The theme of this entire entry is Good Cop, Bad Cop. The Good Cop is above, in the middle of the picture.
I’m standing in line at Dunkin’, tapping on my phone to see if Wife wants anything. She’s in the bookstore, fulfilling her tradition of buying her travel book at the last possible minute. I had passed Dunkin' before, then returned - an act that made the uniformed guyt (TSA on break, as it turned out) think I was looking for something and perhaps required assistance. No, just here for coffee. I’m a native, know this place well. He says if I’m a native I should know that Caribou is down there, that’s local.
They were sold to a company in Dubai years ago, I said. He is surprised and says that’s why they have "that Arabian coffee". I do not know if Caribou has an Arabian coffee or whether he is referring to arabaca beans. I say I don’t know if the company is still owned by Dubai investors. Probably been handed around a few times.
To the counterguy I say “Americano, large, black,” because that is how I order. Item followed by attributes. I ommitted hot because it’s a morning in November, and no one wants it cold.
“Hot?” He asks. Yes. Sigh. Hot. I get a breakfast sandwich for Wife as requested, then note something on the sign the restaurant next door.
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Hmmm.
I mean, it could be correct. But it's not. |
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I wave the TSA guy over and point out we have a crime against grammar here. He sees what I mean - eventually - and he calls the restaurant manager over.
“Pizza is not a person,” is how he explains it to the manager.
“Well,” I say, “there are instances in which it would be correct, like ‘pizza’s here, where the apostrophe indicates a contraction instead of possession.”
I think of another example - “pizza’s favorite thing to be topped with,’ although that’s clumsy. Maybe “pizza’s favorite thing with which to be topped,” but that brings us the question of “by who” or “by whom” and that’s more information than we need at the airport at 6:54 AM.
The manager struggles to grasp the error of the sign - she hears us say it's wrong, but she doesn’t quite know why, until eventually the dawn breaks and light floods the dark plains of ignorance.
“I’m going to have to talk to the liquor vendor,” she said. They’re the ones who supplied the sign.
Just doing my part here.
Everything’s set. But yet I feel that it is not. The plane reservation is solid; checked in already. The hotel reservation is solid; I pre-registered two days ago. But there’s always a contretemps at the security gate where they can’t find out name. I have to write it out on a piece of paper. I am carrying a printout of our reservation with both our names written at the top in big black letters. It is in the clear plastic envelope with the airport transportation letter, marked PAID, that I have to show the driver. I’d checked the email a few days ago to see if they had sent a follow-up letter, which for some reason I thought they used to do. I had dreamed two nights before we left that we got to the airport and the ride had been canceled, which made me check my email again.
Well, don’t over think! We done this what, five times? This is number six? You know the drill: a three and a half hour flight, long passport line, long wait for luggage, eventually find the ride in the hellish scrum, and off we go.
So.
Let’s goooooooo
10:38
This was the coolest thing so far:
The coolest sight so far was passing under a fresh contrail.
11:08 AM En route. Blasting through Missouri. Waiting for 11:30 so I can have lunch. Then again, by destination time, it’s past noon. What am I waiting for? Let’s get out the cheese and London Broil and horseradish sauce and have a feast in the clouds. Or go back to napping. Or watch a Perry Mason!
1:44 PM Augh, it was one of those ghastly “Perry’s in the Hospital for a wisdom tooth” shows, and they dragged out . . .
She’s rather broad. All eyebrows. Interesting pauses. A round-up of the characters the day, a true hit parade:
Les!
Commissioner Gordon!
Andromeda Strain Drunk!
Okay, we’re landing. I can see us rolling over the jungle. This is cool. Wait, I should shoot this. (LATER: yes indeed I should, and it turned out better than I imagined - flying over deserted and failed developments, enormous electrical infrastructure, neighborhoods, and then it just becomes an abstraction.)
Screech! WHOOOOOOMMMMMmmmmmmm. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Cancun.
And here our troubles began.
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