...giant crickets, oh my... (PART TWO)

Everything in the so-called country is far. It’s far, and ‘just down the road’, or ‘just over/under the bridge’ and ‘if you passed the water tower/gas station/cow in the road, you went too far.’ I considered the area I was in to be the country because of the numerous deer that appeared to be grazing off the side of the freeway, oblivious to the rush hour traffic just yards away from them. Also that country smell of... nothing.

Just clean air and highways spanning six lanes across going in one direction. There were toll booths for what seemed like every few miles and my interaction with actual living, breathing toll operators was limited. I didn’t know proper booth etiquette or that I was supposed to just toss the correct change in and go about my business like the other highway regulars. The 45 (?) freeway had held me captive for almost an hour. I took surface streets and exited to what seemed like the same point EVERY DAMN TIME. I kept ending up with the same tollbooth guy who tried to help me within the few seconds I paused in his lane.

Tollbooth guy: “Which way are you headed?”

Me (rushed): “Tryingotcatchthe41Ithinkheaded toWaukegan???"

Tollbooth guy: “You just missed it – get off ahead and make a left at the second on ramp.”

Me: (tossing the $.80 into the change hopper) “Thank you!”
This happened two more times. I felt as if I was paying him for his friendliness.

Once I clarified that the “left” at the second “ramp” was in actuality an unmarked road,

I finally headed in the right direction, $2.40 lighter.

I drove for almost an hour. The sun was starting to set which was just what I didn’t want. I had no desire to be stuck on country turf at night in the middle of nowhere. When I exited the main stretch, it was humid and silent on the “street.” The blackened asphalt highway soon turned rough and rocky, then eventually to gravel and at some point, dirt.

The Hertz map was vague at this point. It did not detail the tiny county roads, only the main strip. I could only go East or West – both directions were equally dark and limitless. I picked up my cell phone to call the hotel. The screen was dim. My battery was dying and had only a minute or so of life left in it.

I was stuck in a Stephen King novel.

The crickets chirping outside my car window seemed to be louder to the West, so I made a right. I had no time to battle giant crickets.

Dora the Explorer never flew standby (PART ONE)

My adventure to Illinois was... just that. An adventure. Pops took it upon himself to drop me off at the airport for my 6:15AM flight. He was half asleep and so was I. Maybe that explains why we ended up circling LAX and surrounding Westchester for half an hour after he missed the DEPARTURE entrance. For Gawd’s sake, we’ve been to this airport a hundred times! Something about driving that time of the morning in the dark, with no caffeine is very disorientating.

I was flying standby (thank you for the buddy pass, Gloria!) and for those of you who don’t know what that is, let me explain what a pain in the total behind it came to be. Standby = bottom feeder.

If you get to your departure point early enough, and if you’re super nice to the Customer Service Associates (or A-holes), then they’ll perform their God-complex duties and put you on an outgoing flight that isn’t filled. So I came to find out that there’s a lot of crossing of fingers and fairy wishing going on with this process.

I left LAX on time as planned. They sat me next to an emergency exit which meant I had to remain alert and functioning at all times. Heaven forbid I would be the one responsible for pulling the door lever... or flipping the window latch... or whatever I was supposed to do. The guy in the seat behind me promptly took off his shoes and socks. My row quickly smelled like pickles. No problemo.

I arrived in Seattle Washington a few hours later because with Alaska Airlines, ALL of their flights stop in Seattle no matter where you’re going. I checked in as planned but lo and behold, I got bumped to the next flight. I ate a little bagel sandwich, made some calls, and relaxed. When the next flight was close to departure, I kept hearing “full to capacity” which meant I probably was going to be screwed over again. I decided to pour on the sweetness and I walked up to the counter.

The female CSA looked up at me with her mouth hanging open. “Hi,” I said, as sugary as I could in a little girl’s voice, “Is there any way I could possibly get on this flight? I’ve been here a while.”

CSA mouth-breather immediately began tap-tap-tapping on her keyboard.
She responded, “Do you know who you look like? Oh my God, I was just about to call my husband!”
Surprised, I smiled, “Yeah...I’ve kinda heard.”
“Wow,” CSA said, “I can’t believe how much you resemble Gabrielle Union!” tap-tap-tap
The airway door began slowly closing.
“Thanks, I guess.” I said, “I guess I could look worse. So, is there any way...?”
CSA: tap tap, final click. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll go ahead and move your information to the next flight.”
Me: “Um, you really think if I was Gabrielle Union that I’d be flying standby?”
CSA: “I dunno. You could be incognito.” She shrugged.
Bitch.

I made the next flight and was lucky enough to have a two-year old seated directly behind me who wailed, screamed, and kicked my seat for four hours straight. Her mother looked all of 16 and seemed used to the behavior. Or numb. The stewardess kept offering the little girl snacks but nothing shut her up. I turned and peeked through the opening in my seat. I stared dead into her blue, watery eye. “How about a Benadryl?” I whispered. “That will make you stop crying.” She stared at me, sucked in a mouthful of air and her yelping continued with two minute breaks in between sets. I was miserable. The worst possible airplane situation I could be in without my Apple.

15 minutes before we landed.... she fell asleep. I had to restrain myself from pinching her fat little thigh as I hustled off the plane.

Hello Chicago!
Immediately I picked up my luggage and boarded the Hertz rental shuttle to the rent-a-car terminal. The line was out the door. Half hour later, I was in my rented Hyundai Santa Fe and leaving the lot. Security at the gate saw me fumbling with my printed Yahoo maps and the regional map I ripped off of the wall at the Hertz office.
“Need help?” he said. “Yeah" I said, "How do I get to the 94 West?”

He motioned to the end of the street, “Go down and make two lefts. Then go under the bridge and take the 134 East to the 90 South to Indiana. You’ll cross the 94.”

All I heard was two lefts. Indiana? The state?

Cars began backing up behind me. “Thank you!” I waved and began driving.
Of course I made a right.

TO BE CONTINUED