Housekeeping - Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

The cheapest rental car I could find at Logan Airport from my trip was $475 a day. No, that's not a typo. I don't want to buy a car, just borrow one for a few days. My alternative plan was to rent through Turo for the first time. It's like Airbnb but for cars. I was able to get a 2016 Mercedes C-Class Sport for $100 a day. I could have gotten a Subaru Outback for $79 a day, but hey, $21 for Mercedes.

But to get the rental car in Worcester, I had to take the Purple Line - errrr Commuter Train. They don't call it the Purple Line anymore, apparently. Malcontent News does not approve.

I had the perfect plan yesterday.

It was perfect.

On Saturday, despite being in Sandwich on The Cape, I needed to drive back to Worcester, drop the car off, get to Union Station, take the PURPLE LINE to South Station, and the Silver Line 1 to Logan.

Take the 4:50 PM flight back to Seattle, pay extra for the premium plus on the bulkhead, work on the Situation Report in the air, and hit publish when I get home around 9:00 PM local time.

Perfect.

My best friend in the world, Bill, came to the funeral and was flying out of Bradley north of Hartford back to Florida. No need for a taxi or Uber after dropping the rental off. Things went pretty smoothly in the morning. I got some Dunk's coffee, ate some Munckin' jelly-filled donut holes that were so stale I think they were made three days ago, and a bagel. Fill up, and drop the car off at the person's home.

If you're curious, it wasn't a bad rental, but I don't know if I'll use Turo again. At least one tire was out of balance, and the differential was screaming like a banshee at times. It sure beats $475 a day for a full-size whatever!

Saving all that money came with a significant time tax. Getting up early, the drive back to Worcester, dropping off at Union Station, and taking the PURPLE LINE back to Boston was an added cost. The rocking train put a man and his toddler daughter to sleep in the seat across from me. His grip never relaxed as they both slept. The journalist in me desperately wanted to take the picture. Laws and fair use dictate it could never be shared without waivers, so I refrained. It will be etched in my mind forever.

Up to this point, everything was going well. I got my ticket for the Silver Line, went down the stairs, and the bus arrived moments later. Alaska Airlines is the third stop at the airport, so I'll get off quickly.

Once I got to Logan International Airport, everything fell apart. There was no one at the check-in counter at Alaska Airlines. All positions closed at 1:15 PM on a Sunday with a long queue of confused customers. By 2:00 PM, I finally had my bag checked, and I was headed to security - a 30-minute wait for the next part.

Ever since I did my first gig as a conflict reporter in 2018 in Nicaragua, my carry ons go through secondary inspection. Not just in the United States. Almost everywhere. I've just learned to accept it at this point. It doesn't matter how much I prepare or dump my contents out in half-a-dozen bins laid flat with one item per or any other steps. If I go through all the theater, amazingly, I get "randomly" selected to check for bomb residue. It doesn't feel very random anymore.

So there it was, pulled for secondary inspection. This time it was my apparently potentially dangerous iPad that wasn't removed from its iPad case, which is from Apple and is just the case. No keyboard or added electronics. 3 PM

Alaska Airlines doesn't feed you on flights anymore - and the available snack boxes aren't a meal. I looked for a restaurant, and I met Tiffany. Tiffany is the bahtendah at Trade. She's from Boston, 60 years old, her husband is a retired Boston firefighter, and she's Irish. If you understand Boston, you know this is the highlight of the travel day and the one saving grace. Tiffany is Boston to the core. I was cranky, and I wanted a cranky man's drink. So I ordered gin. Men over 50 who haven't given up on life and are cranky drink gin. So stop judging.

Tiffany has more charisma in her pinky than I do in my whole body - she is in her natural element and pours stiff drinks. Management at Trade - don't hold it against her. You might think it is hard to make the perfect gin and tonic. Wrong. There are lots of ways to mess one up. She made them to perfection, with just enough strength to soothe the savage beast without feeling like you're drinking juniper-flavored lighter fluid. She even got the lime squeeze perfect, you could taste it; it wasn't for show.

By the time I went to get on the plane, which left on time, I was...tired. That's the word. Tired. So plan B, I'll take a nap with my upgraded foot room. By the time I plopped into my seat, I could barely keep my eyes open, and I do have the ability to fall asleep before take-off, through announcements, and wake up like a dog that smells food the second the drink and snack cart appears in my aisle.

Not this time.

I'm sorry to the woman who asked if I would trade seats to 9F. I was so exhausted I couldn't move. Your other half transmitted low-grade rage throughout the entire flight. I will let you know the baby sitting in the lap of the woman in 7F made sure that any attempts to sleep were in vain.

It's OK. OK. I'll just work on the report then. Why is my eye burning? WHY IS MY LEFT EYE BURNING? Why is my left nostril running like I just inhaled a long whiff of tear gas? It's like water. Just the left side. Clearly, something has landed in my eye, or I inhaled something, and it is a powerful irritant. To add to all of it, the 737-800/900 is old, and the seat I'm in is worn. It offers as much comfort as a 25-year-old 5-year-guarantee mattress. I'm feeling all my years. I can't think. My left nostril is running uncontrollably, and my left eye is burning. People start putting on masks around me as I blow my nose repeatedly and half-cough. Hey, if I have COVID, it's way too late. You had it over an hour ago. I want to yell, "I don't have COVID!"

I pull out the laptop and stare at a flashing cursor. I put it away and went to the bathroom. I furiously blow my nose. I marvel at how Alaska Airlines couldn't modernize or replace the padding of the plane seats but were able to install the "new" bathrooms that even Superman would go, "how the Hell am I supposed to change in here? Back to the flashing cursor, nose blowing, and seat shifting.

We landed an hour early, which didn't help my plan. OK, it's only 7:15 PM. I'll get home, take some allergy medicine, peel my contacts out, and get to work. As long as we don't have to pay the early landing tax.

The early landing tax is when you arrive much earlier than scheduled, but there is no gate for you to arrive at. So you have to wait for your prearranged slot anyway. This wasn't the case! We get a gate, I'm in row six, so I get off the plane quickly.

I stop at three restrooms on the way to blow my ever-running nose. I dump my mask along the way. I can't wear it anymore, and what's the point? Alaska Airlines has a guarantee. Your luggage in 20 minutes, or you get 2,000 points or a $20 voucher. One perk of the stops and the long walk to baggage, my bag should be all alone, wondering if I will ever come to claim it.

Nope

Thirty minutes.

Forty minutes.

Fifty minutes.

Restless Boston passengers still wondering where our bags are.

.Finally, the bags start to appear. So much for the early landing.

My bag! My wonderful bag! You made it.

Then a woman asks if I mind if she squeezes in front of me so she can get her bag. My hand is already outstretched.

Yes, I say, for obvious reasons.

She says it's just the teal bag, transmits rage, drops an f-bomb, and pushes me to get her bag.

At that moment, I understood how fights break out at airports now. The sense of self-entitlement was - stunning. A lack of planning on your part does not make this an emergency on my part, and we're all in this together. I want to get home too. It took everything, and I mean everything, I had left not to tell her to go...herself.

OK, I have my bag. It's 8:20 PM. OK, OK, home by 9:00 PM. I've had later starts I can do this.

Call the shuttle bus for parking. I'm at 1B, please come pick me up.

Twenty minutes later. Every other lot for the company had gone by - Lot B bus had gone by twice.

Mercifully, I was the only person who parked at Lot C. There was no line.

8:50 PM.

Oh, that's right - the car's "low gas" light came on just as I parked. OK. OK. There is a Chevron station on the way too.

No, there isn't. The station, for whatever reason, is closed or gone. My phone is blowing up. Where am I? I thought you would be home by now. Kersch Bridge is big news, we're missing the cycle. The map is out of date, you need to sign off on these changes.

My wife wants to take me to dinner. Happy wife, happy life. I don't say that flippantly. That is the life advice I can pass on to any couple in a relationship with a woman. Find someone who has reasonable expectations of their happiness and fulfill them. Marriage is, in a way, that easy. Keyword "reasonable." Never give in to unhealthy demands that violate boundaries. 

We go to a local bar that I know is open. I kind of wanted to go to Bottle and Bull, but I had enough humanity for the day. I have quality time with my wife while sort of responding to the analyst team that my day has not gone to plan.

10:30 PM.

Ahh, but to my body clock, now on Eastern time - it's 1:30 AM, and I'm operating on five hours of sleep and a couple of fitful naps with a seat-kicking baby sitting in a plane seat with all the comfort of a medieval-era church pew. I am in a word. Done.

I take a brief shower and take a Nyquil to stop the running nose and to knock myself out.

I fall asleep with my briefcase on the bed. My wife wakes up. No, I haven't dragged my CPAP out of the suitcase. Yes, I need to put it on. No, I wasn't snoring, but I'll be a wreck in the morning if I don't wear it, or worse, I will wake up at 3 AM coughing and gasping for breath.

And now you know why there wasn't a Situation Report yesterday.