Has anyone ever been to Oklahoma? If you have, you'll probably know what I'm getting at with a lot of this. If you haven't, this will give you a pretty clear picture of what life is like in the state bordered by Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, and, um, New Mexico.
I flew from Chicago to Oklahoma City on Tuesday morning, the 14th. My flight was at 7:59 AM. I haven't flown solo (you know what I mean) since I was 19, which is a hell of a long time when you think about it. A long time to go without having to remember all the details of travel on my own, all the bullshit little stuff that has a tendency to evaporate when one is packing for 8 days away, like "where the fuck is my phone charger?" and "did I remember to get cash?" and "where is my driver's license?!" I was thrilled beyond reason when I called my former spouse (he's a genius with travel, he's nothing if not one of my best friends and someone upon whom I can always rely and vice versa, and...he knows me and is gentle with me in situations like this) with a question about the best way to get to the airport on a Tuesday morning, and he pointed out that I could print my boarding pass in advance. In other words, I didn't need to get to the airport in time to do it there, and I could bypass that whole "self-service" kiosk thing that always seems to work not quite the way you want it to.
I suddenly strikes me that I need to point out that I'm not a complete idiot about travel. I've flown several times a year for the last decade, including less than a month after September 11, when we traveled to Washington, D.C. (The security on that trip was truly remarkable. I've never felt so safe in my life.) The point that I'm trying to make is that I'm a double-checker by nature, which is made so much easier when I'm with someone else of the same nature. I would look for the driver's license, and then he would ask if I'd looked for it. That would verify that it was there, and we'd both be totally cool about it. It worked both ways. Maybe we were both OCD about it, but hey, we never left for the airport without our driver's licenses.
Anyway, everything went swimmingly for the trip except one element: money. I wanted to withdraw a substantial (no, not millions, just a certain level) amount of cash to take along for whatever reason. I knew I'd be buying stuff here and there, stuff for other people, and food for me and the friend with whom I stayed, and perhaps some clothes. And books, of course, because there's a short-circuit in my brain that encourages me to buy books when I'm traveling by plane. So I wanted to withdraw this set amount of money, and I went to the ATM to do so...and I couldn't. The fucking machine wouldn't let me. It said I was asking for too much--"exceeding patron limit" was the phrase. Well, what the fuck? How do I know what my limit is? Like I'm going to the ATM all the time and just yanking money out left and right? I'm more of a $50 here, $25 there kind of person, and even then, it's $50 here, and $25 two or three weeks later. (I'm not a big cash spender.) So I sat there in my car, staring at the machine, wondering what to do. Like, literally, "What do I do?" Finally realized that maybe I should just get a smaller amount and come back the next day to get more. (Duh.) So I did that, got a bit less than half of my initial amount. Which was fine. And intended to get the rest on the way out of town, heading to the airport.
I packed pretty intelligently. It was 80 degrees in OK for several days before I was there, so I was prepared for warm weather but I didn't go overboard. I wanted to be warm, so I didn't pack shorts & halters or anything. It was a layered operation. Lots of camisoles and cardigans (sigh--I'm such a fucking librarian sometimes, it makes me gag) and a couple of pairs of jeans and some black pants that aren't indecent but are sort of more sleek than baggy. And a couple of pairs of shoes, basic toiletries, a couple of books, my camera, lots of rechargable batteries and cards, and my phone. Voila--packed.
Yeah, I make it sound like it happened in 10 minutes. My friends were picking me up at 5:00 to take me to the airport. (I love them!) I was up until nearly 1:00, fucking around with what to take along, how to get it into my luggage without needing to check luggage (I'm annoyed by the checking process and avoid it if at all possible), what to wear, blah blah blah. I also had to wash the dishes, water the plants, etc., so I didn't come back to a repulsive apartment. I knew I wouldn't sleep well anyway, but I should've tried a little harder. When the alarm rang at 3:45 I thought I'd hallucinated it. I turned it off and went right back to sleep. Luckily, the other one--the one that exists because I'm not so logical when I wake up--rang 3 minutes later, from across the room. My neighbors, if they can hear the alarms through the walls, must've been ever so pleased. Up, breakfast (well, some cereal and juice, anyway), shower (it's horrifically wrong to be naked and wet at 4-something in the morning!!!), dressed, and then: frantic. I was dashing around, doing the last-minute throwing-things-in-the-bag freak-out.
I didn't forget to pack anything. I did forget to take out the garbage. Sigh.
We got to the airport on time, no thanks to the idiots on the road around us who drove like morons. That reminds me: I need to get something for my friends, to thank them for wasting half of their day (and risking their lives) to get me to the airport, not only on their day off but also on their 25th wedding anniversary. A true sacrifice, another in a long line of things they've done for me that I don't know that I can repay.
The airport experience was fine, basic interpersonal weirdness notwithstanding. I was seated next to a couple who were traveling (via Gate H3A) to Knoxville, TN. When the male half of the pair, barbed-wire tattoo and all, pulled the most recent issue of Guns and Ammo out of his carry-on, I knew I was headed southward. I got up to stretch my legs and use the restroom one last time.
I flew American Eagle. For those who are unfamiliar with this "brand" of air travel, picture a standard 12-ounce soda can...attach wings...stuff 50 people into it...and you've got yourself an American Eagle flight. I was in seat 10C, roughly 3/5 of the way back, on the window of course (I hate being on the window). My bag is a soft-sided thing that technically fits the requirements for carry-on but was so grossly misshapen and blobbish that I couldn't have stuffed it in the overhead bin with a machine specially designed for the purpose. Therefore, it went "under the seat in front of me" (a.k.a. between my feet) and my shoulder bag (which contained several books and my camera and everything else with any weight, and which weighs a ton on its own!) went into the overhead bin.
The trip from ORD to OKC is listed at 2 hours, 10 minutes. I am 5', 4" (162.56 cm) tall. By the time I exited the plane, I felt like Gheorghe Muresan, stuffed into that tiny seat with no room for my legs or to move my arms. (I'm rolling my head and cracking my shoulders now, just thinking about it.) Ugh. And for entertainment, I had...in front of me: Hyperkinetic Yapmaster. He moved and talked to his seatmate throughout the flight. Constantly. I couldn't stand to have my knees touching his seat even slightly, because I could feel his neverending movement. It was like holding a puppy away from a bunch of other puppies. Behind me: Kicking Three-Year-Old. Constantly. Whack. Whack. Whack. Whack. Whack. (You get the idea. Um, Mom? Could you tear your eyes off your newborn long enough to tell your three-year-old, who is less than five inches away from you, to FUCKING STOP KICKING MY FUCKING SEAT?! Because I was so jammed into my seat, and because I had packed so stupidly, I couldn't stand up, turn around, and smack the little kid until she was unconscious. (OK, so I wouldn't really just hit her until she passed out. I would have hit her mom, instead.) After a while, the kicking was almost soothing; my kidneys started to expect it about an hour into the flight. And next to me? Nervous Flier Who Compensates By Telling His Life Story. In other words, Chatty Cathy.
There are only two things to tell about this. First, I am also a nervous flier. Second, I wear ear plugs when I fly because I have allergies and so my sinuses and ears are affected badly by landing, and sometimes takeoff. For some reason, these two things almost always translate to the person next to me feeling both welcome and compelled to talk to me, unrestrainedly, for the duration of the flight. By the time we landed in Oklahoma City, I knew more about the guy next to me than I would have cared to have known, and I hadn't gotten those two extra hours of sleep that I really wanted.
I staggered from the plane with my bags, into the airport...and my first sight in Oklahoma (I'd never been there before--had I mentioned that?) was amazing: Toby Keith!!! Well, not in the flesh, 'cause if that had been it I'd have turned up my toes and died on the spot. No, it was a ginormous poster of the Tobester in a bar in the airport, amongst other posters of other famous Oklahomans. The sun was shining brightly, I was very much on vacation at that moment, having successfully navigated all aspects of travel thus far, and I didn't give a fuck about what happened over the next 8 days beyond--Oh, God, Toby Keith looks so good. And we don't grow 'em like that up north. Hee hee.
I waddled through the airport, bags getting heavier with every step (what did I pack in there, bricks?!), and finally found Baggage Claim, where I was to meet Heidi. And hey, there she was! I descended the escalator and saw her, a vision of loveliness and home all at once, slouched on a sort of settee in a skirt and tank, turned so I could see only a tiny bit of profile but from her gorgeous blonde hair I would have known her from a mile away. She turned just as I got to the bottom of the escalator and her face lit up, and I'm amazed even now that I didn't just dissolve in tears (as I am while writing this). Good friend. Inexpressibly good friend.
It was as if we'd just slipped a bookmark into our conversation when she moved back to Oklahoma, because I felt as comfortable as I had when we were in my apartment laughing over chocolate tapioca pudding a few months before. We walked out to her car (it's an Izoozoo) and she apologized for the weather ("It's not as warm as it's been"); I would later come to realize that to apologize is not a Heidi-ism, but rather an Oklahoman trait, and a charming one at that.
When I was thinking about what to write today, I was surprised to discover that I have no recollection whatsoever of the substance of our drive from the airport. We were listening to Heidi's iPod, talking about Stuff, getting the minutiae settled, and I don't recall one tiny thing about looking out the window and seeing...anything. Did I fall asleep? Was I just crying the whole time? I have no clue. Looking back on it, it seems pretty pathetic.
Anyway, we went out for lunch at a Mediterranean deli called (wait for it)
After that, we did the most likely thing of all--we went to Penn Square Mall. Heidi had a Banana Republic gift card to use, and I had one from VS. She was more successful, and certainly more sensible, in her hunting than was I, but what would you expect? I suppose I shouldn't imply that I was insensible--my purchases probably only amounted to an ounce or two of increased weight for my return trip. Cost-wise, though....
The best thing about Penn Square? It's a tie. The first option is a snooty-assed beauty-pageant gown store (it's waaay more upscale and frou-frou than a mere prom dress place like we have around here) called Cache'. They weren't all really, really terrible dresses. I know that Heidi and I found at least 2 or 3 that we agreed were wearable. But they had them 'organized' by color, see, and so there was an entire section of the store
And the second option for the best thing about Penn Square? The parking. A microcosm of Oklahomans' loose connections with parking, and traffic, laws. Check it out--I was just randomly wandering the parking lot between Heidi's car and the door of the mall, and this is what I found. Enjoy, and keep it in mind the next time you're at a mall in OK!
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