Remember how Tom “fixed” the leak under the bathroom sink?
Today River has another appointment at Spa We Heard Becky’s Credit Card Limit Was Increased. Other businesses in Montrose want a piece of that, too. Since I had to take my mother to the airport, poor Tim had to get out of bed at a horrific hour (for him) and deal with the plumber who came to fix the fix. (ed. note: In all fairness to Tom, it wasn’t his lack of skill. It’s the house’s eighty-year-old pipes that just need a professional.)
Because Tim was willing to give up sleep and oversee Mark the Hung Over Plumber, I managed to get the Oldest Living Confederate Fag Hag on her Continental flight to San Diego Pride. I armed her with a disposable camera, and she’s NOT AFRAID TO USE IT AT BLACK’S BEACH. San Diegoans, you have been warned.
By the way, either I’m really getting old and senile or they have made things way too complicated at the airport. I used to zip in and out of various terminals and parking garages without a problem. Today, I parked at Terminal C because that’s where Continental check-in is. Only after we got the OLCFH’s boarding pass, we had to saunter over to Terminal E, because that’s where her gate was. I watched her get through security–they really scrutinzed her old lady shoes–then, instead of going back to the same elevator, I thought, “Oh, I’ll just take this elevator and walk through the parking garage instead of that maze of nervous fliers.” (ed. note: Because I am a nervous flier, I project that on to everyone else.)
I knew I had parked on the fifth level. I knew that was in Terminal C parking. Yet when I exited my Terminal E elevator and walked to Terminal C’s parking garage, I wasn’t in the 5 Leaning Tower of Pisa section, I was in the 5 Eiffel Tower section.
What the hell? What continent am I on? Maybe I’d be able to find my way if it was 5 Empire State Building and 5 Golden Gate Bridge. But it wasn’t, so I wandered all over Europe in a state of torpor from the heat, humidity, and car exhaust fumes, with jet engines screaming close by. I thought, “If I call Tim and tell him I lost the car, he’ll say it’s time for me to stop leaving the house unaccompanied.” A prospect that actually sounded very appealing.
Fortunately, I found my way out of France and into Italy and drove home without further incident. Then I took pictures of Tim’s hair so he can post them for the Tim stalkers.