Travel Thursday: Last Day in Seattle

Took all morning to get credentials and do orientation–same as every year, of course–but now I’m ready for the Long Beach Grand Prix. . . though nothing’s gonna happen till tomorah. Sigh. . .

My last “continental” breakfast–an orange, a donut, orange juice. . . I think I was still feeling the amazingly pleasurable aftereffects of yesterday’s Kobe burger. {Yes, I suppose it could have been the waitress. . .}
Before we leave Seattle, I have to tell you about this amazing website (www.lostinSeattle.com) which will take you down to street level and tell you what building you’re looking at, down to whether it’s open or not, even the hours it will be open; it’ll even tell you how many hours and minutes till they open!. It’s almost like an interactive Thomas Guide, but more so. Anyone going should look this up before anything else, and bookmark it.
Had to get to the airport early–but not “too” early–but instead of going to look for some old haunts from previous trips downtown, I was feeling a wee bit tired and merely laid in bed. Since the bus to the airport stopped a couple of blocks from the hotel, I figured that made up for not searching for the futuristic movie theater where I saw “Lawnmower Man 2,” for instance, among other places I’d visited in previous trips that I wanted to see again, but not too much.
Glad I remembered the monorail doesn’t start up till 11, which would have been a lot of walking with a big backpack for nothing. This time I did catch the express instead of the stop-every-block, so I had to put up with less scenery, or rather the same amount but speeded up too quickly to worry about.
Sea-Tac sometimes gets silly, but there were no problems passing by security on this trip, even though the lines were longer than Long Beach and I had to struggle a bit more with my boots. The guy right before me in the security line forgot the rule about no lighters and chucked his in the bin with a look of regret. Didn’t see why, it was just a plain plastic thing you can get at any drugstore–not exactly a heirloom or even with a sports team on it–but he probably hated begging for a light as soon as the plane landed.
You can tell Sea-Tac is a “modern” airport because it has a “family” restroom.
Saw a young guy wearing U Dub gear and we talked for a while, until it came out that his father usta be the coach at. . . oh, shit, this guy was the kid of my college coach! What are the fuckin’ odds? Surreal. And since we didn’t get along–me and the coach, I mean–I certainly didn’t want to relive any memories, and was glad when I was told Daddy was not coming to the airport to pick him up. Though it did make me feel a little bit good, in a narcissistic way, that the kid had decided against playing for his father and went to another U. Ha!
As I saw a Qantas flash by outside the window, I wondered if they still showed the pre-flight video of a pre-fame and always beautiful Tara Fitzgerald doing all the safety procedures. Then I wondered if I could buy it. . . it’s one of her best works. {okay, that was a little bit mean, but she’ll never read this.
I hope.}
I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY WANT SEVEN DOLLARS FOR THAT SMOOTHIE! The whole eating experience was so in contrast to the beginning of the trip at the Long Beach airport, with the bored servers and the long waiting.
Heavy G takeoff–thought Sea-Tac was longer. I’ve flown out of Sea-Tac so many times, but I don’t remember anything like this one. In fact, don’t remember anything so heavy G since Ayers Rock. Not as bad as a carrier takeoff, of course, but enough to bring some flashbacks as you wait for your eyeballs to pop back into place.
The soft drinks and juice were free, and the beer was five bucks; it just seemed really funny to me that the flight attendant was checking IDs! You think that was in her job description when she signed up?
On the flight up, Alaska had given packs of “trail mix,” with part of the devilish brew being garlic and onion powder, but this time it was pretzels! As an experienced traveler I had brought my own provisions, but pretzels were gravy!. . . so to speak. Ok, dessert, then.
This flight seemed a lot longer than the first, probably because the woman sitting next to me was reading and didn’t want to talk. So what, I could listen to music for two hours, no different than an El Lay commute, except there was nothing to look at.
Then I noticed that across the aisle a man was reading–the cover had huge print, like it was proud of itself–“The Encyclopedia of Unusual Sex Practices.”
It actually took longer to take the bus home than the flight, and that’s not counting the baggage carrousel dance and the wait for the first bus. And I don’t care what she says, I was NAWT flirting with the girl with the Suthin’ accent and bright green nails. . .

;o)

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