One second I’m doing the wave with the little mermaid down by the sea, the next clock-click there’s a Klaxon of discontent collapsing the world into oblivion.
WRET! WRET! WRET!
“Come Back!” A moving crew has Ariel and her gang in a van, while another attendant folds the backdrop into a void and rolls away. I’m too late. It’s gone. The noise continues though, for my pleasure.
WRET! WRET! WRET!
See? Still going. I’m staring into the black, and the noise won’t stop. The black. Why is it black?
The noise?
My alarm?
Morning?
I reach up over my head where the noise box sits. It vibrates as I feel for the off button.
WRET! Warmer!
WRET! Warmer!
WRE—
It’s silent.
Still black though. Why? I lift my head to see the clock: 4:30
Crap! Why so earl—oh…
And the first synapse fires like a hand crank engine. Well, except the second synapse warns we’re on a tight schedule: there’ll be no hand cranking this morning.
I’m leaving an airport in four hours. The third synapse reminds me. After that everything is up to speed with the daily sports, weather and news at my neuro-tips. Today is the day I’m flying out to see the Pirate Queen; It’s gonna be over 100 degrees; The Angels won yesterday; My lucky number is 9; I need to get up.
I know me in the morning. I’m not a morning guy. That’s why I did all my packing last night. I don’t trust me. Last time I packed in the morning, I forgot my pants.
“Sorry sir, our airport has a must wear pants policy.”
“Uhm yeah, but you can see I’m not hiding anything!”
I may be the bottom monkey in the barrel, but I’m learning and I’m climbing. Right now, this monkey is climbing out of the bed. I take my shower, move the Rob accessories into the shaving bag, and fit that into my luggage.
I actually have to unzip the suitcase to squeeze the shave bag into it. I’ve overpacked. Don’t roll your eyes, it’s not my fault. I took the biggest bag I have. The problem is, that the Pirate Queen needed stuff. It’s her fault I overpacked. That’s right, it’s a stereotype, and yet she’s pulled it off without even making the trip. That’s right, she’s that good.
Maybe I should explain. Since she’s moving, she needs places to put her stuff (yeah, I feel a George Carlin skit coming on too, but I don’t have time, I’ve got a plane to catch. Pretend I went through the skit, you laughed. We all had fun.)
“Do you need me to bring anything?”
“No. I wish I had an extra garment bag though.”
“I have one. I’ll bring it.”
“Ok.. But that’s it.”
“Fine. It sounds like the car will be full. Do you need me to bring a foldable roof rack?”
“Ok, but that’s it.”
Yeah, so I’ll skip to the end of the Steve Martin sketch…
“And the roll of packing tape, but that’s all I need.”
“Fine. I’ve got it.”
It’s no big deal. I’ve got a bag big enough to carry it all, and I’m flying on Southwest. I get 2 bags for free.
The shuttle arrives, I grab my suitcase, and my carry on, make sure the cat’s fed, everything is good. It’s 5:30, and I’m out the door.
Yay Rob!
I get to the airport. The attendant is very friendly, and she helps me with my baggage. The morning synapse firing is starting to slow down though.
“Just this one bag, sir?”
“Yeah.”
“Sir, you’re over the weight limit. I’ll have to charge you.”
I have one bag, and it’s full of other bags, and I’m over the limit. Oh, the irony! Apparently irony is as far as my brain goes. It’s the bright and shiny 3 stops before logic. I pull out my wallet, pay the overage fee and walk to the boarding gate.
Yeah, you’re already there. You’re in the front of the smart plane. Me, yeah, I’m back at the bottom of the barrel. You know what I should have. I paid $50 bucks when I could have opened up my suitcase, pulled out a suitcase, and checked it as a second bag. That thought didn’t hit me until I got my first coffee.
I hate mornings.
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