Why separate knob?

Why did I think I could make it to Seattle and back in my 1989 VW Jetta when I couldn't even ride my roommate's bike back from a bar four blocks? The day I left for Alaska -- Wednesday, the 16th -- I spilled a bike all over the a street near my house and got some on a trailer that was parked in my way. I came away from that with a black eye and a fucked up shoulder. The bike crash was only the beginning.

So, that morning I drove to Sea/Tac airport with fewproblems. A problem was finding a place to park in the 8+ story parking garage. I managed but was having trouble shifting by the time I found spot 7F-92 (Floor 7, Row F, space 92). I thought my car just needed to restp; I didn't worry about it or the cost of the parking ticket as I boarded my flight.

Alaska was great. I saw my brother for the first time in nearly a year run a marathon in less than four hours. My folks came and we all toured in an RV just like a family should, with little argument. We saw family in Anchorage, friends in Wasilla and Fairbanks, and scenery along the way (Denali National Park). I separated from the fam to come back to work. In Fairbanks, I was to fly to Anchorage to catch a connecting flight to Seattle, but the plane was late and I arrived in Anchorage ten minutes after my flight took off. The airline worked with me, rescheduling me to leave seven hours later. Instead of arriving in Seattle at 9:52 that night, I was to red-eye it and get there at five the next morning. I was on the schedule to work this particular day, so I called my manager the latest and told her my latest. She said try to make it in by the afternoon. I said Fuck after we were cut off.

The trouble with drinking to pass the time in the airport is that eventually you have to get on your plane. To sober up after two beers and three El Presidente margs, I had a coffee. When I should have avoided alcohol and caffeine, I didn't and consumed both. On the red-eye to Seattle I sat next to a redneck with a crying puppy, and seated behind us was his fussing family. Things couldn't have been worse.

Things get worse before they get better. At the airport, now five a.m, with no sleep, I'm on deadline to work in 11 hours. I called Lacey before I left Anchorage and she told me she'd meet me for a coffee. I was tired and a coffee would do me good. Seeing and spending time with her would be good to. Make things better.

Unfortunately, my car wouldn't start. I was on that seventh floor unsure that I would make it through the day. I sat and tried to start it. No luck. Things could be better, I guess.

I found valet, and paid theArab ten bucks to jump the bastard. And guess what? It worked. The battery kicked into action and the engine turned over. I was humming. Still, the shifter wasn't moving around the way I would have liked it to. I got out of the garage for $105 in third gear. I couldn't get it out of it, however, and wouldn't stop moving until I was in Seattle. Picture me: third gear, fifty miles per hour, left lane, five thrity in the morning, knowing that the next time I stop my car would be the last time I'd stop my care. Exits go by. I get greedy. Next one. Next one. Once I get close enogh to City Center, I get it into a spot, put the car to rest, and I called Lacey.

It remains in Seattle. I, back from my extended vacation, returned to work to see newfaces. One new guy in particular concerns me for my job security. He works the same hours and, no shit here, goes by the name Carlson. Are they replacing me? Is that possible? I get called in to a informal meeting, told that there were other options out there for me, specific examples provided, contact names and numbers given. Should managers do that?

A funny thing is, one opportunity I have is for an airline in Portland. I could be working at PDX, an airport I should have flown out of in the first place.

1 comment :

JCulp said...

Carlson?? That's great!!