TBG's Desert Travel Diary - Part I

Thursday, March 12

12:00 AM – 2:15 AM: Zzzzzz…

2:15 AM: …zzz. Awake! Stupid benign illness already covered in a previous post.

4:45 AM: I'd been up for a few hours trying to name hockey teams against the clock and such, when I realized that I'd need a little more sleep if I had any hope of making it thru what was sure to be a long day. I plopped on the couch.

5:00 AM: I'm nodding off…I'm nodding off…I'm nodd… Zzzzzz.

5:14 AM: "Daddy, is today the day we go to Arizona?!"

==

9:15 AM: Actual conversation with my wife, right before we left the house to begin our stress-free long weekend in Arizona:

Mrs. Bootleg: "Do you think we still have time to get breakfast?"

Me: "Dude, we've got plenty of time. Our flight's still at 12:45 PM, right?"

Mrs. Bootleg: "No, it's at 12:40. Not 12:45, it's 12:40."

Me: "…"

==

9:30 AM: I'm feeling like Zombiefied Bootleg Guy as we pull into The Pancake House. (In fact, one of my all-time favorite openings to my old music column was actually a review of the place. Embrace the dated references! Limit 10 per reader.)

The food's still overrated, but Mrs. Bootleg and the boy – hell, ALL of San Diego save for me – love the place. Last time we were there, Jalen finished five pancakes and then scraped his mom and dad's plates before finishing with a two-sausage chaser.

9:40 AM: We weren't there long before I'd spilled my orange juice on my shirt. Clinically asleep, I reached for what I thought was my half-finished glass of water. I tipped the (unexpectedly full) glass back – assuming I had a second or two before the liquid refreshment was gliding down my gullet – and it was all over me.

10:45 AM: This vacation is brought to you by the good people at U.S. Airways. That Bootleg Family has brought with us two medium-sized rolling suitcases, two smaller carry-on bags, Mrs. Bootleg's camera bag and Jalen's car seat. (I know what you're thinking: "For a FOUR day weekend, Cam?" My five-word retort: "Black woman's hair care products.")

We check two of the bags and the car seat, discovering that the listed baggage fees on US Airways' own website are apparently obsolete. For those scoring at home, over a week later, their listed prices are still wrong. Also, "gratuities not accepted"? These skycaps took our tip without dispute. (I always tip $10/bag. With inflation, I assume that episode of Seinfeld is still the industry standard.)

11:30 AM: Halfway through a cup of Starbucks' superlative Pike's Place Roast – which was totally worth the 275% airport mark-up, BTW – m'man Mr. Brooks calls from the office. He's watching my desk and has discovered that I'd inadvertently delivered some of our internal documentation to the Government prior to the submittal of a small proposal. I might've compromised our entire negotiating position. This could be serious.

11:31 AM: "Daddy, I have to go potty!" This is more serious. And, for those following from my last travel diary, the boy is now pooping at an eighth-grade level.

11:40 AM: I return to the gate with Jalen. "Could you PLEASE do something with him so I can get some work done?!" Hmm…in hindsight, it does sound like I was a little snippy with Mrs. Bootleg there. But, did she acknowledge my use of the word "please"? No. I propose we share the blame.

12:15 PM: With the work crisis averted, we board our flight to Phoenix. At barely an hour in the air, this should be the kind of smooth, uneventful travel that makes these travel diaries of mine a dull read. Right? Right?

Next: TURBULENCE!