An Old Rant ... But My Favorite

I wrote this a long time ago, but it's certainly reflective of my personality.  I do love a good rant ...

Hotlanta - A Rant in Four Parts

Part I

So, I had to travel to Atlanta, Georgia, for work this week. I left on Sunday afternoon. My plane landed at Atlanta-Hartsfield around 4:30p, so I got my rental car, a sweet Impala, and drove to my hotel. The place is "the" hot hotel in Atlanta right now, TWELVE. My room was twice the size of my apartment, had a full kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a killer view. I was, needless to say, very pleased with my accommodations. I threatened not to leave.

That evening, I met some friends for dinner at Imperial Fez, a FABULOUS Moroccan restaurant in midtown. There was a five course meal, beautiful decor, belly dancers, gentlemen to wash my hands for me, it was rather enjoyable.

The trip was going swimmingly! Yea!

Part II

I woke up the next morning, fresh as a daisy, and proceeded to stand in the baby care aisle of Wal-Mart for 9 hours. Not fun.

The luxury of my room beckoned me. The shopping at Atlantic Station sang it's siren's song. My feet hurt. I was feeling the beginnings of a cold. I entered the bliss that was my room. How could I come to Atlanta and not shop??? There was a mecca at my fingertips. Ann Taylor. White House Black Market. I walked, I shopped, I purchased. I felt accomplished. And now ... room service.

Part III

I wake up Tuesday morning feeling not so fresh as a daisy. My head hurt. I couldn't stop coughing. My nose was running as if in a marathon. And now, I must drive two and a half hours to Columbus, Georgia, to spend another full day in the baby aisle.

The store was small. The traffic was slow. In 8 hours, I saw 6 people come through the aisle. I was sick. I was tired. I was bored.

I venture to my new hotel: The Hampton Inn. Let me just say, it was not the TWELVE. I go to check in and the lady at the front desk asks me when my baby is due ... ... ... I was not amused. Granted my shirt was one that bloused out at the front when I was leaning forward to fill out paperwork, but PLEASE!!! So, I was rather rude to her to compliment her own rudeness.

The trip started out swimmingly, now it was drowning.

I was annoyed. I was sick. I was tired. I was in BumFuck, Georgia. I throw on a pair of camo shorts, throw my hair in a ponytail and look for a restaurant that will let me in looking like a 14-year-old army brat. There was an Outback right across the street, so I thought I would go there for some beer to cure what ailed me. I made friends with the wait staff and enjoyed a pleasant evening of drinking.

Did I mention that my plane was leaving from the Columbus Metropolitan Airport at 6:10a Wednesday morning? It was.

Part IV

The people at Hertz made a HUGE deal about me bringing the rental car back to the airport 2 hours before my flight was ready to leave. They drilled it in to me. They had me convinced that screaming harpies would come to get me if I was late. So, I wake up at 3:15a to make it to the airport by 4:15a (I was being a rebel and getting there only 1hr and 55min before my flight left! That would show them!).

The navigational system in the car didn't seem to know where this airport was. This was my first warning sign. Luckily, I happened to spot the runway lights out in the middle of the field that I was driving beside. I turn in to the "airport."

If you will notice, I used quotes around "airport." For those of you in this area, you will remember the "airport" at Drake Field. This "airport" was smaller than that.

I park my Impala. Say goodbye to Inez. (That's what I named her, Inez.) I go into the "airport." There are two other people in there. Both were passengers. NO ONE was working in the "airport." Gates were down over the ticket offices. Thank GOD I woke up at 3:15a to make it HERE on time!!!!!

Around 5:00, three people show up to work at the "airport." They check us all through the ticket counter. I notice that no one is leaving their bags with them. They are carrying them off to another counter. Hmmm. Interesting.

It's my turn. I check in, tell them I am checking one bag, and they tell me to take my bag to the TSA counter. Oooookay. All of the flight passengers have now been through check in and are waiting patiently at the TSA counter. The three people from the Delta counter now go over to the TSA counter and begin checking our bags for anthrax, box knives, etc. Apparently, the change of scenery made them feel more authoritative.

Once we are all through TSA, we all go to security. Here's the good part: The people who just checked us in at the Delta counter and checked our luggage at TSA actually CHANGED CLOTHES to become "security!" These are the people who never would have figured out that Superman is Clark Kent without the glasses.

We go through "security" in the "airport" and all is well. I am the sick chick on the plane that I know I wouldn't have wanted to sit by. My clogged sinuses do not enjoy high altitudes. Finally, I am back on land in Arkansas.

I get in my car and think, I miss Inez.