It's about 8:20 AM and I find myself embarking on another rescue trip, this time by air to pick up a Pomeranian in Boston and a pit bull/Lab in New York -- a dog that I've rescued once already, having taken him to a shelter in March along with a German shepherd, trading the two of them for Shirley, the golden retriever who had absolutely no chance of ever being adopted thanks to her biting episodes. It turns out that the shelter doesn't feel comfortable letting anyone adopt Phoenix, either, so I'm on my way back to get him.
As usual, I didn't manage to get much done before I left, but I did get on the road on time; getting to bed was another story -- that didn't happen. Between the Hood Canal and Gig Harbor I have no idea how many times I fell asleep while driving, but I know at least twice I woke up just before my truck straddled the concrete wall along the median. You'd think that would have helped to wake me up, but being calm under pressure has its disadvantages.
I made it to the airport alive and went to the American ticket counter, getting there just in time to see a ticket agent scold a kid for not helping his mom with her bags, at which point the kids mom pointed out that her son had no arms. You'd think that after a blunder like that, the agent would try to be a little less impulsive and maybe assess things more fully before she reacted, but apparently this woman doesn't learn from her mistakes. I had tried to do self check-in, but was denied because I had a reservation for a pet; I went to the counter with the printout the ticketing computer had given me, to make sure that my reservation was booked correctly, because I am not taking a pet on this leg of the trip. Instead of listening to me, she took the print-out and threw it in the trash after barely glancing at it and said, "You're on Alaska -- you need to go down to their ticket counter at the other end of the terminal." I had booked the ticket with American, but Alaska was the carrier -- no problem. But I still needed to check on the dog situation. I said, "OK, but I have a question..." She cut me off and told me to go to the Alaska counter again. I said again, " I need to ask you a question first..." Again she cut me off and said, "You're ticket isn't with American -- I can't help you." So I said again, "I have a question for you before I go." Finally she listened, and I asked her first if the pet reservation was booked for the right leg of the trip, and then if I was going to hav tocheck in again in San Francisco, because my San Francisco to Boston flight is on American. So she ended up digging the print-out out of the trash, checking my reservation, and printing up my boarding pass for San Francisco, which she could have done sooner if she'd just shut up and let the customer ask his damned question. But as rude as she was, she was still friendly, if that makes any sense.
Time-out: I just saw a woman slip and fall on a spilled drink in the food court that no one had bothered to mop up. She almost took out a mother holding a baby in the process.
Time-in: When I checked in with Alaska, I found out that my flight is delayed about an hour, which is why I'm sitting in the food court typing this instead of sitting in a tiny airplane seat wishing the person next to me would go to the lavatory and get lost on the way back.
