Day 1: All the Nation's Airports

11:51 AM: Via Chicago

On little sleep, and with great anticipation and eagerness (to see Anne and my friends, to get to warmer climes, and (actually) to begin recording this "blogoventure" in earnest) I set out to the airport with some time to spare, hoping to find a clean, well-lighted place to get some work done on a paper I'm writing before my flight. Today was going to mainly be a travel day, since I also had some time built in, via an hour layover in Chicago on my way to Atlanta. But, I figured, it was an excellent opportunity to catch up on writing, reading, and the unique social experience that airports avail, as I'd written about before. Unlike trips past, I was practically comfortable with the comparatively leisurely pace that the afternoon promised, given that it was a Thursday afternoon on a not-particularly-travel-heavy season (post-Spring Break for most of the collegiate crowd, off-day for most business travel, etc.). Although I was initially skeptical about taking the Thursday off, as I stood on the empty escalator to Ticketing, I was giving myself mental high fives for my foresight and practicality.

Wow, am I an idiot.

Of course, in my haste to pack and tie up the inevitable pre-travel loose ends yesterday, I hadn't bothered to check either fore- or newscasts and I too-quickly dismissed Anne's suggestion to keep checking my flight status online. Standing there at the Ticketing counter, I winced slightly as the stricken look on the ticket agent's face sent my high five-ing sense of self over the precipice and into the black abyss of uncertainty, already subsumed by a stranded, disaffected sea of humanity. Red-faced, rapacious, identically dressed businesspersons walked tight circles or ambling figure-8's, barking changes of plans into Bluetooth headsets with stares so vacant, so unfocused, it's like watching a thousand little oblivions. Children, some of whom had been waiting with their families for flights since dawn, had so thoroughly exhausted every toy, game, question, foodstuff, condiment, and adult in a 100-yard radius that they now gathered, almost solemnly, around an ATM machine to play with what looked to me to be a small pile of dirt on the floor. Unevenly tanned people in Panama hats looked at LED Departure screens like the faithful in the face of some utterly indifferent digital God.  And this was just Ticketing!  Without my asking, the ticket agent found me a seat on a direct flight to Atlanta, making me no longer subject to the delays and cancellations. I was actually considering high-fiving her until I heard the catch - the flight did not leave for another six-and-a-half hours - putting me in later than my original flight. Naturally, it was facing being overbooked with folks trying to divest themselves from now non-existent or chronically delayed Chicago-centric flights. Afraid that fortune would soon pass me by, I hurriedly thanked my guardian agent and gingerly stepped over the dirt and children to the Security Gate.

12:34 PM: "The Department of Homeland Security Welcomes You..."

When I showed my driver's license to the security agent, I was informed that I had been randomly selected for "secondary screening."  Given that I now had plenty of time, I cheerfully responded, saying something to the effect of "oh, boy" and acting as if I had won something.  This gave the agent some pause, but after taking me out of the line, he returned to his senses and shouted for someone to take over the screening. Amid the throng in the security line, there was no movement over to where I was for several minutes.  The guard shouted again.  Still nothing.  Finally, the exasperated guard led me to a small room off to the left of the Security Gate with a small table and two chairs. On the far wall was a large banner that read "THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY WELCOMES YOU". Other signs pasted to the walls with Scotch tape spoke vaguely of search procedures and the none-too-subtle fact that "Sexual Harassment Is A Crime."  Needless to say, the change of venue cooled my initial enthusiasm considerably. After a few minutes, an older guard came into the room, patted me down, searched my bag, and led me back out to the line.  He was very friendly while being efficient in carrying out the search, and, dare I say, welcoming.  They must take the signage seriously around here.

8:14 PM: Strange Weather

After a few short delays due to last-minute gate changes and refueling, we took to the air.  The ride was probably (knock on wood) one of the most turbulent I have ever experienced.  As I expected, most of the folks on the flight were businesspersons, who took their luck in obtaining a direct connection to Atlanta as a sign to engage in taking epic advantage of the in-flight alcohol selection. Given that we still had to fly over or around the trouble spots that prevented our previous connections from being able to land, it was a bumpy ride, but I was heartened to see that a few sudden dips (keeping us plastered to our seats, frozen by the continued presence of the "fasten seatbealt" sign) didn't dent the convivial spirit.  After a safe landing, the deplaning music was Elvis Costello's 'Every Day I Write The Book' - and not the Musak version but the real thing!  Way to go, Big National Airline!

11:51 PM: Arrival

Home at last and, after a twelve hour plus ordeal, I'm ready for bed. Tomorrow brings the road trip to Nashville before a return to the Home of the Braves on Sunday.