I fully intended to start working my way through the list of post-move topics,
\nand I will eventually get to that stuff. <\/p>\n
But at this very moment, my attention is occupied by a little problem I’ve
\ndiscovered I have. I didn’t realize it until after getting settled in my
\nhotel room tonight but I now believe I got onto the wrong airplane today.
\nI’ve seen other people do it before, but usually they realize the problem
\nbefore they arrive. It took me much longer.<\/p>\n
I left Houston, Texas intending to go to Fayetteville, North Carolina. I made
\nmy connection in Charlotte and the sign at the gate said Fayetteville. I’ve
\nsince discovered I’m actually in hell. The weird thing is, it’s not hot here
\nin hell, though it was rather smoky at the airport. I should have figured it
\nout when I started to smell the smoke before we even landed. <\/p>\n
Since arriving in hell, I’ve come to the realization that I don’t really want
\nto be here long term. For starters, they can’t seem to get the baggage here
\nwith the people. And it’s not just me. I was #3 in a line of.. I think more
\npeople than there were on the airplane. None of us had our bags. Apparantly
\nbaggage is not allowed in hell. <\/p>\n
But, undeterred by the first signs of being in the least desirable place in
\nthe universe, I made my lost bag claim and headed to the hotel, which is also
\nconveniently located in hell. <\/p>\n
The town of hell is not particularly attractive but the hotel sure looks
\nnice… from the outside. Like any good deception (as hell would certainly
\nbe), the lobby didn’t even look half bad. In fact, I was thinking to myself
\nhow nice the wood finish and granite countertops were at the checkin counter.
\nBut it’s all a facade. The room is large, which simply means it has more
\ndirty carpet in it. But at least the bathroom is, well, I’ve been in
\nworse… once. This one time in Malabo, Equitorial Guinea… yeah, go look
\nthat up on a map. Let’s just say, I’m impressed that there’s no toxic waste
\ndripping from the ceilings onto the toilet seat (yet). On the other hand, by
\nthe smell of things, there probably was recently.<\/p>\n
So I decided I could escape the reality of my layover in hell by logging on to
\nthe internet. But, you see, the internet is actually a part of heaven, so
\nconnecting to it from hell is difficult at best. There are no high speed
\ninternet connections in hell (try to find a t-mobile hotspot within a million
\nmiles of 28304 and you’ll see). The desk clerk did say they have a
\nhospitality lounge with high speed internet access especially for priorty
\nclub members (who knew my priorty club card would work in hell!). Alas, the
\ndesk clerk apparently doesn’t even know what high speed internet access is.
\nIn fact, I’m not sure the desk clerk knows what high speed anything is.<\/p>\n
The local calls are free in hell, but you get what you pay for. That is, only
\nafter you pay for it. But wait, they’re free and you have to pay for them?
\nYes, remember, this is hell we’re talking about. After walking nine miles to
\nmy hotel room, I discovered I couldn’t dial out. I called the Holiday Inn
\nHell receptionist who informed me I had to put down a deposit to make local
\ncalls. I made an attempt to persuade her to turn the phone on without making
\nme walk eighteen miles round trip to the desk. She insisted I bring her
\nsomething, despite my charming effort, which I did, only after waiting in
\nline for several hours while the lost-bag guy delivered everyone else’s lost
\nbags but mine. <\/p>\n
I figured since I had her attention (finally), I’d ask her if there was
\nanything fun to do in hell, since I was going to be stuck here for a couple
\nof days. “Fun? What do you mean fun?” No, I’m not kidding, that’s actually
\nwhat she said. After describing certain things that could be fun to some
\npeople, she pointed me to the bar, which she made sound one click better than
\na padded cell. <\/p>\n
Well, okay, she tried to point me to the bar. I begged her to show me a
\nshorter way, though. Given her directions, I was confident I wouldn’t be
\nable to figure out how to get back to my room from the bar even if I hadn’t
\nhad a thing to drink and had a map, GPS and a popcorn trail. And if I did,
\nmiraculously, find my room, it wouldn’t be until the end of next week, and I
\nwould have missed my flight and be in need of triple bypass surgery. She
\ntried to describe a shortcut to me. It might not have been shorter, but at
\nleast it was confusing. I’m convinced now that there’s actually no bar in
\nhell, just a room with a piece of cheese and a whole bunch of tired, confused
\nalcoholics.<\/p>\n
So I just hiked back to my room. My dialup ISP is fantastic, you know. I
\nexpect the best, and they come through for me. They have no less than 6
\naccess numbers here in hell. The only problem is, the ones that aren’t
\ndisconnected don’t really work (I tried them all… several times). I think
\nthe phone wiring in this hotel was installed during the civil war. The modem
\nmakes all kinds of cool sounds I’ve never heard it make before. Sometimes
\nthey result in a connection of roughly 6 bits per century. And, of course,
\nafter being connected barely long enough to get a DNS reply, the thing hangs
\nup. <\/p>\n
So now I’m not sure what to do for the next day and a half. I’m sure it’ll go
\nby quickly with all the phone calls to USAirways trying to determine when my
\nbag is going to show up.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I fully intended to start working my way through the list of post-move topics, and I will eventually get to that stuff. But at this very moment, my attention is occupied by a little problem I’ve discovered I have. I didn’t realize it until after getting settled in my hotel \u2026 Continue reading