The term "unbelievably bad" can no longer be used to describe air travel, because no matter how bad it is, it's all too believable. I mean, we got planes landing in fucking Hudson Rivers, for chrissakes. So my trip to Vermont was simply bad. Canceled flight bad, 10-hour layover bad, checking in to an Indian-run motel at 2 a.m. and having to stand outside in 10 degree weather at the after-hours check-in window bad. And 10 degrees is plenty damn cold for a Tennessee wuss. Kept fucking thinking about fucking Joe's last fucking work fucking travel fucking post.
I did get to spend a few not-horrid hours in historic Philadeathia and learned some interesting facts about the Liberty Bell (it didn't have crack in it, but "A" crack, a literal crack in it, go figure).
Just got home sweet home and the old place feels like Christmas in heaven.
4 comments:
I feel for ya', Lurker.
Welcome back, sir.
You made sure to hit every bad travel milestone. I admire your completist nature.
I bask in your sympathy. (My "completist nature," I'm still laughing at that one!)
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