A Red Sticker?!?

Beth and I quickly boarded our plane for the flight from Dallas to Phoenix, situated in adjoining middle and window seats. Despite not having the exit row, I thought that sitting by the window with my bum knee on the window side would afford me enough room to be somewhat comfortable.

I was wrong.

Things started badly and got progressively worse. The seats were tiny--the smallest that I've been on in a big plane in a long, long time. And wasn't American the airline that recently made a big deal about adding room to all of their coach seats? If so, then all I can say is, umm..."liars." But since we boarded so close to take-off time, I figured that at least we'd be in the air and on our way soon.

Once again, me, all kinds of wrong. First we're informed that one of the air conditioners is broken. This, while we're sitting in the full plane, on the runway, in Dallas, on a 90 degree day. Awesome. So they get to work doing whatever it is that they do...which doesn't exactly involve fixing said air conditioner. They mess around for a while...and a while longer...and a while longer. Some other minor problem comes up, and they mess around with that. We've gone from ready to go, to half an hour on the ground, to an hour, to an hour and a half and counting, and then we get held up by the red sticker. Or, more accurately, the absence of one.

Apparently, when mechanics work on anything on an airplane, they have to mark the area in question with a red sticker. "It's just like something you'd get at Office Max," the pilot explains, trying to placate us after what has now been two hours in our broken-AC sweaty death box. "Well, the sticker is gone. Either it blew off or...we lost it. So...if we find it right away...maybe it just fell off on the ground...then we can take off any minute now. If not, then it will take a little while longer."

I assume he managed to get all of this out with a straight face. A red sticker?!? Nice to know that airlines are using such high tech repair indicators in this post 9/11 climate.

Anyway, eventually, thankfully, we got off the tarmac and into the air. The flight itself was fairly uneventful, aside from the shooting pains in my knee. Upon landing, we see that our bags immediately arrived at the baggage claim at the same time we did. Good karma after the bad flight, maybe. So we grabbed them, hopped onto a shuttle, and quickly picked up our rental car and made our way down to our hotel in Chandler right across the street from the mall. Dinner with the Bladers at The Cheesecake Factory was exactly what we needed--specifically, a couple of Malibu Coladas each.

On Thursday, Beth went in to do her teaching for work and I happily hung out at the hotel. Read the paper, caught a little sun at the pool, and perused the mall for a little bit, including checking out the newest made-up breed of dog at the pet store. Has anyone ever heard of a "Valley Bulldog?" I certainly hadn't until I saw this British Bulldog-Boxer mix. Very cool mutt. The relaxing day was just what I needed after the travel nightmare that came before it. It seemed like things would continue that way, with a nice, mellow Thursday evening, until I spoke to Shaw B.

"We're going to Kyoto tonight," he said...