C Terminal Freeze-out
I could have titled this "The Crabby Traveler, Part Deux" but I figured Springsteen needed a shout-out-ish.
Anyway, I'm now in Cambridge, Mass; I flew out of Newark, bound for Boston on a 5:30pm flight, which boarded exactly on time at 4:55 and then sat on the runway for 2 hours. Which was not actually a big deal; I read my New Yorker (I am so, so happy that I renewed my subscription; I was fascinated by last week's article on those students at the college that recruits home-schooled kids and churns out ultraconservative Hill staffers, and this week I loved the story about the non-goldfish with all the references to Vertigo, which my mother-in-law lent us so we'll get to watch this weekend) and did a New York Times crossword puzzle (I feel like it's cheating to cross this off the 101 in 1001 list, because it was super-easy, but oh well -- I'll take it) and I got a bit of work done.
My key frustration was not with the actual plane ride, but of the airport experience: namely, that all I wanted in the world was a milkshake, and no one would give it to me. I waited in line for 10 minutes at McDonald's before realizing the ice cream machine was broken (which happens fairly regularly, I've found); searched for another place because I couldn't justify a $5 shake at Ben & Jerry's; found nothing but an I Can't Believe it's Yogurt stand; decided that just wasn't worth it; hoped Twizzlers would be a sufficient substitute; talked to Smelmooo, who suggested maybe I'd be less crabby if I went ahead and splurged on the $5 shake, which he didn't need to tell me twice; went back to Ben & Jerry's at 4:37, waited in line for 10 minutes and was told, "No drinks today; only ice cream."
Which turned out to be better than Twizzlers, but still not quite what I had in mind, although The Last Straw may be my new Ben & Jerry's Scoop Shop flavor, and the name seemed particularly appropriate today.
Anyway, I'm now in Cambridge, Mass; I flew out of Newark, bound for Boston on a 5:30pm flight, which boarded exactly on time at 4:55 and then sat on the runway for 2 hours. Which was not actually a big deal; I read my New Yorker (I am so, so happy that I renewed my subscription; I was fascinated by last week's article on those students at the college that recruits home-schooled kids and churns out ultraconservative Hill staffers, and this week I loved the story about the non-goldfish with all the references to Vertigo, which my mother-in-law lent us so we'll get to watch this weekend) and did a New York Times crossword puzzle (I feel like it's cheating to cross this off the 101 in 1001 list, because it was super-easy, but oh well -- I'll take it) and I got a bit of work done.
My key frustration was not with the actual plane ride, but of the airport experience: namely, that all I wanted in the world was a milkshake, and no one would give it to me. I waited in line for 10 minutes at McDonald's before realizing the ice cream machine was broken (which happens fairly regularly, I've found); searched for another place because I couldn't justify a $5 shake at Ben & Jerry's; found nothing but an I Can't Believe it's Yogurt stand; decided that just wasn't worth it; hoped Twizzlers would be a sufficient substitute; talked to Smelmooo, who suggested maybe I'd be less crabby if I went ahead and splurged on the $5 shake, which he didn't need to tell me twice; went back to Ben & Jerry's at 4:37, waited in line for 10 minutes and was told, "No drinks today; only ice cream."
Which turned out to be better than Twizzlers, but still not quite what I had in mind, although The Last Straw may be my new Ben & Jerry's Scoop Shop flavor, and the name seemed particularly appropriate today.
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