I'm working FoDaMan this weekend while the home peeps sit out the hurricane.
I entered the RDU airport at 10 A.M., and found myself mostly alone. Checked my bag for an extra $25, found an ATM, and rolled through security. My gate was just outside security. Across from the gate, a clinic. I visited the clinic for a booster shot.
Diet Coke, people.
Even with my private airport, the plane was full. Packed. A gentleman of size had the aisle seat. I had the window. I later tweeted as to how he was a very lucky man. He was reading fantasy on a Kindle, and I was sampling the free and plentiful rum, all while we rubbed elbows and more.
ATL was it's usual big and busy self. This time, I noticed a brown layer of air as we approached. Smog. Landed. Fourteen point FourSquare check-in. Walked a mile. Stayed off the moving sidewalks and the tram. Should have worn the Vibrams. Found my gate. Slammed down a BK burger and fries in three minutes flat. Left again, this time on a little plane. CRJ-200, to be precise. Aisle seat. Chatty seat mate. I hate a chatty seat mate.
I hate even more planes without AC. I was dripping by the time we landed.
Bumpy landing in Chattanooga. Taxi. Aside from a couple of small mountains, Chattanooga like a lot like about every other American city, filled with people trying to make a living.
I'll blast out of CHA Sunday evening, Irene willing. Otherwise, Hilton surely has a spare pillow for me.