A Weekend-Airport Sandwich

Maybe once before had I ever been to San Francisco's Airport. Never before had I had a weekend so spontaneous:

The story starts years ago, but really just Wednesday, when I get back late from Arkansas and have some rush work to do Thursday and a training on Friday. Skip to Friday afternoon, as I'm leaving Chinatown-area and the workshop on Grant Proposal Writing. [I stayed after the class's media center visit and database orientation. I save some stuff on a jump drive and walk downtown.]

At the downtown library, I pick up some DVDs on Iraq (Lost Year in Iraq by PBS's Frontline and The Dreams of Sparrows by The Iraq Eye Group). I imagine my weekend will go pretty smoothly. A little movie watching Friday, same thing on Saturday plus College Football and maybe an hour or two of work. Beach League and hangin out on Sunday. Pretty typical.

But I get on the phone with Kate around 7 (?) and we toy with the idea of a trip up/down the state to hang out. 8 hours later, Kate's in LA and the sponteneity is already off the charts. With only a couple pancakes to show for our Saturday productivity, we set out for VegiSoul, the greatest veggie restaurant South of the Mississippi and this side of the 10. I got the taco plate and Kate got someone else's order.

In 7 hours, the two of us have traversed most of California (Kate for the second time in 24 hours) and we're planning a social night in the Mission. We start at some open air, bring-your-bike and-sit-at-picnic-tables bar with Bert and Matt S, stop by Erin H's bar for a beer (and lots of shots!), and end up playing Speedanishopoloy (think Monopoly, in Spain, on crack) until 5 am.

Two burritos later, its 5am Sunday and time for sleep. Add a little pre-Turkey Day Thanksgiving and some sitting underneath the dining room table, and that makes a weekend. But I'm in SF and have to get to LA for work Monday morning.

At 4:20am Monday morning, we're up and headed out the door. I get a few minutes of crazy driving (some ass hole cab nearly killed us on a wide-open street at 4:45) and new public transit experiences before arriving at SFO.

I'm in a rush for my 6:30 flight cause the Bart isn't so effing fast... then, SFO's little tram sucks, the one that's supposed to go quickly from Terminal to Terminal. Its slow.

Then, I get in the security line behind this family of two kids and a mom. The obligatory taking off of shoes takes the 4 year old a long ass time; and I'm running to the furthest (read: closest, but for suspense's sake, furthest imaginable) gate. I have only a minute to buy a $6 banana (and chocolate eclair and water) before hearing the final boarding call and realizing I lost my phone at security!

I dump the contents of my bag out, very neatly, of course, and find the thing in the most predictable pocket possible. I'm the last one on. (This is about how big the plane was --> )

During the flight, I read and sleep, drink a little water and then get off in LA, where Ben P picks me up and brings me to the office for an on-time arrival at the Mercado.

Airports rule and suck. I sometimes feel alive and happy at them but they're often an emotional and frantic place to be, too. Like that time I spent the night underneath my favorite orange towel on an LAX bench cause I didn't make the stand-by to Sarasota. Or the time I flew to Chicago for a day and then had a flight to Purple Valley tournament -- odd span of emotions in two days, for sure.

The end.

epilogue: I've been to five airports in the last eight days. The above became a story more about my weekend and SF than the airports, but it relates and you'll see my inspiration down below.

The idea for this entry was inspired by a post from Deb (aka Desde que tu Fuiste, aka Rambo) about airports. Instead of writing today about my duct-tape wallet, I tried to attack the airport thing. But my weekend was too exciting not to talk about, too. So there ya have it.