The Longest Leg is Always the Longest

Our trip to the airport began at 3:30 in the afternoon, courtesy of our driver from Albania, Ben, a devastatingly good-looking guy in shades who spoke in a low monotone.  I couldn't understand what he was saying about half of the time.  Always agreeable, I nodded and smiled encouragingly.  He could have been telling me how he killed and dismembered his mother for all I knew, although he always had a pleasant look on his face. Maybe my acquiescence drove him to more murders.  .Maybe he stopped on the way home and bought a large freezer in which to store all of the frozen body parts.  I wouldn't put it past a guy from Albania who looked like he could break me in two with one hand.  

He knows where I live.  

Ben arrived early.  People here are really wound up about traffic even though there never seems to be much.  I felt a bit rushed and only noticed upon our arrival at the airport that the coat and vest I had so lovingly laid out was still resting on my couch, a place far, far from where it could do me any good.  We were grateful that we avoided all of that non-existent traffic so that we could arrive early at the airport to for our flight that was delayed two hours.

For some reason having to wait for something over which I have no control distresses me unduly.  I'd rather drive myself 4 hours in a downpour than sit in a comfortable chair at an airport, reading.  I get the feeling that it isn't going to work out.  It almost always works out and when it doesn't all of my worrying buys me squat.  Control.  Powerlessness.  I'd rather pilot the plane myself than wait a few indeterminate hours.  If they tossed me the keys I'd take the thing up in the air for a spin.

Our flight lasted eleven hours.  That's a long time to sit for someone who suffers from restless ass syndrome.  We did have exit row seats which meant my legs weren't jammed up into my pelvis - a good thing - but they (the seats, not my legs) were near the bathrooms (although, come to think about it, my legs were near the bathrooms, too) - a bad thing.  All night long with the slamming doors.  I wondered if everyone was so pissed at having to use the bathroom that they slammed the door shut with all of their might.  It distracted me from the odor.  I did manage to sleep a little if by "sleep" you mean "partially digested distraction."

We got a cup of coffee at our first airport stop.  I flirted shamelessly with a couple of fluent baristas young enough to be my granddaughters who were very impressed by my residence in Vacation Town.  I don't think I had any other qualities they found attractive.  But I thanked them for being so nice - it was a lovely way stop on a stressful trip.  It made me feel I was on the right path.  I like to let people know when they've made a difference in my day because so often it's the little things that make a big difference.  I'm under the illusion that I have to make a big gesture all of the time. 

It was a good thing I worried about getting in two hours late because our connecting flights were also delayed two hours.  I'm pretty sure they delayed both flights for two hours just to fuck with me.  I'm that powerful.  But the potential problem was that we had reserved a taxi at our final destination.  Would he be there?  Would he wait?  And if he did would he cheat me out of my pre-paid credit.

I'm sure he will!