It was very hard for me to get up and go to work on Monday morning... not because I didn’t want to go. No, because I did not get home until 3-friggin’-30 in the morning. I cannot blame this entirely on the airline. Yes, I can, almost.
The flight schedule had me taking off from Denver and landing in Portland on November 30. In reality, I took off a whole 10 minutes before the scheduled landing and arrived in Portland on December 1. After, I might add, the last shuttle that would have taken me to my parking spot in Hollywood (I love parking in Hollywood just because of the name!), a suburb in Portland.
Not relishing the thought of sleeping in the airport for four hours, I decided it was worth the $20 cab fare in order to get a few winks in my own bed. But me and cabs don’t really mesh (I got dropped off at the wrong place and taken on an expensive driving tour of Vegas last time I was in one. I also once had a cab driver drive 60 mph through a closed-off construction area in downtown NYC in order to get me to my destination on time... I thought I was going to die). So, my track record with cab drivers is not too good. And explaining where I needed to go to my transportation services provider, a.k.a. cabbie, went something like an Abbott and Costello Act
Cabbie: Where do you need to go?
Me: Hollywood. Somewhere in the vicinity of 42nd and Multnomah.
Cabbie: What’s the address?
Me: Just take me to the intersection.
Cabbie: What address do I put in the GPS?
Me: Just put the intersection in.
Cabbie: How will I know where to drop you off?
Me: Drop me off at the intersection.
Cabbie: Are you going to a friend’s house?
Me: No. I’m going to my parked car.
Cabbie: Is your car parked at a friend’s house?
Me: No. It’s just parked near the intersection.
Cabbiee: What’s near the intersection?
Me: My car.
And, on....we....go.
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