Why is Northwest Airlines still in business?

I wanna go home! I am stuck in Memphis because my Northworst flight out of Savannah was an hour late. I missed my 2:45 connection and am now supposed to get out of here around 7:15. To borrow from Mario Cantone (and meaning no disrespect to the hearing impaired) FUCK NORTHWEST!!!!! SMELLY, SMELLY ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE, SMELLY, SMELLY ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE! (insert sign language).

Jebus Christ! If I get out of here tonight it will be a freakin’ miracle. My husband is monitoring my new flight online and just called to tell me that it is also delayed and my new departure time is 8:30.

I’m sitting in one of two smoking establishments in the Memphis Airport - The Blues Spot. I’m on my second glass of Cabernet. Can’t hear airport announcements in here, plenty of blues but no airport announcements. My husband will keep me apprised of flight developments.

The flight here from Savannah was horrendous. The cabin was so cold my nipples are still sore. When the jet jumped into the air my cell phone jumped out of my pocket and slid all the way to the back of the cabin to the wall underneath the last seats. The asshole pilot never turned off the seat belt light so I finally just got up when I saw the beverage cart starting down the aisle and retrieved my cell phone, constantly aware of the sidelong glances I was getting from the other passengers and flight attendant. I guess somebody crawling under the last seats of a plane would look a little suspicious. When I unwrapped from the cheap-ass NW blanket to get up, I discovered that my khaki capris were covered in navy blue fuzz.

I ordered coffee which was blessedly hot. Unfortunately, we hit a nasty pocket of turbulence right after the beverage service. I lucked out but most the other passengers didn’t. The poor guy across from me got a whole can of Pepsi in his lap. There was no heads up from the sorry ass flight crew. I’ve flown a lot and other crews would warn you of the slightest bit of turbulence. We continued to hit patches of turbulence and never heard from the flight crew. In fact, we never heard a word from those bastards. No ETA, nuthin. I guess they were too busy trying to figure a way to keep us on the tarmac long enough to miss our connections.

I finally took my life in my hands and went to the bathroom knowing I would need to haul ass to get to my gate if I had any chance to make my connection. Thankfully there was no turbulence while I was in there but I thought I would pass out from the smell. I’ve used vault toilets that smelled better. When I finally got off the plane, I had to run over to another concourse to my gate. The gate agent looked like somebody had just run over her dog - repeatedly. She said the flight was gone and that she saw my flight was at the gate but couldn’t hold the flight for me. Her expression said, “Kill me, please.” She gave me a $10 food voucher, and a boarding pass for the next flight and sent me on my way. And, here I am camped out in The Blues Note and praying I get home tonight. FUCK NORTHWEST!!!! SMELLY, SMELLY DOUCHEBAG, DOUCHEBAG, DOUCHEBAG, SMELLY, SMELLY DOUCHEBAG, DOUCHEBAG!
A new wave a passengers just showed up to satisfy their nicotine joneses. Oh shit, somebody just asked to borrow my matches and I’m sure saw my screen. Oh well, at least he was polite. I think my server has gone home.

I am now at my gate a mere 2 and a half hours early. This concourse is all Northwest and everybody in here, passengers and gate agents alike, wears the expression of the walking wounded. Nothing over the intercom but announcements of delayed flights and subsequent gate changes. Good Lord, you'd think this was January and we were in the middle of a blizzard. Is there a hurricane I don't know about? Did the Yellowstone Calderra finally erupt?

Joe warned me that Northwest wasn't reliable. But did I listen? Nooooo.

Update: I just learned from a fellow stranded traveler that the reason for the delays is that about 150 Northwest pilots walked out today. I guess that'll do it. Oh, and I hate kids with those sneakers that have roller skates in them. I'm just not sure if it's because they zip in front of me as I'm trudging my tired ass down the concourse or because I'm jealous.

Lazy day on St. Simons

It's raining here and everybody's asleep. My sister-in-law and the dog in one bedroom, brother-in-law in another and I'm here in the guest room catching up on computer stuff. I've been here since Thursday and the time has just flown by. They're the best hosts - even the dog.

I've had a relaxing time talking, eating out, shopping. We toured Jeckyll Island yesterday. The place has a fascinating history as a millionaire's club during the first half of the 20th century. Morgan, Rockefeller, all the titans of the early 1900's before there was income tax. Jeckyll Island was founded as a hunting club for an exclusive brotherhood of millionaires. They built "cottages" there of 5000-6000 square feet and and had a club house that was actually a resort hotel. Formal dinners every night, everybody brought 6 or 7 servants with them. The servants had their own dormitories. The place is dripping with southern charm as thick as the spanish moss dripping from the centuries old live oaks.

I leave tomorrow and will be sorry to go.

"I just vomit a little."

There's no place like home. There's no place like home ... click, click, click. (Or in my case, wearing Chacos ... thunk, thunk, thunk.) This is my mantra while in my old hometown of West Memphis, Arkansee. Just across the mighty Missisip from Memphis lies a cesspool of a delta town that I am convinced was built on top of an Indian burial ground. I think, for good measure, the drunken founders of the burg dug up all the bodies and used them as fill for the levies. I'd list all of the atrocities that have taken place there in my lifetime but it's just too long. Let's just say that my being stalked by a pedophile was not high on the police department's priority list when I was a kid. "Somebody's been making obscene phone calls to your 10 year old and parks outside her school, you say? Sorry, we got our hands full with today's murders. Don't even get me started on traffic control for the dog track." This, in a town of 16,000.

So, I go back there once a month to do chores for my Austrian step mother. I never see anybody I went to school with when I'm there. School being the operative word here because anybody with an 8th grade education got the hell out of there.

The chores this weekend were taking down and washing all the curtains, washing windows, driving the stepmother all over creation, and choking down her cooking. "I make balls, dey really good. Dey already cooked, I just vomit a little." I will try to describe the balls. They are dumplings filled with minced meat and enclosed in a gooey shell composed of mashed bedaydas and egg. The balls are floating in a brown grabie. (The words in italics are what I call "Erni-isms" and my attempt at describing my stepmother's accent. Good luck figuring them out - we're still trying. Here's a freebie, vomit=warm it.) I made the mistake of asking what was in them. "Just meat I tryin to use up - a little beef, some ham, oh, and bologna. There someting else, I don member what." I'm thinking squirrel. Before I know it, she's dumped two of the lethal tennis balls on my plate. "You need more grabie?" The filling was the color of raw liver due, no doubt, to the artificial coloring in the bologna. I thought that I could at least have one of the homegrown demaydas on the counter, but no, she insisted I eat one from the frijator. Now every good Southerner knows you don't put tomatoes in the refrigerator because it ruins the tomatoey goodness. You let 'em rot on the window sill before you do that. "You want some murcal vip for you demaydas?" I figured it couldn't hurt them any more so I said, "Yes, please." As luck would have it she had to get the Miracle Whip from the refrigerator in the store room. I used the opportunity to chop up one of my dumplings and toss it into the cats' litter box (conveniently located right next to the kitchen table). "You like dem balls?" I responded it was the best ball I ever ate but just didn't have room for two. The cats were really pissed. "What is this shit in our litter box?" (Okay, I made that last part up. There's no way I could have gotten away with tossing anything in that litterbox. Erni knows when her cats are even thinking about taking a dump and practically holds the litter scooper under their ass. Apparently, examining feces is a Bavarian thing. Ever seen a German toilet? The litterbox is next to the kitchen table, though. I didn't make that up. I once suggested moving the litterbox to the bathroom and she was totally repulsed. Cats defecating in a box next to you while you eat, on the other hand, is completely acceptable.)

So now you're thinking, "How old are you? Just tell the old bat you're ain't eatin' no stinkin' balls." Well, you don't know Erni. She is 4 feet, 10 inches of Nazi certitude. I, on the other hand, am 5 feet 0 inches of conflict avoidance. No wonder we get along so well.

Holy shit! My husband just returned from Walmart and said that somebody got shot and killed in the parking lot earlier. There were about 9 police cars there and the officers were working the crime scene. The bad juju done followed me home!

Owwie

Well, yesterday was certainly nerve-wracking. My daughter called from New York in a cab on her way to the Emergency Room. She had fainted and busted her chin open when she hit the floor. She sounded calm, thank heaven. I concentrated on the immediate problem of the gash on her chin and advised her to request a plastic surgeon do the suturing. That's the best I could do. Pathetic, I know, but I am a coward when I'm faced with the fact that there are things out of my control when it comes to my childrens' safety. So, I shut down emotionally so as to remain calm which probably comes off as cold to my frightened, hurting child. What good would it do anyone for me to lose it? I'm not the panicky sort -- outwardly. What I really wanted, what any mother would want, was to hold her. I cannot describe the helplessness I felt knowing she was so far from me. I was reduced to calling to keep her company while she waited.

I told myself she fainted because of the heat or dehydration or maybe because she could be anemic. Then came news of CT scans to rule out a blood clot. My practical side said wait for the results of the scan before deciding on a course of action. If it weren't for the fact that book club was meeting at my house last night, I would have been a basket case. Preparations kept me occupied while I waited for word. I couldn't tell you anything about our mercifully short discussion. When they left, I called again and we talked for a while. Her roommate was coming to sit with her so that made me feel a little better. I climbed into bed as the hours wore on with the phone clutched to my chest.

She finally called at 1:00 am telling me she'd been released and was on the way home. Nothing on the CT's, no blood clot, just a very sore, tired little girl with five stitches in her chin. I guess I'm glad I waited but God it was hard.

Turns out this gave someone very special to her a chance to prove how much she means to him. I'm confident she will be catered to and loved and that's how it should be right now. I know she loves and needs me, but Mom can't provide the validation of her feelings that she is getting from him. My place is here; his is there and I am grateful for the glimpse into this man's character.

My unofficial job title

My official job title at the medical library at which I'm employed is Cataloging Assistant. Which means I decide which call numbers are put on the labels that are stuck to the spines of our books. Of course that's a simplified job description - there's lots of other stuff involved in the job. But, it's hardly challenging.

To keep from going batshit from the monotony I have appointed myself Morale Officer. But only for a chosen, snarky few that get my "style" of humor. I've branched out to a few employees at our public TV station and the state hospital.

Here are a couple of examples from today's email banter:

From public TV employee that also happens to be part of a large camping group I belong to:

Subject: Throw Away Those Old Tents!https://webmail.uams.edu/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www.hennessyhammock.com/If we all got one of these our campsite would look like an Invasion of the Bodysnatchers remake. Cool huh?

(These things are like tent hammocks that you hang up off the ground)

My response:

I...don't...know. I think I wouldn't be comfortable with my ass swinging in the wind all night. The term "Bear Pinata" comes to mind.

Example 2:

Posted on campus-wide mail was an announcement that the administration had approved the formation of our own Red Hat Society. I forwarded it to my friends with this comment:

Yessiree, we here at *state medical center* have our finger on the pulse of pop culture. I notice male employees are left out. That’s discrimination, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be funny if only trannies showed up to the first meeting? I mean really flamboyant ones like The Bird Cage. I’d pay to see that.

That led to some back and forth about possible fundraisers to pay for transvestites to show up at the meeting culminating in this response from a coworker:

"Oh, sh*t – I have got to learn not to read your messages while drinking – I got soda in my nose."

Ahhh, my work here is done.

Where did she go?

Yesterday, 10:00 p.m.
My daughter is home. She's been home a week (a minute in Mom-time) and is returning to New York in the morning. We've really only had this one day together - stolen from the library. Migraine was my excuse. We spent the day together watching "Big Love," lunching at Flying Fish, shopping, and taking in a movie - "Ratatoullie." It was a wondrous day of talking about nothing and everything. She's doing what she loves and is beginning to see success. She's happy so I am heartbreakingly happy.

When she comes home for a visit, I spend the days before she arrives in a state of anticipation. And then, a funny thing happens when she finally gets here. It's cliche, I know, but it's like she never left. Everybody and everything falls into place. She and her brother fall back into their hilarious repartee. Her phone will ring incessantly. We laugh more.


She is with her friend now for farewells. We don't know when she will be back home again. She's here now but I feel she's already gone and I am incredibly sad. I'll be devastated for days. Will my children always have such power over me? Dear God, I hope so.

Today, 5:00 a.m.
And, in a whirl, she's gone. Back to New York and her future, taking my heart with her.