I will, eventually, get around to blogging about my vacation last week and my quest to find fall. Not the act of falling, but the season. You know, cool and windy weather, cloudy skies, yellow, orange, and red leaves and the soft, firm crunch of dead foliage underfoot. Yeah, that fall.
But first, here's something completely different.
As I traveled this country from coast to coast last week, I kept encountering a strange individual. He's a person much admired--and sadly, despised--in this great land of ours. Personally, I like him, but if the truth be told after three almost-close encounters with him in eight days, I am a mite p-o-ed at him right now. Because the long arm of the President of these United States reached into my life and touched me...and not necessarily in a good way.
I'm talkin' about you, Obama. Yes I am.
My personal tale of woe starts on Thursday, Oct. 15th. The first leg of my journey takes me to the beautiful city by the bay, San Francisco, for a work-related weekend. Our flight from San Diego to Oakland was flawless, even landing early. (By contrast, some of my workmates were delayed for hours because they flew on chi-chi Virgin Airlines into San Francisco. Hope the magenta cabin lights and touch-screen teevess were worth the wait.) The three of us hop into a cab and are promptly told getting to our hotel will be difficult because President Obama is in town for a fundraiser (emphasis added) at a hotel one block down the street. He's also staying near Moscone Center, so the streets are closed off.
Okay...no big deal. We make it to our hotel maybe 10-15 minutes late because of that. But that evening, when a group of us try to go to a restaurant we all like next to the fundraiser hotel, we find the entire block cordoned off, all restaurants and shops closed for the evening. This causes some friction amongst our tiny little dinner expedition, but basically no harm, no foul. There are other places to eat in San Francisco.
The rest of my weekend there passes without any further presidential incidents.
On Tuesday, Oct. 20, I arrive in New York City for a short stay. It's a cold, cloudy morning when I land at JFK (hey...he was a president, too, until he was...oops...nevermind), but I find the weather invigorating and rather than crashing after a long red-eye flight from San Francisco, I go out and do my favorite New York pastime: visiting the Strand Bookstore. Late afternoon comes and I take a nap, and head out around 6:00pm for dinner and more bookstores, this time up Broadway, past Columbus Circle.
I get to Columbus Circle and New York's finest are everywhere. Streets are blocked off, crowds are milling. I overhear what's going on: President Obama is in town for a fundraiser. Yes. Again. This time I can still go to where I want to go, though, with some minor walking detours, so again...no harm, no foul.
The rest of the week in New York City is beautiful...great weather, and despite being a bit under the weather myself (sore throat, sniffles, slight fever...probably the 50+ version of Swine Flu), I'm able to do everything I want to do and have a wonderful time. Friday rolls around and I head to the airport for a 6:05pm direct flight home to San Diego. The plane taking us there arrives a little late, but by 6:30 or so we're on the plane and pulling out from the jetway.
And then we stop. And the pilot comes on and says: "Sorry, folks, but we are on an all ground traffic stop at JFK for a VIP plane on the runway. We'll get underway shortly." Someone looks out the window and a murmur goes through the cabin...Air Force One is on the runway.
President Obama is in town for a fundraiser.
So we sit. And sit. AND SIT. (Well, most of us sit. Despite the pilot's request to remain seated because we could move at any time, pretty much the entire cabin decides now is the time to take a leak. And I'm sitting right by the rear bathrooms. During this parking time on the tarmac, the flight attendants break out water bottles, thus inspiring another bathroom run later in the flight. Obviously, I need to rethink my seating strategy on long, coast-to-coast flights.) Finally we move. The pilot tells us the VIP plane is gone and traffic is starting up again. We move slowly up the line. The pilot gets on again and says "Flight attendants please take your seats for takeoff."
And we stop.
The now sheepish pilot gets back on and says, "Well, folks, I'm sorry but...there are TWO lines of planes and the tower stopped us while they let 15 or so of the planes in the other line go. So it'll be another 20-25 minutes until we take off." And eventually we do, over two and a half hours after our scheduled time of departure. I get into San Diego at a little before 11:00pm, thankfully making up some of the time in the air (we were originally scheduled to arrive at 9:15pm).
So thanks, Mr. President, for all that fundraising. I hope it was successful for you. And as much as I like your politics, if the next presidential election were being held this coming Tuesday my sore butt from sitting on a f*cking plane for 8 hours would try its best to persuade me to vote for the other guy. (Unless of course, the other "guy" was Sarah Palin...then even my ass wouldn't argue with me on that choice. After all, it takes one to know one.)
Wow. I live four blocks from the White House and work across the street from it and you've been inconvenienced more often in one trip than I have in the last TWO administrations put together!
Surrounding businesses are never shut down here-- you might get a road-closure, but it's usually only a block or so.
Posted by: Aimee C | October 29, 2009 at 04:44 PM