mind begins to wander back to the source of this fudge: Goofy's Candy Co. at Downtown Disney in Orlando.
My parents really know how to bring the family together for the holidays. As 2007 came to a close, their Christmas gift to me, my brother, and his wife and kids was a six day vacation to Disney World. It was never a monetarily practical vacation when my brother and I were children, but better late than never!
Holiday Ass Kisses, Part One: The Travel Industry
The actual traveling was not fun for me. Except for a lovely Christmas dinner with the effervescent nihilistic stylings of Ms. MONEYPENNY at Ye Olde Nugget O'Gold, I spent the day doing laundry, cleaning and packing. Ok, that's a total lie, and we all know it. Not the dinner part. That was truly lovely, and New Jersey doesn't know how lucky it is to have her trapped there. The productive part of the day, however, is most certainly untrue. I chatted online and played WoW. Surprise! Hey, it's a holiday, and I'll celebrate it how I see fit, and then babble endlessly in a defensive manner about it on LiveJournal if it damn well pleases me to do so.
What was I talking about?
After the multiple courses of Christmas tastiness, I went home and then started laundry and packing. By the time I finished, I only had a few hours left before I had to leave for the airport. I took a long hot shower, shaved, trimmed and styled the hair, really took my time sprucing up and feeling good. I packed up the last of my toiletries, bundled up for the Chicago winter, and set out on my journey. I was about ten yards from my building when I realized my jeans felt funny. I reached for my right pocket and realized in a rush of panic, that I had just left my keys in the lock of my apartment door inside the locked complex. Good start, Mr. Town. Good start. I woke up my poor neighbors (the time was 6:15 AM on the day after Christmas) and besought their holiday spirit to let me back into the building. They're cool peeps, so it wasn't an issue. I just felt like a giant, spastic, fatigued fool.
I dragged my luggage two blocks to the first bus which arrived without too much wait. It dropped me off right at the stop for the second bus, but this wait was far less brief. I could feel the minutes ticking away as my ETD deadline trudged steadily closer. Finally the bus arrived and deliverd me to the train. Originally I thought this bus-bus-combo which only took me two neighborhoods out of my way would be far more practical than my previous train-train combo which took me all the way downtown, and then back north again even further than where I had started. Wrong. By the time I reached O'Hare, I only had 40 minutes to catch my flight. I frantically accosted a United employee asking him which terminal housed the American ticket counters. He helpfully directed me to terminal 2. For future reference of all you ORD travelers:
American Airlines is housed in terminal 3.
If you find yourself in terminal 2, and you need to be at terminal 3, do not follow the signs pointing to terminal 3. This will take you to the shuttle which could keep you waiting up to 15 minutes. Simply leave the building and walk the 50 yards.
If using the self check-in to claim your ticket, you must do so 45 to 30 minutes before departure time.
Needless to say, I missed my flight. Believe it or not, this is actually the first time my tardy ass has ever done this. Luckily, the prompt for standby tickets popped up before I could lose my shit. I selected the next flight to Orlando, passed through security unhindered, ate breakfast, and napped. When my standby flight finally started boarding, I started praying to whatever powers would possibly listen to please get my sorry self on that flight and safely to my family. I was one of the last two passengers they boarded. Thank you. Goddess, Buddha, Hermes, Fharlanghn, whoever listened and decided I deserved a respite from traveler hell, thank you.
Not that this respite was free mind you. When I did finally arrive at the Orlando airport, I was misdirected by a travel agent yet again! Do these people even know where they work?? Then coming home again at the end of the vacation pushed me right up to the very fine edge of the postal worker abyss.
First I should point out that I was not late. In fact the resort made sure I was at the airport with ample time to do my last minute souvenir shopping in the plethora of Disney and Universal gift shops housed in this monument to human flight and all-American consumerism. When the return flight finally boarded it was very much on time. I guess it's more entertaining to have a captive audience before they tell you there will be a delay due to adverse weather conditions at the destination. No worries, the insanely dreamy metrosexual hipster Aussie sitting next to me provided a delightful distraction. Speaking of, when we did take off at last, his white-knuckled dread of the turbulence was delicious. I guess attraction can be amplified by fear.
Am I unfocused today or what??
When we reached ORD, we were stuck in a holding pattern until they could de-ice the runway for us to land. Escaping the plane, I was off like a shot. I managed to stop for urinary relief and still managed to be the first passenger to the baggage claim. I didn't miss a beat. I saw every single piece of luggage unloaded from our plane. And then the next plane. And the next. Fuck me.
I asked the attendant why I was the only one left from the three flights unloaded at baggage claim 14, but there was no suitcase for me. He scanned my ticket, and retrieved my belongings which had arrived on an earlier flight. That might have been nice to know... um, before I waited for an hour! At least it had arrived at all. I am not looking forward to the vacation where they lose my luggage.
Thus begins the reverse trip of train-bus-bus, but now it's not a cold early morning. Oh no, it's a snowy New Year's Eve littered with drunken revelers. Did I mention one of the buses I had to wait for was in the heart of the Wrigleyville bar scene. Who has more fun than me? Who, I ask you? No one that's who. My life rocks. For the benefit of the sarcastically inept, please allow me to point out the previous statements as a prime example.
By the time I was safely home again, there was only half an hour remaining before the ball dropped ending the old year and welcoming the new. No way in frozen drunken Chicago hell was I leaving the apartment again to be trapped on public transportation when midnight struck. Revelry be damned.
This takes care of the unpleasant portion of the vacation. I will follow up tomorrow with the actual Disney experience.
Jt
My parents really know how to bring the family together for the holidays. As 2007 came to a close, their Christmas gift to me, my brother, and his wife and kids was a six day vacation to Disney World. It was never a monetarily practical vacation when my brother and I were children, but better late than never!
Holiday Ass Kisses, Part One: The Travel Industry
The actual traveling was not fun for me. Except for a lovely Christmas dinner with the effervescent nihilistic stylings of Ms. MONEYPENNY at Ye Olde Nugget O'Gold, I spent the day doing laundry, cleaning and packing. Ok, that's a total lie, and we all know it. Not the dinner part. That was truly lovely, and New Jersey doesn't know how lucky it is to have her trapped there. The productive part of the day, however, is most certainly untrue. I chatted online and played WoW. Surprise! Hey, it's a holiday, and I'll celebrate it how I see fit, and then babble endlessly in a defensive manner about it on LiveJournal if it damn well pleases me to do so.
What was I talking about?
After the multiple courses of Christmas tastiness, I went home and then started laundry and packing. By the time I finished, I only had a few hours left before I had to leave for the airport. I took a long hot shower, shaved, trimmed and styled the hair, really took my time sprucing up and feeling good. I packed up the last of my toiletries, bundled up for the Chicago winter, and set out on my journey. I was about ten yards from my building when I realized my jeans felt funny. I reached for my right pocket and realized in a rush of panic, that I had just left my keys in the lock of my apartment door inside the locked complex. Good start, Mr. Town. Good start. I woke up my poor neighbors (the time was 6:15 AM on the day after Christmas) and besought their holiday spirit to let me back into the building. They're cool peeps, so it wasn't an issue. I just felt like a giant, spastic, fatigued fool.
I dragged my luggage two blocks to the first bus which arrived without too much wait. It dropped me off right at the stop for the second bus, but this wait was far less brief. I could feel the minutes ticking away as my ETD deadline trudged steadily closer. Finally the bus arrived and deliverd me to the train. Originally I thought this bus-bus-combo which only took me two neighborhoods out of my way would be far more practical than my previous train-train combo which took me all the way downtown, and then back north again even further than where I had started. Wrong. By the time I reached O'Hare, I only had 40 minutes to catch my flight. I frantically accosted a United employee asking him which terminal housed the American ticket counters. He helpfully directed me to terminal 2. For future reference of all you ORD travelers:
Needless to say, I missed my flight. Believe it or not, this is actually the first time my tardy ass has ever done this. Luckily, the prompt for standby tickets popped up before I could lose my shit. I selected the next flight to Orlando, passed through security unhindered, ate breakfast, and napped. When my standby flight finally started boarding, I started praying to whatever powers would possibly listen to please get my sorry self on that flight and safely to my family. I was one of the last two passengers they boarded. Thank you. Goddess, Buddha, Hermes, Fharlanghn, whoever listened and decided I deserved a respite from traveler hell, thank you.
Not that this respite was free mind you. When I did finally arrive at the Orlando airport, I was misdirected by a travel agent yet again! Do these people even know where they work?? Then coming home again at the end of the vacation pushed me right up to the very fine edge of the postal worker abyss.
First I should point out that I was not late. In fact the resort made sure I was at the airport with ample time to do my last minute souvenir shopping in the plethora of Disney and Universal gift shops housed in this monument to human flight and all-American consumerism. When the return flight finally boarded it was very much on time. I guess it's more entertaining to have a captive audience before they tell you there will be a delay due to adverse weather conditions at the destination. No worries, the insanely dreamy metrosexual hipster Aussie sitting next to me provided a delightful distraction. Speaking of, when we did take off at last, his white-knuckled dread of the turbulence was delicious. I guess attraction can be amplified by fear.
Am I unfocused today or what??
When we reached ORD, we were stuck in a holding pattern until they could de-ice the runway for us to land. Escaping the plane, I was off like a shot. I managed to stop for urinary relief and still managed to be the first passenger to the baggage claim. I didn't miss a beat. I saw every single piece of luggage unloaded from our plane. And then the next plane. And the next. Fuck me.
I asked the attendant why I was the only one left from the three flights unloaded at baggage claim 14, but there was no suitcase for me. He scanned my ticket, and retrieved my belongings which had arrived on an earlier flight. That might have been nice to know... um, before I waited for an hour! At least it had arrived at all. I am not looking forward to the vacation where they lose my luggage.
Thus begins the reverse trip of train-bus-bus, but now it's not a cold early morning. Oh no, it's a snowy New Year's Eve littered with drunken revelers. Did I mention one of the buses I had to wait for was in the heart of the Wrigleyville bar scene. Who has more fun than me? Who, I ask you? No one that's who. My life rocks. For the benefit of the sarcastically inept, please allow me to point out the previous statements as a prime example.
By the time I was safely home again, there was only half an hour remaining before the ball dropped ending the old year and welcoming the new. No way in frozen drunken Chicago hell was I leaving the apartment again to be trapped on public transportation when midnight struck. Revelry be damned.
This takes care of the unpleasant portion of the vacation. I will follow up tomorrow with the actual Disney experience.
Jt