Trip Report: Alice, Texas.

Takesus, is the correct pronunciation, me thinks, but that may be a trifle and not worth dealing with. Still, I like to mention these things and show you that I can communicate with the locals on their level.  That’s a gift of mine, being able to get along with people and such. I’m an ole smoothie. Should have gone into the Diplomatic Service, but I guess it’s too late, now, not that I was a diplomat in Texas. 

What I was was inspected, but I’ll get to that.

When last me met, I was getting ready to hop on a plane, which I did.   This is the rest of the story…

(Hey, who else do you know that shows pictures of Paul Harvey on their blog any more? Only old fucks, I suppose…)

My plane left Sacramento at 6:20 a.m. or thereabouts, and Delta wanted us at the airport 90 minutes ahead of time.  Sacramento is an hour and a quarter from here, or the airport is, so that translated to us leaving about three or so, which we did.  Unfortunately, though I went to bed about 6:30 in the evening, I didn’t sleep worth a shit, what with nerves and whatnot. I was up by one, ready to scram outta here by 1:30, and so waited around, somewhat nervously, since I don’t own a car any more, and one of Jeny’s friends, the delectable, Vanessa, was coming over to pick us up and take me to the airport, and she is often late. Not this time, she was early and we left early, depositing me at the Sacramento International airport at about four in the morning. 

Here is a clever graphic to show you some stuff.

No, it doesn’t show you very much stuff, that’s true, but I like maps and I like farting around with them, so this was a good excuse to load one in.

Ok, well, anyway, I got to the airport early, was already checked in, but got my boarding passes, and gimped off to get felt up in the security line. That didn’t happen, but they did get to scan my old ass and see my junk and shit.  I was going to ask for a copy of the picture, but figured I could get it off the internet later on, and save a few bucks.

Now, at the insistence of a couple (very good) friends, I had booked wheelchair assistance for all legs of my trip, but it was early, the Delta folks didn’t get in until 4:30  I didn’t want to wait for them, and I had plenty of time to walk and rest and, actually, this concourse isn’t all that big. I moseyed on down it, pulling one of those wheeled suitcases till I found  a Starbuck’s open, and sat and stared at a cup of coffee that I didn’t drink. I was nervous.

But eventually I did get  on the plane…first, I might add. We cripples are as good as infants, in that we get to stake out our claim without getting run down by the ruminating hordes behind us…had a cup of coffee, and dozed out.

In Salt Lake City, I was met in the jet way with a wheelchair, and a slave to push me around in it, right outside the plane. Can’t beat that. It’s a good thing he was there, too, since I would NEVER have been able to walk the very long distance, even if I had known the way, to my next gate. Holy shit, I didn’t realize Salt Lake’s airport was that big. But, I suppose, what with the Mormons importing wives, they need a pretty big one. Well, need or not, they have it, and I’m thankful for the dumbass that drove me thru it, rather expertly finding cracks in the crowds that he could exploit, if not too delicately, as I offered to bring my cane into play to help clear a path, should he need it. he demurred.

It was on the flight from Salt Lake to San Antonio that I began to get a hint that all was not good, that I was a lot more of a cripple than I thought I was. For one thing, this was a regional jet, though I don’t know one from another. It looked like this, whatever this is.

Let me simply say that these suckers are quite a bit smaller than a main line aircraft, or however one refers to them bigguns, and magnitudes less comfortable in the seating department. For those of us who have  been sitting for years, this is like someone beating us in the ass with a baseball bat. It was impossible to get even the least bit comfortable, with that “sore tailbone” feeling one can get in your ass after sitting a long time, in my case, four years.  I was miserable. Look, it’s only a little over two hours, but it felt like it was never going to stop hurting. Like fucking Rosie O'Donnell must seem…never ending and horrible.

But, ok, I made it, and just a bit early, to boot.  To boot? I wonder where that came from. Talk amongst yourselves whilst I do some little bit of research…

Here we go…

Middle English boten, to be of help, from Old English btian, from bt, help; see bhad- in Indo-European roots

Hey, that was real helpful. Oh, well, good thing you people don’t have to pay by the word for this silly shit, you’d have just been screwed.

Well, sir, moving right along…

So, the original idea was for Tina to pick me up at the airport, but then I got to thinking about it, some, and decided I’d take a local bus to a nearby mall, and she could just pick me up there. It was only a mile or so away, and then she wouldn’t have to drive that big assed Texas  pickup of hers into the airport.

Sweet and considerate, am I not? Well, actually, as it turns out, not so much. In my own defense, however, my heart was in the right place. (And so is hers, in case you were wondering.)

What you’re looking at, here, is the North Star Mall, just a mile or two from the airport.  See that big empty dirt spot in the corner right next to the parking stretching up to the road? This photo is a bit old, so it’s still being built, but that is the regional transit center, where all the buses come and go. The plan was for me to get off the bus there, and busty could just pick me up easy as shit, without having to get into that airport traffic.

Nice idea, that, except that when I actually got there, there was no auto access at all. Strictly buses allowed in there.  And there was no parking lot for cars at all near the place. And there was a very busy street between the transit center and the mall, and it was down a very steep hill with no path on it, anyway. The only access to the mall, was WAY down a path at the far side of the transit center, then way down the hill it’s built on to a crosswalk, and then across the street to the mall.  All of which would be a long annoying walk if I were a regular person, but took on gargantuan proportions considering how little I can walk. Being really fucked up is annoying, yes.

Not that it mattered so much, though, because the mall was bursting at the seams, and Tina couldn’t fine anywhere to park.  Being a modern man, I had called her on my fancy new phone from the transit mall while I was taking a quick dump, and I could hear the frustration in her voice.  In addition to being modern, I’m also quite chivalrous, so I told her to just find any place to park where she could see the transit place, and I’d find her…(no matter how long it would take me to gimp my ass down that fucking path.)

That didn’t work either, as you’ll find out in our next episode…