31 October 2010

My New Tree!

This started with an innocent shopping trip to Fry's (no, not the electronic store; Arizona seems to have a Fry's grocery line here) for some essentials. However, my heart nearly stopped when I saw 4-5 foot Mediterranean Fan Palm's for only $20. That seemed rather unreal because mid-western floral shoppes don't even carry these large of palms and it would still cost more than the traditional western cost of 75-100$. I anxiously check all the prices and see that it isn't a fluke - these are really that cheap!

I rush in to ensure I can reserve my 50lb tree while I shop. Of course this is the one time that the annoying "welcome to Fry's" dude isn't there. I rush to the floral department even though I know better. I finally literally run down a manager yelling "SIR, SIR, SIR" until he had to acknowledge me. He seems in shock that I care so much about it, and explains that they are on the sale because they are starting to dry out. While I can only think "but you charge $25 for a bunch of crappy cut flowers", I just smile and ask to get a ticket so I can check out. I found his shruggy attitude of "just tell the clerk when you check out" terrifying because there are only 12 out there and I fully expected a dozen people to come flocking in the next ten minutes demanding their Mediterranean Fan Palm. How could they not? He did not share my concern.

I race around the store in extreme panic that my precious palm will be gone by the time that I get up front, but shockingly, when I arrive, not even one person had snatched up my prize. Clearly people here have no sense of value. In fact, the check-out clerk seemed completely confused about the whole process and acted like I was the strange one for wanting it. Whatever people! The florist is paged, and in her apparent relief to ditch a palm on an unsuspecting victim, is very helpful as I ask her to stand guard next to my baby as I grab my car.

Her expression as I pull up with my MiniCooper is indescribable.

Only at the loading point do I realize these things have thorns. That was an unpleasant 10 minutes as I provided the shopper's entertainment and misery of the florist getting that thing in the car.

I very proudly pull out, the owner of my very own 4 foot Mediterranean Fan Palm with my hatch up, blinkers on, going 30 miles per hour in constant panic that I may hurt the palm. Elle is equally ecstatic and panicked, giving little "ouch" sounds when she tries to hold the branches and remembers that it hurts to hold just like it did 2 second previously. z4's and other such sports car zip around me with incredulous looks as I proudly beam with excitement of my new purchase thinking "yeah, you buzz me like that with your stupid little sports car. I have a Mediterranean Fan Palm and the fact that you don't makes you an incredible loser."

They seemed to have a different perspective.

Arriving home, Elle leaped out (actually crawled out extremely cautiously) and ran to each arriving car to their flat announcing our new purchase. Neighbors were in awe, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the positive awe.

Meanwhile, my porch is becoming quite the exotic potted plant garden as people shake their heads and shop for their fake Christmas trees.




27 October 2010

I am Superwoman!

Sound arrogant? Surviving the story below with a 3 year old within the same 24 hours is a little mindblowing to me.

Air travel to me is like the bus system in the air. Stuff happens, routes get messed up, bus drivers get grumpy, and there are many times when it's simply uneventful. For those who travel the system often, you get used to the funky things, but those who don't travel it often (beware the families that are clearly disorganized or have a stressed expression on their faces) are offended by every possible funky thing that could occur and slow the whole system down. Just take your freaking shoes off and don't wear the Roman sandals with 8 buckles. These are the little indications to select the other security line. However, turning my 4 hour flight into a 22 hour / 4 state tour was taking it a little far for me as well.

This story starts when I show up at the airport ready to rock and roll, but was informed of either a 7 hour delay in Indianapolis, or a 4 hour delay there and another 4 hour delay in another equally boring airport (Detroit). I look down at Elle, fresh from her good sleep and ready to destroy the world, and opt for the early next morning flight that will have her zombified.

So let's roll the clock forward to 430am the next morning. Nice and early. Elle is sleepwalking - awesome! We'll start with the classic "we'll be sitting here on the runway for an hour because of storms." Whatever. While I'll miss my connection, I assume there are several more flights to Phoenix from Memphis since I'll still get to Memphis in the morning. Ha!

One horribly turbulent ride to Memphis (my sensitivity to airsickness is phenomenal and I did not have Dramamine - so there's puking at this point), we are circling for an hour when the pilot announces that Memphis is not allowing us to land and we're running out of the fuel. I'm too busy puking to care a whole lot about the crashing possibility, but this was apparently a concern of the pilot's, so he headed down to Mississippi where we refueled and I recovered on the ground for another hour before heading back into Turbulence City.

Let's just skip all the sickness and say we land in Memphis. It was very very unpleasant. Having piloted myself, I could tell what stages he was at in the landing process and the time between each stage was killing me because I wanted it to go faster. Elle was very kind in her announcement to the entire plane that it was "disgusting". Thank you Elle, I'll remember that support when you're sick.

We hobble off the plane and the lady yells at me that I "just stood there" (pardon me for trying to not pass out) when they rescheduled my flight for 15 minutes from the landing. Which terminal, I ask. B11. Right. I know this airport pretty well and there is nothing on this earth that is going to get my carry-on, 3 year old child, and my own sick butt there in 15 minutes. She slows down to take in the situation and agrees with me. I forgave her for what I felt was originally an outrageous expectation when she kindly rescheduled me for a later flight so I can recover.

However, I was dismayed to discover that the rescheduled ticket was to Atlanta before I could get to Phoenix. If you have spent any time at all in Atlanta, you'd understand my dismay. That place is seriously on one of the levels of Dante's Inferno, and continues to achieve a lower level with each visit. I run to the Skyclub and beg for mercy. Explaining my situation, I asked to be switched to another airline that I knew was direct from Memphis to Phoenix. Now this is a secret to those who are less traveled - airlines will rarely, if ever, voluntarily transfer you to another airline, and probably will not if you have baggage, but if you request it, they care about customer service and will usually work with you. As I guessed, there was one more direct flight left in the day (we are sitting at 1p right now) leaving at 230p with US Air. Unfortunately this means going outside security to get to the ticket counter, but I risk it.

You guessed it. That plane was full. Back through security, who freaked with my five million boarding passes for fifteen different planes that had come and gone while I was puking in the air. That was a long explanation.

Kudos to Skyclub lady who let me collapse in the club and get Elle a snack, juice and hot chocolate.

Trucking back out to the Atlanta flight, I grab some Dramamine that fortunately just keeps me only wanting to puke for the next 55 minutes.

Please note as I land in Atlanta, my most hated airport besides perhaps Philadelphia and Gatwick, there is 2 1/2 hours to waste when all Elle and I want to do is collapse. Memphis was kind enough to take my other carry-on as checked baggage at no cost to help them save space. Actually, they thought they were inconveniencing us when I nearly wept with relief to have one less thing to carry around through 82 airports.

Overdosed with Dramamine, worried about Elle right now who seems only capable of asking "is this the last plane" (really, she was amazingly good), and just glad that this was the final leg, I collapsed in the second row (was in the last row for the last two flights, which causes more nausea). 17 hours into this insanity, I just started laughing hysterically when it was announced that engine #2 was not functioning and to immediately deplane.

275 people circling the announcement desk had to be intimidating to the poor chick trying to get us another plane. She was more than happy to shuttle us to another poor victim to be stared at until we could board. It was interesting to watch 275 people with all their crap move en masse 5 gates away and end up exactly in the same positions of staring at Victim #2 as we were previously stationed before.

Finally loaded and in our same assigned seats, which frankly, I was worried about because I finally had managed to procure a reasonable location on the plane, we get the proverbial announcement that we'll be holding for another hour or so on the tarmack for weather. I took it as a good sign as we have come full circle to the first delay that caused this domino effect where we sat on the tarmack for an hour for weather. I was relieved.

22 hours into our trip we landed at PHX. I have to say that I did not expect my two checked baggage (free courtesy of Delta's just trying to get me home) to make it to PHX successfully, but they did. So I would like to just end this long arduous post with one thing:

MAD PROPS to Delta for amazing customer service throughout the whole miserable experience that was totally out of their control due to that stupid storm that overtook the Midwest. The one time that they could have helped me onto another airline, they did try. And guess what...both my bags, although checked in at two different cities, followed me on the exact planes that I was on. You have to understand how insanely amazing that is. There should be a case study on logistics of Delta's baggage service.