bunny_hugger and I woke achingly early the Friday that FurFright began so we could get to the airport, and with the same Paul McCartney song stuck in our heads. And not one of the obvious ones, either, making her wonder how I had it in my head. I have no explanation. We stopped at the Quality Dairy for snacks --- I got a chocolate milk on something like a whim as one of the advertisements there just asserted, everybody likes chocolate milk --- and parked at the airport for what we estimated would be just a little less for long-term parking than taking taxis to and from would be.
We managed to have two stupid little problems with checking one suitcase. I'd prepaid, but there wasn't any acknowledgement of this at the Delta airlines check-in counter, and the person we were able to finally get to pay attention to us needed some time to sort out just what was wrong. I didn't have to pay again. And then at the security check the Transportation Security agent noted that the boarding passes we'd printed out at home didn't include the date which should have been on top of the printout. Apparently our printer's registration was just a little off and the line was cut off, so we had to go back to the Delta counter and get new boarding passes printed out. Left unanswered: why does Delta's preprinted boarding pass put information which must be on the pass in order to board successfully in a place that it can be accidentally missed? There's plenty of white space in the middle of the boarding pass; why not include the date, say, near the boarding and departure times, like United does?
Despite the extra last-minute hassle, made more tense because I'd got us to the airport with a reasonable time for normal delays but not quite enough time for two stupid hassles, we had a peaceful pair of flights, first to Detroit and then, after not quite enough time to get through the 87,000-mile hike to the end of Detroit's airport --- we actually had to get to the last gate in the terminal, which is in East Lansing --- to Hartford.
There, happily, joyfully, chefmongoose had volunteered to pick us up. I need to point out that chefmongoose decided to spend his FurFright weekend going mildly crazy from over-working it, not just helping out with the convention but also shuttling an estimated 48 guests between the convention and all the airports in New England. We're very grateful to him for this, since it saved us the hassle of renting a car and dealing with that, and he's got more patience with Connecticut's drivers --- who don't know how to handle a road going straight for more than 45 feet, because they've never seen one --- than I have.
Before bringing us to the hotel (we all were staying at an overflow hotel just across the road and down an awkward bit), and after taking us past Hartford and a glimpse of the only part of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute that my wife has seen (the Hartford campus is also one nobody at the main campus remembers exists), he took us to a little cafe/restaurant where we got some sandwiches and I started to realize that maybe the eggs-and-pepper sandwiches I occasionally get are a local thing. I don't recall seeing them in Michigan, although I haven't eaten at a variety of hoagie-making places here either. Hard to say.
As we got to the hotel, the lobby TV was talking about the imminent storm and the possible tracks. I mentioned to bunny_hugger that now that I'd seen front pages of New Jersey newspapers (through Newseum.org) dubbing the not-yet-present hurricane ``Frankenstorm'' I was much less worried about it, since what storm could live up to that early hype? One of the people sitting around the lounge said he was worried, and that airlines were already cancelling flights for Monday and Tuesday. A cancelled flight Monday would be a mild nuisance for me and a real pain for bunny_hugger. Thus as we did check in began my habit of obsessively watching, on the airline and the airport schedules, for signs of our flight home being delayed or cancelled. There wasn't anything yet.
Trivia: After several of the ``match girls'' at the Bryant & May factory were interviewed by the press in June 1888 about their atrocious working conditions they were fired, with their final pay (2s/8d, 3s/6d, and 1s/8d) received only after signing statements stating they were satisfied with their working conditions. Source: The 13th Element: The Sordid Tale Of Murder, Fire, and Phosphorous, John Emsley.
Currently Reading: The Long Road Home: The Aftermath Of The Second World War, Ben Shephard.
PS: Going Fishing In Pi, a fun recreational activity which I recommend.