Monday, 6:30 am: Park my car in the satellite parking at Orlando International Airport. My day began at 5:15 as Charlie Peacock serenaded me awake. As I sit on the bus heading to the terminal I encounter the first of many surprises. I usually fly Southwest (terminal A) and am the last guy on the bus. This means It always starts on Terminal B. Flying Delta today, which is terminal B. The bus goes to Terminal A. This … was a sign.
Not checking any bags so I get my e-ticket and all is well. The line at security is short, so all looks well. Key word: looks. The line is short, but not moving. Slugs have moved faster. The problem? Not enough security personnel. Occasionally they open the “family” and “handicapped” lanes to overflow. They keep opening different sections, and I’m always about 2 feet way too far. I … am … stuck (patience is a virtue which I possess in small portions- Patience Deficit Disorder or PDD for short). I end up next to a family whose flight is earlier than mine. “Don’t worry, they know you’re hear.” Of course, you can’t hear an intercom here, so if they were paged they’d never know to tell the TSA guy “that’s me!” I notice the line on the far left moves much better, and suddenly they open an overflow line there- off like a rat! I’m now in a line that is moving much faster. Though I’ve got farther to go than said family, I’m through security well before them.
8 am. “Final call for flight ### to Cincinatti.” While talking on cell with CavWife I see the family running down the hall barely making the gate in time. I am glad for them, not realizing this is nearly a glimpse of my future.
Atlanta, 10 am-ish. I am reminded of my experiences at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. If I have a long layover it is the next gate. If a short one, I have to run through the tunnels with the flashing neon lights talking back to the intercom messages about Passenger Cavman “I’m coming as fast as I can!” I have a short layover, and anticipate running. Oh yeah, I’m in Concourse A but need to get to B. I notice that though I have a low # I’m near the end of the concourse. Since I have a high number in B, I think this is a good thing.
I notice all the good restaurants here, hmmm, I may have time for dinner on my way home. Down the escalator to the train, only to have it close mere seconds before I get there. No time to lose (or say ‘hi’ to the Pioneer Woman who’s also supposed to be in Atlanta for a book signing) so to the moving sidewalk. As I begin to walk down Concourse B, I notice the #s are in ascending, not descending, order. I once again have to make my way along the length of the concourse. Merely an annoying inconsistency, since I had enough time to sit down before they boarded my flight.
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