Heralding the Apocalypse

Monday morning

Hmm, let’s see. I was up at 3AM talking to Disney tech support to try to get their internet access to work, so that I could email some work that my computer at home screwed up before I left, it’s been raining/sleeting on us the whole time we’ve been here as the temperature continues to plummet daily, and I’ve gotten very little sleep overall due to racing, working, etc. Gee, I wonder why I wake up this morning having come down with Ebola? Or what is almost certainly Ebola, or perhaps the plague. Sniffling, hacking, can’t breathe, my head is on the verge of exploding, and of course there’s the cough that instantly settled into my lungs and makes me think a hot poultice or something might not be the worst thing. Hot poultice or a nog, whatever works.

Since I feel like shit, I tell Jillian and Deanna to go to breakfast without me, while I try to rally so that we can go to the Magic Kingdom as planned today. They offer to bring me back a biscuit or something, but I’m oddly hesitant. I wonder why…..

Breakfast Saturday morning at the Waffle Shack

Jillian: My biscuit is really weird. Here, try it, it tastes like it’s fried in Crisco or something.
Me, taking a bite out of the biscuit that Jillian’s already eaten half of: Ack…. agh..a.a.cka…ack……(spitting it out)…oh my god, that’s GROSS! That’s not fried in Crisco, that’s fried in RANCID Crisco! Why’d you make me try that?
Jillian: I don’t know, I guess I thought you might want to try the rancid Crisco biscuit!
Me: Oh my GOD that was horrible. I thought we were friends, yet here you are, pushing a rancid biscuit on me! Et tu, Jillian, et tu?!

Back to Monday

I tell them thanks, but I’ll pass on the biscuit. After chugging down a passel of hot Mickey tea, I still feel like crap, but at least I’m hydrated. Jillian and Deanna get back, and off we go for a day of fun and festivities at Disney on this 30-degree day. Where we learn that foreigners are pretty damn rude when it comes to basic things like lines and not stepping on or pushing into people, that you could easily lose your sanity if you go on the It’s a Small World ride more than once, that the Pirates of the Caribbean ride isn’t the same since they got rid of the pirates-chasing-scantily-clad-wenches scene, and that the Haunted House and Space Mountain are still pretty damn cool.

By 5PM, however, I’m done, so I go back to the hotel and leave Deanna and Jillian to inflict themselves on the unsuspecting Disney masses. That night I watch the news, where the top items are: the extreme bitter cold, the frozen orange crop, the sea turtles they’re trying to rescue from the too-cold water, the iguanas that are getting too low in body temp and falling from trees, the too-cold manatees. And this comment from the weatherman:

“You have just one more night of bitter cold to endure, folks, so hang in there! Tomorrow it starts warming up, and it’ll be in the 70s by the weekend! Back to normal Florida temperatures!”

I would lament that we’re leaving tomorrow, except for the fact that I seem to be bringing crop failure and apocalypse raining down on Florida, so it’s probably for the best.

* * * * * * * *

Tuesday

We head to the airport and Deanna and I go to the counter of AirTran – or Crazy Bitch Air, as I’ve come to think of it. My main worry is that my suitcase might be overweight. I know, 50 pounds, what the hell am I packing, right? But I don’t have a carry-on since I figure if I’m going to pay for luggage, I might as well stuff everything in there, and of course I have all the toiletries and such that I couldn’t take on the plane anyway. So it adds up. On the way over I had 47 pounds, and the only thing I’ve added were the race shirts, which collectively weigh less than a pound. So I check in, and put my suitcase on the scale thing. 50.5. I look at Crazy Bitch, and am about to say…..something, when suddenly….

CB: 53 pounds. It’s over. That’s $49.95.
Me, suspicious as to how it suddenly leapt in weight: I’m not paying that – I’ll remove something.

I take out my laptop, then as an afterthought, a half jar of peanut butter. Those 3 ounces could make all the difference. Bag goes back on the scale. Survey says…..47!

Me: Okay then. I’m going to put this jar of peanut butter back in.
CB: It’s still over, you still have to pay.

I look at the scale, and lo and behold, it’s back up to 53. Which might have something to do with the fact that Crazy Bitch has her hand on my bag, holding it down. WTF? Now I'm pissed.

Me: Umm, that's because your hand is on it. Take it off, now.

She does, and we’re back down to 47. Again, WTF was that about, like I wouldn’t notice??

She slaps the necessary sticker on my bag, and then tells me I have to carry my suitcase around the corner to security. Which is behind some kind of construction that they’re doing. In other words, not visible to the AirTran CB Lady.

Me, to Deanna: Okay, that’s stupid. I wonder if I could just put my laptop back in my suitcase now?
Deanna: I don’t see why not.

So I do. And please note that neither CB Lady nor the TSA guy noticed that my passport was expired. Naturally.

And my luggage makes it to Chicago unscathed, though I would like to take this opportunity to state the following:

Open Letter to the TSA people who inspect luggage after it's been checked in:

Given that now every time I’ve traveled in the last year I’ve found that slip of paper in my suitcase informing me that you’ve searched my luggage, I can only conclude that there’s something about my luggage that simply screams “terrorist.” Perhaps it’s the jaunty green LL Bean bag that captures your attention? Just the kind of thing the modern-day shoe or underwear bomber would use. Oh, wait, except for the fact that those guys never check any luggage anyway. So never mind.

Maybe the scanners this time picked up the puffy white Mickey Mouse hands that I bought at Disney? I guess it would be pretty difficult to discern fluffy white cotton batting from, say, lethal chemicals and weapons. I feel your pain on that one.

Now, of course I have no problem with this. Have at it. Really. Dig and paw through whatever you want, looking for….something. But for the love of GOD, could you for chrissake please leave things as they WERE before you started?? Because I’m a little tired of pulling out my toiletry bag, for example, and having things go tumbling every which way because you couldn’t close the zipper, or having my lotions leak on stuff because you couldn’t handle closing the plastic bags they were in, or any of the other lazy things you do.

Thank you.