Well, for Wifey, getting to ATL became a new version of "The Out of Towners." I dropped her off at MIA at 145 -- plenty of time to check her bag and get on her 4 pm flight. Until...
They boarded, and then it occurred to someone at AA management that the captain was over hours. They had to wait for a replacement -- landing, apparently, from Qatar. I guess he was vacationing.
The relief pilot boarded, and they pushed back -- taxied to the runway. But wait -- they needed more fuel because of the inclement weather -- so back to the gate. And then, while their, they picked up a mechanical problem -- everyone off the plane for a replacement!
They got the new plane, and Wifey was boarding. She asked about her checked bag -- and was told probably they'd have to deliver it. No worries. But as Wifey got near the aircraft, an announcement came -- everyone make way! Paramedics and cops were coming -- a passenger had, apparently, a psychotic/medical episode -- had vomited, and was being combative about deplaning.
So there came the authorities and removed the probably drug addled passenger -- followed by a hazmat team to clean up the vomitus.
D1 chimed into the family chat this was her fear -- aerosolized vomit on a plane -- highly contagious -- or maybe containing fentanyl...
Finally Wifey took off near midnight, and arrived in ATL to begin the search for her bag.
Wifey is probably the least tolerant of my politically incorrect, maybe some would say racialist, jokes. But she encountered 5 people of color who were, she said, almost comically mean and angry towards white folks. She went to enter the room of lost baggage and was barked at: "One of y'all at a time!" The others slinked away, afraid, but Wifey said "Well I guess I'm the one." She said the employee scowled, and barked that "Your bag in Miami!" until "Your bag on carousel 8." Amazingly, Wifey found her bag -- the only one pathetically circling, alone.
Next came the Lyft driver -- surly the whole drive, and when he got to Wifey's destination, popped the trunk. Wifey asked if he would lift it out for her -- her bags tend to be heavy with too many winter clothes heaven forbid the temps drop below 60. He shook his head.
I fell asleep around 11 watching the death news about Milton. Wifey finally made it around 2 am. Hopefully her return on Sunday will be less eventful.
Meanwhile, local media is enjoying the Milton frenzy, even though the most we may see is some rain and a few gusts. I remember Hunter S Thompson used to call Neil Frank, the Hurricane Center Director, a "storm junkie."
He was dead on -- these weather nerds LOVE to try to scare anyone in the state.
Not me. My storm plans include my bachelor dinner move tonight -- sushi at Sea Siam at the bar, where the long time server knows me and greets me as "the second coolest Jewish guy from Levittown." I explained to her that Lou Reed was number one, I'm second, and Billy Joel is third.
Tomorrow my plan is to drive to the Ds' hood -- school is canceled, and I will hang with Little Man and Baby Man. I'll bring the special needs Spaniel, just in case the weather indeed deteriorates and I need to spend the night in Miami Shores. I doubt that will happen.
As the great Bob Dylan sang: "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." And so it will be tomorrow -- it'll storm, or it won't. I guess we'll see...
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