Sick Transit
Flying again today, off to Milwaukee, waiting for my plane at SeaTac and gazing wistfully out the window as luggage is being loaded onto a 757 bound for Honolulu. Even for someone jaded by frequent-flying, there’s a sort of euphoria in the cabin of a Hawaii-bound plane as “mahalo” and “aloha” seep into the “seatbacks and traytables” verbiage. I can’t quite see into their cabin windows, but I know what they’re feeling.
The shuttle company that takes me to the airport has installed some pretty fancy GPS equipment, featuring a female voice with a slight British accent, calling out the streets and turns to get to the next pickup or dropoff. This robs me of the pleasure of telling drivers how to get around town when they (often) seem confused. We picked up another passenger today on the way to SeaTac, a young woman with a standard suitcase plus a reinforced plastic case that looked like something you’d transport organs for transplant in. Perhaps it only cushioned some fragile scientific equipment; perhaps the still-beating heart of her previous evening’s paramour. I asked her where she was headed - she had to dig out her ticket to tell me. I was relieved to see she was on a different airline.
So, I’m out for the week again, much the same routine as my last trip. On Wednesday, we’ll fly down to my client’s Georgia plant again, and I’ll fly home from Atlanta. Weather looks to be fairly pleasant down there still, heat and humidity within reason.
