One Flew Over and Out her Nest

(Written at the Philadelphia International Airport 6:30 pm 6/21/09)

On my flight across the country from the Green Like Whoa City to the City That Needs Brotherly Love yesterday, the entire flight crew was male. I hope I don’t sound sexist, but a place called progress inside me suddenly made more room. Not that it’s here nor there, but the enjoy-your-flight felt different. I noticed. And, I contemplated the life of a steward (on an airplane) for the 10 wonderful minutes I stood in line waiting for the lavatory.

At the Philadelphia Airport, I used my last US coins – after, of course, trying the Euro-dollars I have about 4 times (they look like US quarters!) – to call my dad and my “dad.” Despite the slightly misleading blue sticker that says “$1.00 for 5 long distance minutes” (as in, once your call starts, it takes your $1 even if you don’t use all 5 of those minutes), I enjoyed the brief conversation with my dad in Colorado. I left a message on my “dad’s” cell phone in Seattle.

I was also reminded of why I am slowly but surely withdrawing my participation in US culture…about 150 times in two hours. A digitized-tired woman’s voice perpetuated the all-the-best-for-me-all-the-time mentality every 6.2 minutes so as not to miss one set of ears: “Here at Philadelphia International Airport, you’ll find entertainment to make the wait for your flight fly by. With over 160 award-wining shops and restaurants, we’ve got something for everyone.” Actually, that would be false advertising again, since the only thing Philly IA has for me is a woman’s restroom (it is REALLY hard to eat anything even remotely healthy at airports…).

Per the flight over here (to Philly), I realized that, though this runs counter to my accumulation of stuff complex, one of those neck pillows really does make sudden tiredness on airplanes less embarrassing. So, on my hunt to subdue my addiction (the internet), I found, apparently, the last purple neck pillow at this place. Didn’t find the internet, though (so this is posted after the fact).

Before the internet quest, I talked with a girl who leaned over to me in the waiting area and asked if I was British. I think she wanted to make fun of how Americans said “Birmingham” or something, and I have to admit, I agree: we got screwed out of the cool accents. Of course, across the pond, I’ll be the one with the accent. Hee.

I’ve been to Pennsylvania three times, and the staggering humidity never ceases to smother me. I was in PA (that’s what the natives call it and I dated a PA native, apparently, long enough for the reference stick) around this time last year, and there is still just too much air down here. Living in Colorado has probably ruined me for life.

On a completely separate note, the friend-to-whom-I-attribute-my-conversion left her wedding ring in a bathroom somewhere after only a few months of wearing it. At the time she told me (about three years ago), I simply couldn’t understand that. I’d wanted a wedding ring real, real bad for my entire life and hers drives her crazy enough that she took it off every chance she got? But now…well, let’s just say I know what she means.