Enchanting

New Mexico. The "Land of Enchantment" the sign at the airport says. As well as the land of bad landings, the shrillest wake-up calls in the world, and a road system that's so complex that the navigation lady can't get it figured out.

I'm traveling again. To New Mexico this time; Albuquerque that is. I haven't found it so enchanting thus far; in fact, it's proven relatively boring. It's a sprawling, confusing city, surrounded by brown gravel and scraggy scrub brush. But then I don't hail from the prettiest place on Earth, so I'm certainly not being critical. To be honest, it's actually attractive to me, in a primal, cowboy-hat-wearing, "I am Marlboro Man" way.

Which is not to say the trip has been completely pleasurable or uneventful (I don't write about the uneventful ones). It's had it's moments.

The landing in Albuquerque was probably an omen of sorts. It was less a landing than it was a failed crashing attempt. There was a powerful crosswind, so I guess you can't blame it entirely on the pilot, but it sure felt like the guy flying the plane was a beginner. He couldn't get the plane down in time, so halfway through the landing, he aborted, and powered up in an attempt to get back up in the air. In powering up, I think he took to steering with his knees. If there'd been an Air Patrol officer around, he'd have been pulled over for suspected drunken flying.

Shawna, along with 24 other passengers, and one pregnant flight attendant, got unbelievably sick in that last four minutes of the flight.


We offloaded (I forgot one of our bags and had to rush back and beg my way back on the plane to track it down). Shawna sat in a chair in the airport concourse and tried to recuperate while I found the rental car counter.


We got a Chrysler Sebring (it's gutless; the thing can barely make it up an inclined on-ramp). I paid extra for a navigation unit. I wish I hadn't. The woman in there is an annoying, evil prankster. We needed a few things (the FAA doesn't allow toiletries larger than 3.4 oz now, and we have only Costco sized shampoo and hairspray in our house), so Shawna sent me to find a Target last night. I asked that evil woman where the closest Target was, and it told me that it was a mere 5.4 miles away, and proceeded to give me directions.


Twenty minutes, about ten miles, and numerous "course corrections" on the part of my evil navigator, later, she finally said "Destination ahead on right." I breathed a sigh of relief. I drove slowly, looking for the Target off to the right.


Suddenly the evil woman belted out "When safe, turn around." What? I passed it.


I made an illegal U-turn, and went back to the closest light, and got back on the right side of the street. She said again, "Destination ahead on right." I drove even slower this time. She said, "Destination." I pulled into the parking lot...of a JoAnn's fabric store. I put the car in park, and looked around. Not a Target in sight.


I hit the steering wheel, then traversed the navigation system's menu's again, and asked again where the nearest Target was. The sadistic woman cackled-I swear-and told me that it was 7.1 miles away; in the direction I'd just come from.


I sat in the car and screamed out loud until my voice gave out.

I settled for a K-Mart that I came across by accident.

This morning took the cake, though. This hotel is a nice place, but they have the worst wake up calls. Five minutes before my alarm was set to go off, I was snatched from the deep, blissful sleep of the working masses who value every second of rest by piercing buzzing alarm, and a blinding flashing light on the wall.

Then a cheerful female voice came on over the intercom and said, "Good morning guests! This is the Manager on duty, and as you know, we are experiencing a fire alarm!" This she said as though she we're saying, "Mr. Jones in room 409 JUST found out that his daughter is having a baby!"

"Please don't panic," she continued. "We'll notify you if there's an emergency. Thank you!"

Isn't that the point of the fire alarm? To notify me that there's an emergency. Shawna hollered, "PJ! Let's go! Get up!"

"The lady said she'd tell us if it was an emergency."

"The FIRE ALARM is going off PJ! What if it's outside our room?"

"She'll call back and let us know. I've still got five minutes; I'm going back to sleep."

She called back. "Good morning guests! This is the Manager on duty again; I called a few moments ago?" I'm glad she reminded me. I'd almost forgotten! "I just wanted to let you know that there is no emergency! Thank you!"

Perhaps they were just testing their buzzers.

At any rate, to top it all off, I think the eggplant sandwich that I had for lunch might have had some bad Gouda cheese, because now I'm sick as a dog. It'll be great for tomorrow, when our beginner pilot attempts to bounce his way off the tarmac.

I'm Sorry, But I Have to go to Bed

I should be in Boise Idaho tonight.

I'm NOT-but I SHOULD be. Instead, I'm sitting in the very last hotel room available in Beaverton, Oregon. That's right-Beaverton, Oregon. Because the flight I was scheduled to be on was cancelled at the last minute. I complained to the gate agent about the cancelled flight, started in on some diatribe about poor management, about it being inexcusable.

He listened politely, and when I finally tired, he said, "Mechanical Problems." He told me though that, he understood where I was coming from, and after hearing me out, they were going to make an exception. If they could find a pilot, they'd make the flight-with only me aboard. I declined.

At any rate, it's been one of "those days." Apparently, the only excitement these guys ever see is when flights get cancelled, so they maximize the thrill-by getting as creative as possible in helping to create the passenger's "alternate itinerary." He enthusiastically began to search the flights, and I must say, if creativity was his goal, he's a champion. I don't recall exactly, but I think his first plan had me flying from Sacramento to Phoenix, with a 17 minute layover, then a flight from Phoenix to Seattle; Seattle to Boise (arriving Thursday evening, I think). The good news was that the airline would cover all of my meals (they gave me meal vouchers-worth $16), as well as hotel stays (they gave me a card to fill out and send in with receipts; the title on the card-I swear I'm not making this up-is, "Does Anyone Actually Read These Things?"). I declined (as I have meetings at 7 AM tomorrow just outside of Boise).

The agent finally tired, and grudgingly agreed to put us on a flight into Portland. I jumped on the phone, frantically searching for a hotel, only to find there are multiple conventions in town this week, and the closest hotel room was "10 miles away," in Beaverton; not too bad. I arrived-and promptly found out that Californians are to Oregonians as Americans are to the French. A gentlemen (who looked like he was from Berkeley; tie-dyed shirt, khaki shorts; long-hair; Birkenstocks), cordially asked if I was from Oregon. I said no, that I was from Central California. He froze, got a very angry look on his face and glared. I asked if that was a bad thing. He said, "Yes. Very bad."

I quickly moved on-only to, just moments later, while walking through the baggage claim area, find the same tie-dyed guy standing with a woman, long, straight hair with a braid on the side, wearing a tie-dyed gypsy skirt and a headband (I'm not making this up folks). He was pointing at me, glaring, and whispering in the woman's ear. When I got within hearing range, he said something about "stinkin Californians," about how we're the reason real estate is so expensive here. "I've lived here thirty years," he said, "and you arrogant people come here and jack up the home prices!"

"Um. I don't live here sir. I've never bought-or even TRIED to buy any real estate here! How could I have anything to do with your escalating property values?" He grumbled and shuffled off, dragging the woman behind him.

I've told everyone else I've met here that I'm from Arizona.

So, now, I'm lying in a hotel room (10 miles away-but an $89 each way taxi ride-from the airport), readying myself for bed, because I have to wake at the ungodly hour of 4 AM (typically, I'm going to sleep at that hour).

Which is why I don't have the time or the energy to post tonight. I'm sorry.