It's Nice To Go Traveling
-- The sign at the Delta counter proudly proclaims: "Clean Airplanes and Dirty Martinis! We're making changes at Delta." The second one is worth trumpeting, to be sure, but-- should we worry that "clean airplanes" is a new thing that they're really excited about?
--Slips of the tongue: Our flight attendant announces that we're decending into the "Atlantis Regional Airport." I know the town is famous for its Underground, but curse myself for not bringing Fantastic Four #4 as a training manual for the trip.
-- Despite their nouveau "cleanliness," clearly our prop plane didn't get the memo, feeling more like the plane Indiana Jones escapes from Shanghai in towards the beginning of Temple of Doom: cramped, with torn carpets, ripped seats, and a broken arm rest that kinda bends when my neighbor lifts it up. Assuming it could jump a puddle might be optimistic. The flight attendant in the hot pink tank top, who reminds me of Jean Smart on Designing Women, is very nice about it, saying she will report it to the airline. As we taxi down the runway, the roar of the propellers is echoed by the white noise of the screaming one-year old a few rows back.
--Muggy heat greets the plane in Gainesville. I'd forgotten about the beauty of Florida light, how it seems to refract and reflect so differently than the flatter midwestern light of Cineville. Its brightness clears away the mental fog of the trip. Good to be back in town.