Chicago Vacation 2009 (part one)

I am sitting in Hartsfield-Atlanta Airport, and the lady in the seat next to me has been on the phone for the last hour. She is speaking a language that I am totally unfamiliar with, and to my ears it is nothing but rapid fire gibberish. “Daba doo, dee daa doe, doo doo daba daba doo.” It’s not that I mind it, in fact the rhythm of it is quite soothing. I’m sure if it were in English, it would be one more in a long line of loud, inane, cell phone conversations that I have been subjected to today. This time we are traveling on an airline called airTran. It is run by incompetent boobs who canceled our original flight and put us on an earlier one. That cancellation has caused us to endure this four hour layover that has now ballooned to five hours because our connecting flight is late. To add to my misery, they have changed our gate for the second time. Each time they’ve done that, Mark and I have had to schlep our pile of crap from terminal C, to D, and then back to C. At least the folks on our route can enjoy the show as we bicker our way to and from each terminal. That’s the other problem. The frustration has caused Mark and me to basically go crazy, and we are taking it out on each other. Unlike Mark, when I go crazy, my voice doesn’t rise two octaves and carry across the entire terminal. Just a little while ago, Mark loudly told the airTran supervisor, that she looked like she should be working at McDonalds. It is times like these that I walk away and pretend that I don't know that skinny, black, madman, and hope that the airline doesn't take it out on me by kicking us off the flight.