I can has LiveJournal!
ETA, pursuant to phone post: I'm able to get online this morning, but just from the living room. Grr, still. Anyway, here's the post that should've happened last night. Pretends it's still just after nine, PDT. The subject line hasn't changed.
Hello, flist! I got home four hours ago, fully intending to unpack, hit the grocery store, and then settle in for my Internets, but then I realized there was Voyager on (of which work has deprived me!) and then Stargate, and well, I ended up at Trader Joe's at eight o'clock. Um. But hey, now I'm caught up on email and LJ (except for some outstanding tabs), and I am determined to write up my past two days before eating anything dinner-like.
Tuesday was WAY WAY WAY more insane than it needed to be. Things kicked off when I found out that my co-worker wasn't going to be there (family emergency), which meant that for most of the day, it was yours truly managing the phones as best she could. We managed, minus a few things that weren't my fault, really, and I still managed to get out the door at four-thirty to make my six-thirty flight.
As you might imagine, this portion of the plan was fraught with anxiety, oweing to traffic concerns. Nonetheless, it began well, with the freeway moving at a steady enough clip that I felt no inclination to ditch it for surface streets. I got to the airport environs in enough time to hunt down one of the cheap lots, rather than terminal parking. Found a spot, parked my ass, changed from work shoes into comfy sneakers, threw all my junk into the passenger seat for easier unloading, got out of the car and locked the door, went to the other side and pulled the door handle -
And got no love. The door would not open. Because it was locked. Because I had locked it before getting out. After throwing my keys into my purse on the passenger seat.
Cue vehement and vociferous swearing.
Inside the car: luggage, keys, cell phone, wallet (containing dummy key). Outside the car: me in my comfy sneakers and thin work shirt, and fucking cold-ass, gusty winds. Once my language calmed to muttering, "Seriously, who does this shit?" at myself, I hunted down an emergency phone stand and called for AAA (lady on phone asked me for my membership number, which...what part of "locked everything in the car" doesn't make sense?). They estimated twenty to twenty-five minutes; it was now 5:23. Fraaaaaaaaaaaak.
I returned to my car to do laps, jump up and down, run in place - anything to stop me from turning into a zorbsickle while I waited. I climbed on my car to look for the truck. I berated myself some more. I did not, however, cry about it. One point for me, I guess. I figured that if worse came to worse and I missed the flight, there'd surely be another for this short distance.
Twenty-five minutes came and went, with no truck. Just past thirty minutes after I'd called, the guy finally arrived. He got out of the car and asked, pleasantly, how I was. Let's see: cold, stupid, and about to miss a plane. I'm just fantastic, thankyouverymuch. I gave a more polite version of the last item in response. Anyway, he did his thing and got the car open. It then took another fifty years for my membership card to scan, but it did, and I gathered my crap and hauled off to the nearest shuttle stop. It was now just six - too late to really have hope, not quite late enough to give up.
My luck took a turn when AAA guy finally got the psychic commands I'd been sending him during the ordeal (and while I waited for him) and caught up with me around the corner to offer me a ride to the terminal. HOORAY! I don't care if it was the astonishingly large wind-blown hair or the pathetic girl impression that did it. The road to the terminal, and the airport itself, were blessedly empty on this late weekday afternoon. I didn't stop to see if the curbside check people were amused by the tow truck drop off, just hustled inside.
The displays still showed my flight as leaving on-time (specifically, 6:27). I had fifteen minutes before pull-back, and dwindling hope, but friends, if you choose to fly LAX at some point, do it on a Tuesday afternoon - there was no security line! The woman checking tickets looked askance at mine, kindly informing me of the long distance to my gate. Fabulous. She did direct me to the quickest x-ray station, though, and I was thankful I decided not to bring my laptop with me as I sped through.
Nothing left but the distance between security and the gate. Changing into sneakers before locking my keys in my car became the best idea I've ever had as I did the classic cinematic mad dash down the terminal hallway, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic and regretting every time I'd briefly considered taking up jogging (they were few and short-lived). Huzzah, for the distance was not so great as security lady had led me to believe, and I rounded the corner to find my gate immediately before me...
...and my plane delayed.
With my drama swiftly turned to farce, I watched the previous flight's passengers deplane and thought it was a good thing that I don't believe in any higher powers, or I'd have to do some more of that cursing.
Anyway, that was the dramatic highlight of the trip. The plane, a four-seat wide commuter job, ended up taking off about twenty minutes late, but I didn't care because I was on it. And on the other end, I had a madsciencechick waiting for me! We braved more fucking cold-ass, gusty winds together to get to her car, got me checked into a hotel room with the funkiest sink I've ever seen in such a place, and went for some late Mexican food. We talked of sports and fannish things. It was fantastic, and I'm so glad we got to see each other after a very long time of not doing so! *glomps*
When she dropped me back at my hotel, I found out that it had free wireless, but in light of my mad dash, I couldn't bring myself to regret not having my computer. In addition to the airport drama, being disconnected gave me no excuse not to go to bed already, you crazy person with a job interview tomorrow. Did that.
Wednesday, things went much more according to plan, save one snag. I had plenty of time to get ready and get yummy free breakfast before the cab came. I'm not going to talk about the next three hours of my life, because they were all interviews and you know how those things go. My recruiter said they'd inform me by the end of the week, so I'm staying mum until then.
The one snag came after the cab came (same driver, heh). We headed off down the road and were a few turns and stoplights gone when I realized I'd left my folder-o-personal info on the reception desk. Shit! But compared to Tuesday, it was nothing to go back and retrieve it, and the driver dropped me off at the airport with no further incident. The SJC security line was long, but I didn't care without a time crunch. I had time to get a bagel sandwich before boarding, so it was all good.
This time, the plane landed a little early. As I was walking to the shuttle pick-up, I got a surprise call from my dad, who was at the airport for his later flight back to Houston. So he got to hear my exciting story before we went our separate ways and I got to my car and out of the lot with no further incidents.
And that's it! Food time!
Hello, flist! I got home four hours ago, fully intending to unpack, hit the grocery store, and then settle in for my Internets, but then I realized there was Voyager on (of which work has deprived me!) and then Stargate, and well, I ended up at Trader Joe's at eight o'clock. Um. But hey, now I'm caught up on email and LJ (except for some outstanding tabs), and I am determined to write up my past two days before eating anything dinner-like.
Tuesday was WAY WAY WAY more insane than it needed to be. Things kicked off when I found out that my co-worker wasn't going to be there (family emergency), which meant that for most of the day, it was yours truly managing the phones as best she could. We managed, minus a few things that weren't my fault, really, and I still managed to get out the door at four-thirty to make my six-thirty flight.
As you might imagine, this portion of the plan was fraught with anxiety, oweing to traffic concerns. Nonetheless, it began well, with the freeway moving at a steady enough clip that I felt no inclination to ditch it for surface streets. I got to the airport environs in enough time to hunt down one of the cheap lots, rather than terminal parking. Found a spot, parked my ass, changed from work shoes into comfy sneakers, threw all my junk into the passenger seat for easier unloading, got out of the car and locked the door, went to the other side and pulled the door handle -
And got no love. The door would not open. Because it was locked. Because I had locked it before getting out. After throwing my keys into my purse on the passenger seat.
Cue vehement and vociferous swearing.
Inside the car: luggage, keys, cell phone, wallet (containing dummy key). Outside the car: me in my comfy sneakers and thin work shirt, and fucking cold-ass, gusty winds. Once my language calmed to muttering, "Seriously, who does this shit?" at myself, I hunted down an emergency phone stand and called for AAA (lady on phone asked me for my membership number, which...what part of "locked everything in the car" doesn't make sense?). They estimated twenty to twenty-five minutes; it was now 5:23. Fraaaaaaaaaaaak.
I returned to my car to do laps, jump up and down, run in place - anything to stop me from turning into a zorbsickle while I waited. I climbed on my car to look for the truck. I berated myself some more. I did not, however, cry about it. One point for me, I guess. I figured that if worse came to worse and I missed the flight, there'd surely be another for this short distance.
Twenty-five minutes came and went, with no truck. Just past thirty minutes after I'd called, the guy finally arrived. He got out of the car and asked, pleasantly, how I was. Let's see: cold, stupid, and about to miss a plane. I'm just fantastic, thankyouverymuch. I gave a more polite version of the last item in response. Anyway, he did his thing and got the car open. It then took another fifty years for my membership card to scan, but it did, and I gathered my crap and hauled off to the nearest shuttle stop. It was now just six - too late to really have hope, not quite late enough to give up.
My luck took a turn when AAA guy finally got the psychic commands I'd been sending him during the ordeal (and while I waited for him) and caught up with me around the corner to offer me a ride to the terminal. HOORAY! I don't care if it was the astonishingly large wind-blown hair or the pathetic girl impression that did it. The road to the terminal, and the airport itself, were blessedly empty on this late weekday afternoon. I didn't stop to see if the curbside check people were amused by the tow truck drop off, just hustled inside.
The displays still showed my flight as leaving on-time (specifically, 6:27). I had fifteen minutes before pull-back, and dwindling hope, but friends, if you choose to fly LAX at some point, do it on a Tuesday afternoon - there was no security line! The woman checking tickets looked askance at mine, kindly informing me of the long distance to my gate. Fabulous. She did direct me to the quickest x-ray station, though, and I was thankful I decided not to bring my laptop with me as I sped through.
Nothing left but the distance between security and the gate. Changing into sneakers before locking my keys in my car became the best idea I've ever had as I did the classic cinematic mad dash down the terminal hallway, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic and regretting every time I'd briefly considered taking up jogging (they were few and short-lived). Huzzah, for the distance was not so great as security lady had led me to believe, and I rounded the corner to find my gate immediately before me...
...and my plane delayed.
With my drama swiftly turned to farce, I watched the previous flight's passengers deplane and thought it was a good thing that I don't believe in any higher powers, or I'd have to do some more of that cursing.
Anyway, that was the dramatic highlight of the trip. The plane, a four-seat wide commuter job, ended up taking off about twenty minutes late, but I didn't care because I was on it. And on the other end, I had a madsciencechick waiting for me! We braved more fucking cold-ass, gusty winds together to get to her car, got me checked into a hotel room with the funkiest sink I've ever seen in such a place, and went for some late Mexican food. We talked of sports and fannish things. It was fantastic, and I'm so glad we got to see each other after a very long time of not doing so! *glomps*
When she dropped me back at my hotel, I found out that it had free wireless, but in light of my mad dash, I couldn't bring myself to regret not having my computer. In addition to the airport drama, being disconnected gave me no excuse not to go to bed already, you crazy person with a job interview tomorrow. Did that.
Wednesday, things went much more according to plan, save one snag. I had plenty of time to get ready and get yummy free breakfast before the cab came. I'm not going to talk about the next three hours of my life, because they were all interviews and you know how those things go. My recruiter said they'd inform me by the end of the week, so I'm staying mum until then.
The one snag came after the cab came (same driver, heh). We headed off down the road and were a few turns and stoplights gone when I realized I'd left my folder-o-personal info on the reception desk. Shit! But compared to Tuesday, it was nothing to go back and retrieve it, and the driver dropped me off at the airport with no further incident. The SJC security line was long, but I didn't care without a time crunch. I had time to get a bagel sandwich before boarding, so it was all good.
This time, the plane landed a little early. As I was walking to the shuttle pick-up, I got a surprise call from my dad, who was at the airport for his later flight back to Houston. So he got to hear my exciting story before we went our separate ways and I got to my car and out of the lot with no further incidents.
And that's it! Food time!