Father’s Day Blues
10:50-GSP runway posting via blackberry.Weather hold in Dallas means I will miss connecting flight to Vegas. My son’s advice to me on our parting: “Be smart, Daddy.Don’t hit anybody.” Thirty minutes on the runway and thirty days in the desert? It will be advice I need methinks.
12:25 CT–Tarmac at DFW. Made it in time for connection, but now we’re without a gate to pull into. At some random moment this week, my son said, apropos of nothing, “Don’t be afraid, Daddy.” Trying, buddy.
1:10 CT — It’s like these people have never seen a grown man eating noodles in the middle of the floor. The bad news for everybody here is good news for me. The flight to Vegas is delayed, so I don’t have to deal with switching flights. I am passing the time with Manchu Wok and a renewed sense of optimism. And given the time, maybe a frozen yogurt.
1:46 CT — What mother allows her well-endowed 15-yr-old daughter to wear a T-shirt that reads: “Hooters of all hooters?”. Expected departure time: 10-15 minutes. I think I dislike DFW. Nonetheless, I remain optimistic, hooters be damned.
2:15 CT — One thing I have noticed…flights to Vegas are almost always full. Flights out of Vegas, that’s not always true. Seat 24A will carry me on this final leg for my 30 days in the desert. The lady in 23A already has her seat leaned back. I am considering taking advantage of the bottle service on American airlines. Sure, it’s a mini bottle, but I am from SC
3:20 PDT– touchdown Las Vegas. Flying in, I was again greeted by the desolation of the desert. It is either symbolic of emptiness or opportunity. I choose, for better or worse, to believe the latter.
3:50 PDT– Baggage claim. Everyone coming in looks like winners. Everyone going out looks like a loser — hungover, bloodshot, spent. It is 98 degrees outside. This, I think, is the only place in America where Father’s Day doesn’t exist. So be it. At least my bags are almost here.
