By lex, on October 25th, 2011
I got back late last night from Pensacola *, and if I never fly aboard the C-word airline again it’ll be too soon. A 1.5 hour delay on deck at my origination, on account of weather, so I was told. Which there wasn’t any, yesterday. So there’s that. An egregiously underqualified technician spent half an hour puttering on her workstation before confessing to the congregation that she hadn’t a clue what to do. Her more experienced co-worker flipped her hair, sighed and made things right in three or four keystrokes. Maybe five. Which still left us with a three hour layover in Houston, and arriving in Sandy Eggo at 2230. Wherein the baggage handlers apparently decided that offloading the first twenty bags from the 757′s cargo hold was a sufficient accomplishment to reward themselves with a 15-minute smoke break, for the Hobbit had to go round and round whilst my backpack – whose loading fee worked out to a little better than $1.50 a pound – sat forlorn and unworn somewhere in the great ughknown.
But! Today is a new day, one spent chiefly wondering how in the world I will catch up on all my domestic duties left dangling, lo! These many weeks. And plausibly bill my non-flying work hours, file a travel claim, reconcile checkbooks, &c.
And! Quite at a loss at where to begin, I took Gus the dachshund for his morning constitutional. Which he was desperately in need of, certain requirements of his own insensitive to the workload that has accumulated Chez Lex in hizzoner’s absence. And especially inasmuch as the little feller had only two nights ago come off a self-imposed hunger strike we correlate to the Hobbit’s absence from the house, there being little if anything the Kat could do while in charge of the inner and outer demesnes to induce the cross-grained bugger to, you know: Eat.
Whereupon: I espied two Marine Corps Hornets launching off into the morning air, their departure flight path placing them but a little way above our heads before climbing into the sun-scorched blue.
Living as I have here in the Crushing Burden of Debt for nigh on ten years, such sightings have become commonplace. In the past I have watched them with a professional eye, coupled with a tinge of bittersweet regret. For I flew them aircraft once, and it has long felt as though I was watching my old girlfriend stepping out with a younger man, like. The temptation to stalk the old girl was strong. Maybe drunk dial her late at night, ask soddenly if we couldn’t get back together again, whether she’d reconsider. After all that we’d had together.
As I walked the sun-dappled park with my disembouging dachshund in tow, that feeling was conspicuously absent, and I turned a wry smile to the retreating fighter section’s tail. See you around, I thought to myself. Check six.
It’s my sky too.
** Lex and The Hobbit had just returned from seeing SNO graduate flight school – Ed.
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