Bits and Bobs

There's a few little tidbits floating around in my brain that need a place to rest and I choose here!

First - air travel. Argh. That one word can encompass it all. I had a triple treat on my flight home from Florida. Security, maintenance, and passangers. Stepped into the booth and raised my arms at the security check point. Stepped out. Next thing I know I have a woman in my face, literally inches away from my nose telling me she needed to pat me down and detailing the manner in which this would be accomplished. You know, back of the hand, etc. She asked me if I would prefer to do this in a private area. I'm standing there my eyes riveted on my possessions (laptop, back with expensive camera, purse, etc.) on the conveyer belt and I tell her to just get it over with. She does exactly what she told me she was going to do and as she steps away I see the body outline on the computer that was showing her where to feel - top and side on my right breast. Well, I guess that study I saw from Germany was correct. Sweat can be identified as a potential bomb. Of course I was sweating - it was already 90 degrees outside in Tampa and I had been walking/standing for a 1/2 hour. Got my hands swiped for bomb making residue, too, just for good measure. In short order I was found to be a non-threat and was on my way. 

Next - I like window seats on planes. I like being able to see out. I like the extra light for my stitching. My seat mates were two young Russian women. I don't think they spoke much English at all. No problem as I am not a happy chatterer on airplanes. I prefer to listen to my music. We start to taxi down to the runway for take off. Captain's happy. We're second in line. And boom, we veer off to the left. Captain's not so happy. There's an instrument reading that shows something not right. Now we are sitting on the runway. In Tampa. In the 90 degree heat and sunshine. We're told to close our windows in an attempt to keep things cooler. My Russian seatmates are getting visibly upset. I can't say anything to help keep them calm because I apparently only speak in vernacular English and they only know textbook English. I give up trying. It gets hotter. And hotter. Too hot to stitch. And just when I think I'm going to start screaming because I need out of this hot little tin can, Captain comes back on and we've been given the go. Phew. I do not need this particular experience again. 

Third - my Russian friends. They start this weird game of up and down. Middle seat gets up and heads to the back of the plane. And stays gone. Aisle seat leaves, too. One comes back. One goes back. Both come back. Both go. It's some strange airplane musical chairs game? Flight attendants come by with beverages. Aisle girl gets an apple juice. Middle girl is still gone. She comes back. Decides she wants apple juice, too. She finally gets a can of her own, but instead of opening hers, she's going to drink her companions. So she takes the gum out of her mouth and puts it on the back of her left hand. Drinks her juice. And then cannot find her gum again. Looks at the jacket she's been holding across her waist, half stands up. No gum. Not in the seat. Not on her pants. Not on the floor. Where oh where did the gum go? She never found it while sitting next to me. They both finally sit down and do not move again until the plane lands at Dulles. I have no idea where that gum was. 

Not that driving is so much better than air travel. Some idiot tried turning into our off ramp the other day. You know? Like he was going to attempt traveling in the wrong direction on the toll road? Yikes. He drove around us and pulled up now on the right hand side of the exit from the toll road. But it was quite apparent to the three cars who were waiting for the light, that he intended to turn left and get himself onto the toll road. He was going to run the red light to make sure he could get to where he wanted to be - you could see he was moving out into the intersection to do this illegal move, when along came two firetrucks foiling his plan. The three cars at this intersection - we all let him go - but one new car had moved up on my left and had no faffing clue about the idiot. There was an almost collision. And finally idiot is positioned in the correct lane to go where he wants to go. And all I could think was - is he just clueless or is he drunk or stoned or something? He seemed to be in full control of the car. Always fun to drive 80 miles only to run into the idiot a mile away from home. 

Don't mind me. I'm just rambling today. I've got some painting to do and I'm procrastinating.