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desperanceToday I am trying to get to Portland, Oregon. So far, I am mostly doing everything wrong: beginning with the wrong terminal, and progressing from there.
I should probably have read the paperwork more closely. Where it said "American Airlines"? It didn't mean that, it meant that the flight was operated by American Airlines, but supplied by Alaskan. "You're in the wrong terminal, sir..."
And I couldn't understand the bus driver who abandoned me and his vehicle both in mid-airport, and I left all my paperwork in Terminal A, and I seemed to trigger every possible alarm at security, and I couldn't understand the nice man who was selling me the worst coffee of my life, and and and.
Still. I deployed my infamous secret weapon - an English accent, backed by shameless English charm and an air of sweet incompetence - and everyone was very nice to me. And now here I am, finally airside: with lots of time to watch the rain before my flight. Rain! In California! Even the weather is wrong for me. Tho' my herb garden will appreciate it, and I'm heading for Portland anyway, where I understand rain to be a commonplace.
I guess I should probably do some work. I have a cover I can't show you yet, for House of Doors (which rather delightfully doesn't feature a door): but receipt-of-artwork probably doesn't entirely count as a day's work. Even on the road.
Or maybe I'll have the day off, and carry on reading Cold Magic.
Or maybe not. I have all this delightful free internet here at SJC; it seems a pity to let it run to waste.
*checks email, just in case*
I should probably have read the paperwork more closely. Where it said "American Airlines"? It didn't mean that, it meant that the flight was operated by American Airlines, but supplied by Alaskan. "You're in the wrong terminal, sir..."
And I couldn't understand the bus driver who abandoned me and his vehicle both in mid-airport, and I left all my paperwork in Terminal A, and I seemed to trigger every possible alarm at security, and I couldn't understand the nice man who was selling me the worst coffee of my life, and and and.
Still. I deployed my infamous secret weapon - an English accent, backed by shameless English charm and an air of sweet incompetence - and everyone was very nice to me. And now here I am, finally airside: with lots of time to watch the rain before my flight. Rain! In California! Even the weather is wrong for me. Tho' my herb garden will appreciate it, and I'm heading for Portland anyway, where I understand rain to be a commonplace.
I guess I should probably do some work. I have a cover I can't show you yet, for House of Doors (which rather delightfully doesn't feature a door): but receipt-of-artwork probably doesn't entirely count as a day's work. Even on the road.
Or maybe I'll have the day off, and carry on reading Cold Magic.
Or maybe not. I have all this delightful free internet here at SJC; it seems a pity to let it run to waste.
*checks email, just in case*