Just a slow motion San Francisco diatribe . Oct 17th, 2012

Posted: August 7, 2013 in Past Trips
A boring photo to coincide with a boring place!

A boring photo to coincide with a boring place!

What the f just happened?

I realize the question must often pass ones mind: “why does she keep going to San Francisco if she hates it so much!?”.  Here’s your answer: Kelly, my goddess of youthful agelessness and injections.  Oh.  And my aunts and cousins.  🙂  I love you family, you know I do… but until one of you are able to deliver such glowing results to my physical appearance, Kelly gets the cred.  Vanity.  I learned it from the best.  Or, more pointedly: ‘self-love’.  🙂

I think I’ve officially stolen the word ‘diatribe’ and it will be used in the book.  Proper acknowledgment will follow.

I’m very confused right now, because I’m inflight, and ‘cute guy’ from the lounge just walked from first class back toward coach and I don’t think he’s resurfaced.  Although he did wave.  Let’s see if I spot him by the end of this.  I did have a bit of an entrance to my flight.  I missed my opportunity to board with everyone else.

But a diatriber, I am!  The last few hours were so comical, I simply have to share.  In case it wasn’t clear, or more to the point, if anyone cares, I’m not so fond of slow-mo SFO.  However, I will continue to come three times a year and as work requires, until the day I die.  Unless Kelly moves.

I flew to San Fran on Monday, and its no big secret how stupid busy I am with work.  But I attempted to have a little Liz time anyway.  Which is next to impossible when you mix business with pleasure as much as I do!

Though, I had an exceptionally lovely day yesterday.  Adult lunch with the perfect couple (not that I don’t love your kids, but I will hopefully see them in December!), then off to my appointment, new knee high boots with an unexpected $100 off, drinks with a friend also in town, followed by dinner with auntie.  And it is WELL noted that we had a plan, a res and it actually happened.  Needless to say, yesterday was like living in never-never-land (wait, that used to be what we called my house).  Today was a little different.

I woke up at 5:57am, with a massive headache, every light on and still fully clothed, sans the pants.  A quick pass by the mirror nearly frightened me.  Full make up, red lips still and I looked like a battered girlfriend.  I shut everything off and tried to ignore the repeated dings of incoming email as long as I could.  I worked all morning, or more appropriately put: I fielded incessant unnecessary email, diatribe-chatted with ‘my person’, dealt with London, and packed up early for the airport.  I needed SF Soup Co. hangover-cure tortilla soup and a glass of champagne.  Hair of the dog was a requirement so I could continue to work vigilantly.

Here’s the necessary visual: I am in my new favorite lulu, sneakers and day-old hair.  Because I don’t care anymore.  I can’t market the biz right now so why not be comfortable.  It looks like Kelly and I had a cat fight at my botox appointment.  It happens.  Not the cat fight bit, but bruising with botox.  Doesn’t usually happen to me, but it matters not.  Completely worth every stare in the airport.  It sort of adds to the hilarity.

Anyway, headache was finally gone, soup eaten and in the lounge I sit, scoping the cute guy in a suit with no wedding ring at the other end of the bar.  Would have been nice if someone had told me I had chicken tortilla soup crusted onto my chin, to go with my black eye and joggers.  🙂

I observed how much I hate San Fran all the way to the airport with my new Malian driver, sharing hate text with my cohort of SF hatred, and feeling like the whole world, or at least San Francisco, was moving in slow motion.  It took me literally 30 minutes to get from Stockton and Sutter to the fucking freeway.  I digress.

Back to the lounge and the flurry to finish the last sip before heading to the changed-gate flight.  I am sensitive to this for reasons that a few of you might remember.  So of course, with all my nifty travel agent tools at hand, I keep checking flight status and think it’s a bit odd that when clicking on ‘where did this flight come from’, it references the exact flight I flew in on Monday.  Weird.  Figured it’s another glitch in United’s new system.

I lost sight of the cute guy and headed down to gate 86, mind you, I have my usual gear in tow: Sees Candy for Ivo and a box of tall boots that is about as tall as I am.

False alarm.  Nobody boarding.  However cute guy walks up and makes conversation.  Although his lead in question after the initial, “what’s the word on boarding” was: “are you planning to work out on the plane?”.  Kind of a douche bag question.  I answered honestly, “no.  I’m hung over and decided to be comfortable today.”  Let’s not lose sight of the battered girlfriend look I’m sporting.  [all worth it Kelly, this email touches no one who doesn’t ‘get it’ – and that I write for affect, or is it effect? Janice help!].  He made up for his lame question, a little, with banter and finding out that our flight, delayed due to ‘airport conditions’, was indeed the aircraft I flew here on Monday, stored in a hangar and it would be a while before it got to the gate.  Then I spot Tara.  This two-doors-down neighbor who I see at Le Steak from time to time.  Cute guy has no interest in watching Tara and I catch up, and bails.  Any earned points with the flight update vanished immediately.  Chatting with Tara (not always the easiest, especially if you know the Le Steak crowd), she takes a call so I wander back to the lounge.  I take the time to tell the lounge lady my sitch and need her to make an announcement for flight 637.  She calls gate 86, everything is good.  My flight kept being pushed out 10 minutes, and so I wait patiently, work, listen intently for my announcement.

A few moments later, my heart about dropped.  This couple, clearly work mates, come and approach one of the two spaces me and my boots occupy.  I begin to move things, make space and apologize, then I look up and seriously thought it was my former sleazy boss.  I actually had to secretly look a few times even after the initial eye contact and look of battered girlfriend horror, to triple check that it really wasn’t him.  He was even wearing the same ugly old-man Wrangler jeans.  Wasn’t him though.  Just a friendly little reminder of my looming encounter with him this Monday night!

It started to get late and the flight updates stopped, so I mosy over to the counter and see the word ‘CLOSED’ next to my flight.  Admittedly, I began to freak.  And we all know that is no pretty sight.  Battered or not.  No, I was semi-okay, just firmly insisted they call the gate, explained there was no announcement.  I had specifically asked for an announcement given that one never knows how long it will take for a plane to be towed out from the hangar.  I threw out a few “love United’s customer service” comments out there.

I dart back to my spot, collect all my items and hurry, but not high-tail it, to gate 86.  Lounge ladies ignored my update request as I dash by.  Slow-mo prevails and I am trapped behind the high heeled girl, and then short round guy.  My boots, carry-on, jacket and I arrive to the empty gate and they say “oh you’re Ms. Costello, no worries.  We are waiting for the food”.  I enter the plane, which had probably been boarded for thirty minutes, and I was clearly the only action they’d seen in a while.  I was a little frazzled and some guy was sitting in my seat.  5A is mine.  I wasn’t oriented or clear if I entered in first or biz so I walked through, then had to backtrack.  I said nicely to the man, “excuse me, I believe you’re in my seat”.  His response: “well… uh, she (insert pointed finger here) said I could switch”.  A few seconds later he mumbles “I like the window”, then asks “uh… do you want the window or aisle?”.  My curt reply was “I would like the seat I booked six months ago”.

Meanwhile, the flight attendant (I cannot be racist), in her broken english, keeps repeating “you get beef”.  I’m thinking WTF is happening.  I haven’t even sat down.  Am I on a game show?  Am I being Punk’d?  If cute guy unzips a body suit to reveal himself as Ashton Kutcher, I would think it was hilarious.

Obviously due to my early menopause hot flashes  😉  or maybe just my hang over (thanks auntie and HDJH, really, thank you), I’m flush and ‘glistening’ in my battered botox glory.  The other flight attendant interrupts the incessant ‘you get beef’ lady, and takes the boots and jacket from me to help.

I finally settle down.  ‘you get beef’ clearly has some food issues, and some safety issues.  She is banging around her late-arrived bins of food and replays the safety video for my benefit.  FFS.  My thoughts are, “this will be a fun flight”, “where is neighbor Tara” and “am I making a scene”.  My seat mate turns over to me and says “last minute upgrade, eh?  I’m Joe from Livermore”.  Just shoot me now.

They closed the doors about 15 minutes later and while taxiing “you get beef” comes over to me, genuinely apologizes and says she’s looked up my status (I am no 1K) and says I may have chicken or pasta too, if I would like.

Thank Zues I wasn’t pee crazy.  And I still have not spotted cute guy.  We’ll leave that fun for baggage collection and awkward attempt to avoid Tara for fear she’ll want to hone in on my car home.  :/

(update on cute guy- I’ve just stored my stuff for landing and he’s in row 9.  Smart guy, exit row like me.  Which also means he was witness to my chaos upon entrance)

I will admit that I actually had one of the best visits, when all is said and done.  Although my cohort of SF hatred and I already promised never to admit that the weather was actually good.  😉

See all you San Franciscans in February for a little pre-birthday pick-me-up, literally!  Oh wait, I’ll be back for the ceremony in December.  xoxo

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