Now that we're back from L.A. and sinking back into our normal routine, I've had a chance to reflect. I figure I better write it down before it all slips away.
We scrambled up to Chicago and to avoid confusion we opted for the $30/a day parking at O’hare, which made things easier for the trek to and from our terminal. It’s been a long while since we’d flown last, and a lot has changed. I don’t remember much from the last time I had a flight, but I was younger, which probably means I thought the seats on the plane were bigger (I've gained a little weight over the years). Upon arriving at the check-in we were surrounded by an array of screens, but very few people. It appears everything has moved towards that of a self checkout lane at the supermarket. This is the first time I’ve had any contact with these blasted machines and I felt a bit like a grandparent attempting to program a VCR, and if I hit the wrong button they’d cancel my flight and I’d never get to fly again because of some kind of esoteric blacklisting of idiots. Thankfully, someone intervened, probably because of the perplexed look on our faces as we tried to somehow instantly comprehend this new unknown airport jargon on the big blue touch screen in front of us.
Once this ordeal was over we were shuffled over to the security checkpoint, 75 guards, two gates, only a few rules posted and a sudden cold feeling on the heels of my feet as I took off my shoes and placed them in a Tupperware container. This was one rule I understood, it was an illustration of some loafers in a box printed on a big white sign next to the entrance, simple enough. The guards spoke very little if only to bark commands at you if you were doing something wrong. They certainly weren’t going to answer any questions on procedures BEFORE you screwed it all up. I wasn’t expecting to be spoon-fed the rules on how to get safely through the security checkpoint without anyone yelling at, or belittling me, but a free pamphlet before getting to the first phase would have made everyone's experience just a little easier.
The flight to Minneapolis was fairly short and somewhat pleasant. I was terribly nervous waiting to takeoff, I’m not sure how Lori was, but, my poor heart was trying to beat its way out of my ribcage between the third and fourth rib. I was wired on adrenaline for most of this flight, but the pilot made a very smooth landing and by the time we had a few drinks at the Chili’s next to our terminal I was actually looking forward to the rush of taking off on the next plane.
The flight from Minneapolis to LAX was longer, but Lori and I had a whole row to ourselves so we could spread out. It was still early evening for us, so we were wide awake and obviously excited about our destination. We drank a couple of Bloody Marys and tried to zone out on our zunes. However, the guy sitting behind us apparently had never flown from Minneapolis to LAX before (which, neither had I) because he was dumbfounded to hear that we’d be on the plane for three or four hours. He didn’t believe me. So he tried to make small talk with the middle aged woman next to him, she answered most of his questions with a somber one word answer, and then continued to read her magazine. He’d stretch and curse, yawn and curse; he was overall a pain in the ass. He ordered a Heineken and between every sip he’d let out a long “Ahhhhhhh, shit. Mmm, that’s the shit.” It sounded like he was making sweet love to his beverage. Now that I think of it, somewhere in that gargantuan noggin of his, he probably was making love to his Heineken. At any rate, I was pleased he wasn’t sitting next to us, or between us, because even behind us was way too close for comfort. That aside, soon we were on our descent and we could see the bright glowing lights of southern California. I put on my headphones, listened to some Soul Coughing “Screenwriter’s Blues” and zoned out on the magnificent light show. On the jet way we could smell the ocean, and we could feel a hint of the warm California air. We made it.
After a few freak outs, wide smiles, and our heart’s skipping a beat waiting for our guitars at the baggage claim, we jumped into our hostess' car and we were off to our hotel in Burbank. We couldn’t see much on the way to the hotel because it was about midnight, but we grabbed some quick blurry snapshots of the lonely lighted freeway signs and burger joints on the way.
I collapsed into bed at the hotel, and Lori jumped into the shower (because of time restraints in the morning). Short, but deep, relaxing sleep. We woke up on a king size bed that felt like a cloud of cotton candy. It was morning, and now the work has to begin.
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