The Wrath of Newark (or my incompetence)

I hate a few choice people who work at the Newark airport. I don't mean hate as in, "Gee whiz! That lady just ticked me off." I mean hate as in, "I wish upon her what I would not wish upon my worst enemies." For all that know me, I am not a hateful person. I more or less try to get along to...get along, so to 'hate' someone is a pretty big step.

After a blissful weekend in New York, I set off toward the airport to go back home (dear Salt Lake City). My sister's roommate was kind enough to drive me the ten minutes to the Newark Airport from Hoboken. Here is where we hit the first snag. It had been raining that day. Not debilitating rain, but a fairly good amount. Apparently, rain in New Jersey means that you plan an extra hour to your travel time regardless your destination. OK. Recap. I left an hour and a half before my plane was scheduled to depart. I was maybe 10 minutes away from the airport. We hit a brick wall of traffic. Damn.

What should have taken five minutes turned into 45 minutes. Yikes, I thought. I should probably call the airport! I found the number for the airport via trusty 411. I spoke with a very nice lady and explained my situation:

"I am sitting in traffic on the New Jersey turnpike. I will not make the 30 minute check in. I need to know if I should reschedule my flight now or if I should try to make it."

"This happens all the time. You should be fine. As long as you're there...have you checked in?" asked the cheery airport lady.

"No, I haven't." This was a HUGE mistake on my part. Dummy Candace. I definitely should have checked in before leaving the house. "I don't suppose I can do that over the phone?"

"No, I'm sorry. But find a representative as soon as you get to the airport. No problem. It really happens all the time."

After checking and rechecking with the airport lady, I hung up the phone with a new found determination. I can make it!

I got to the airport 20 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave. I found the first representative I saw and asked for her assistance as my plane was leaving very shortly. The woman told me to stand in a line. "Please," I said. "I can't wait in a line. I have been stuck in traffic and my plane is leaving soon." The woman was annoyed but complied to my state of panic. She pulled up the flight on her computer. "Your flight has been delayed. You have plenty of time. Go to the line for the curbside service. It shorter than the line inside." I thanked her and stood in line outside.

After about five minutes (which seemed like an eternity) I reached the front of the line. I handed the man my ID and he handed it back to me saying it was too late. "Someone sent me out here to check in with you," I pleaded with the man. He shook his head and told me to go inside and wait in the line inside. "They can help you in there."

Angry, annoyed, and frustrated, I ran inside and stood in the line. When I got to the front of the line I explained, yet again my circumstance. The woman at the counter told me that she needed to go get someone else (her manager, I assume). I waited and waited knowing that I was screwed and that it was no one else's fault but my own. I was angry and panicked. The manager approached the desk and asked to hear my story. I started again and told her about the traffic, the phone call, the lines, and the advice I had gotten up to this point. The woman was apathetic and told me that my seat was given away a half an hour ago. She told me that whoever I had spoken with did not know what they were talking about. Also, if I had spent an hour in traffic, maybe I should have left an hour earlier. Good bye.

I was FUMING MAD!!! I understand she probably gets these sob stories all day, but for the love of God. Show some empathy. Even if you can't help me, don't be a total bitch about it.

So, I left the next day after a penalty for missing the flight. I love that airline. I will fly it ALWAYS! Arg. What a Bitch.

The Awkward Milkshake

There really is nothing more uncomfortable than watching the sheer absurdity of an aging hippie couple on a date. The awkwardness, the laughable conversation, the odd comments (influenced by years of too much acid and/or pot)...this makes for the perfect setting while eating a delicious Iceberg milkshake.

Sunday, about the time between lunch and dinner when you are too lazy to do anything but too motivated to fall asleep, Andy, Brett, and I decided that what we needed to perk our current mood was a tasty milkshake from Iceberg. PERFECT!! We drove to the adorable little drive in and ordered a chocolate banana shake, a Reese's shake, and a grasshopper shake. Delicious. We sat at one of the tables outside to wait for our order. These tables (made of stone which had been baking for hours in the 100+ degree heat) were decidedly too warm to sit on. With a stroke of brilliance, Andy suggested that we move inside the little restaurant to eat our obtained treat.

We entered the restaurant to blast of cool air and an annoying cackling that would rival the most wicked of witches. We chose a table and sat, ready to enjoy our wonderful frozen goody in the blissful coolness of the welcomed air conditioner. The old lady cackled again. Irritated, I changed our conversation and tried desperately not to eavesdrop...to no avail. I couldn't help but hear the conversation of choice bands from the sixties: how they got their names, how the music influenced them, how the music shaped a generation...all fine, right? Well, it would have been had the conversation not proceeded as so:

Hippie Man: "I loved The Guess Who! Did you know that The Guess Who had a real name? Yeah! The Guess Who had a real name! It's like, wow! The Guess Who had a real name. Um, I don't remember what the real name was but The Guess Who had another name!"

Hippie Woman: "Hahahahahahaha " (insert obnoxious cackle--Whether sincere or for pity: unknown)

Hippie Man: "Yeah. Someone said, "Hey man! What's the name of your band," and they were like "Guess" and then the guy was like "Guess who?" and then the band thought it was so funny that they didn't use the real name any more. They used Guess Who. Isn't that funny? Guess who didn't use their real name anymore. They used Guess Who cuz they though it was funny."

Hippie Woman: "Hahahahahahaha" (continue the never-ending obnoxious cackle--sincere or pity? still unknown)

Hippie Man: "I saw them at this concert and there was a lot of smoking going on..."

Hippie Woman: "Yeah. The only reason I didn't make it as a singer is because I have Asthma. I just can't handle all of the cigarette and pot smoke. One time I was on a date and we were at this concert and and soon as we got to the Salt Palace (the old Salt Palace, not the new one) I turned around and said, 'we need to leave right now!' Isn't that funny!"

The next ten minutes or so at Iceberg was pretty much the same conversation over and over and over again. Allow me to state that I was not trying to eavesdrop. The restaurant was little and these people obviously had lost most of their hearing from too many hippie music festivals. In my defense, they were shouting the conversation (and the cackling). I wouldn't be surprised if their "date" was audible from outside the establishment.

I was mortified to find that the hippie conversation moved to the topic of "significant others." Andy, Brett, and I now had brain freezes due to the speed we were trying to ingest the ice cream. Our Hippies commented on how God just never put the right woman in his path and was therefore not supposed to get married. "No!" the hippie woman reassured him. "I'm sure that's not true" she said with a hiccup in her voice as she reached for his hand. I wanted to vomit. Not long after this gross display of compliment fishing did we high-tail it out of Iceberg.

Long live old hippies!

One is the lonliest number

I recently moved into a new apartment. Not only is it a new apartment (and a cute one at that!) but this is the first time I have truly lived by myself. No roommate, no family...just me. I gotta tell you, it is lonely! I called my sister and my mom just because I needed conversation.



Last night I was unpacking my kitchen in the sweltering heat (due to a lack of air conditioning). While talking with my mother, my kitchen light (the ONLY source of light) managed to fail. I couldn't figure out why God decided to frown on me. I grumbled to my mom and went out at 9pm in search of some sort of lamp. I ran to the nearest Fred Meyer a purchased a set of 4...just in case.

With a new source of light under my arm, I proudly marched back to my apartment to find...the damn kitchen light was on! I was baffled. Grudgingly I left my newly acquired item in its box and went back to washing my brand new dishes. I completed my task and put them away when, the kitchen light turned off...again. ARG! Not to worry. I had my trusty lamp.

In the darkness I tore open the box, extracted the lamp with little grace, fumbled around for a light bulb, then searched for an open outlet. For those of you who currently reside in a dwelling built before indoor plumbing became popular, you will understand the extreme lack of outlets. Then, EUREKA! I found one. I plugged the lamp in and was flooded with the heavenly light of...my kitchen light. What the hell? I shrugged and turned the lamp on anyway. I was tickled to see that it too emitted light.

It wasn't too long before I decided to take a shower and go to bed (only to find out that my tub doesn't like to drain...only four days in and already the place is falling apart!). I climbed into bed, turned off the light and listened to nothingness. Silence. I don't like the feeling of knowing that I am the only one there. No roommate. No boyfriend. It was just me. Alone. I understand that everyone needs to live alone and have their own space...but I don't enjoy it all that much. I am not looking for advice. I am just sending this out there wondering if anyone can relate...at least about the lamp.