Wait for You
For the plane. For the cleaning of the plane thanks to some rugrat who either had an accident with a pistachio milkshake, or because of one. I blame the parents.
I blame the airline for having us line up to board (stupid Southwest) and then give no announcement for 45 minutes. And then make us wait for "5-10 more minutes", which of course means: infinity +1.
Seriously, they had to replace at least one seat. Replace. Not clean. How fucked up is that? They weren't even cloth seats, but leather. Shouldn't a "pistachio shake" be able to just be wiped up from leather seats?
The irony of course, is that I left Nashville at 16:20 so I could get home at 22:00. I could have taken a direct flight at 20:00 to get home at 23:00. As it turns out, I'm getting home later than the direct flight which left 3+ hours later. The jokes on me, I suppose.
So during my layover, I ate at Phillips, which you would think would be better than Quiznos or Subway, but in reality, crab cakes in an airport terminal, even from a reputable chain, is even dicey at best.
I'm tired. I'm skipping the morning gym routine - again. It's pushing midnight, I just got home (most of this was drafted in the airport last night) and I have to get to bed. Even I need to be in bed more than five hours.
Song by: Lindsey Buckingham