Zel-kun’s Words

My plane landed in Oklahoma in early March of 2004, where I was about to embark on my first job as a travelling contractor.  I got off the plane, waiting at the luggage carousel, tired as can be.

I had received the call the previous evening, asking if I’d be willing to leave the next day.  I was to replace someone who had been sleeping on the job, and they needed someone immediately because the project had already started.  I had been unemployed for about a month at this point, so I was not about to turn down an offer for work.

I woke up at three in the morning, so I could be out the door by four, and arrive in Peoria by seven.  I got to the address, which had no markings, it was a small building with a communications tower, I had no idea if this was the place or not.  I pulled out my cell phone (a parting gift my old job kept active for me for quite awhile), and called my contact.  Sure enough, it was the place.

The guy’s name was Steve, who can best be described as easygoing and neurotic all at the same time.  Steve gave me the crash course in what I would be doing during the project, all the while lamenting on the status of the project at the time.  I could sense his frustration when one of his techs called, who was sitting outside a site in California because no one was there to meet him.  So there was a tech, on the clock, doing absolutely nothing during a project where already the time constraints were apparent.

After a few hours of training, he gave me the information I would need for my flight and rental car and all that.  At three in the afternoon, I arrived at the Peoria airport.  I parked my car in the back of the lot (as if I had a choice), and began walking to the airport, lugging my luggage (appropriately named so, it would seem) across the chilly parking lot.  I was very grateful when halfway there a shuttle bus came to pick me up.

I’m not certain if its custom to tip the shuttle bus driver, but I handed him a five, I was grateful to avoid the full walk.

I got to the counter and handed my ticket to the attendant, who informed me that since the ticket was just bought this morning, they couldn’t approve the credit card without the holder being there.  SoI call Steve, who promises to compensate me on next week’s expense check.  I hand the lady my card, who swipes it and says, “I need to inform you that since the ticket purchase was made today, you will be getting the full security search.”

Well isn’t that dandy.

So I take off my shoes and watch some aging security guard with a fancy TSA badge root through my bags.  He swabs the fabric with q-tips and places them neatly aside.  He runs his hands over my clothes, checking for hidden items I assume, then pauses at the CD spindle I had on one of my bags.  I knew I would have a laptop on this trip, so I packed a few games and DVD’s.  Apparently, this interested the TSA guy, who proceeded to open the spindle and examine the CD’s individually.

I’m just glad he didn’t find my CD labelled, “101 ways to bring down the American Capitalist Society of Infidels with Homemade Bombs.”

So he closes my bags, takes the swabs and tells me to head on to the next step of security.  There is a lady who hands me a large plastic tray and asks I remove all metal items from my person.  I remove my belt, wallet, keys, cellphone, pen, ring, glasses, 9mm semi-automatic pistol, and put them into the tray.  She sends the tray through a scanner and I see a man at the other end snapping on a white latex glove.

Oh, hell no.

Fortunately, he just put it on to closely inspect my pen for the concealed superflu vial I hid in there.  Another man took me behind a glass screen and asked me to stand along a line with my feet apart.  I then explained that he was going to pat me down, and assured me that only the back of his hand would come near my genetalia.

Reassuring.

So, finally, with my shoes back on and my dignity fully lost, I wait in the terminal for my plane to arrive.  I was a little nervous, I hadn’t been on a plane since I was seven, and I had a fear of heights.  I sat there looking out the window as a small propeller-driven plane pulled up.  The door opened and a man announced, “Flight to St. Louis, now boarding.”

I stood there in disbelief for a long moment.  I’ve seen larger SUV’s than this thing.  I pictured a dozen scenarios with that plane spiraling out of control and slamming into the ground.  But as much as I didn’t want to, it was time to board the plane, so I boarded.

The inside of the plane was even smaller if that were possible.  The floors were metal, the walls and the ceiling were metal, and the chairs looked like they were ripped out of a van, leading me further to believe that this was just a car with wings glued on.

I sat in the tiny seat, my elbow crammed against the window, and my head against the luggage rack above me.  I saw the other passengers filter in, there were seven (including me) in total.  Then came the steward, hauling a little case with him, which he put next to him as he took his seat, facing the passengers, smiling away.

The plane started moving, the little propellers spinning.  I gasped as the ground fell away and things such as houses and cars became smaller and smaller.  I don’t know how high we were, but I can’t imagine it was all that high, everything seemed too big.

But then, I don’t really have a point of reference.

In the middle of the flight, the steward picked up his case and opened it, “Would anyone care for something to drink?”  He pulled out plastic cups and began filling them with ice.  He then lined up a row of sodas and began pouring the orders.  He handed me a Dr. Pepper, which did quite a bit to soothe my nerves.  I kept expecting us to fall right out of the sky.

But, the plane landed safely in St. Louis.  Despite my fears, the ride was smooth and the service was exemplary.  If the plane had been built to house a tall man like myself, I daresay the ride would have been downright pleasant.

I spent the next two or three hours at the St. Louis airport, waiting for the flight to take me to Tulsa, Oklahoma.  It was dark by then, so I wasn’t able to see the St. Louis cityscape out the window.  Which was a pity because I love cityscapes.  I also love the word cityscape.

My plane finally pulled up, and I was relieved to see it was much larger than the last one.  I boarded the plane, took my seat, and rested easy.  This plane did not have Dr. Pepper, so I settled for a 7up.  I then proceeded to fall asleep and spill it on myself.  The stewardess, a comely southern lady who appeared to be in her late thirties, helped clean up the mess with utterances of, “Oh, you poor dear.”

I might have been more embarrassed if I wasn’t too tired to care.

The plane landed and I stood there by the carousel, waiting for my luggage to come by.  I knew I could spot mine easily because I attatched red zip-ties to the zippers.  So a bag with red zip-ties came down… and it wasn’t mine.  It seems a lot of people shared my idea, so I had to closely examine several bags in hopes of finding mine.

The luggage carousel seems like a bad idea.  There’s no administration involved.  There’s no way to prove or disprove which bag is yours (at least not that I could see).  What would prevent me from taking the wrong bag?  Would I get to the hotel and find my bag full of women’s undergarments?  Would my bag suddenly have eight severed heads?  And if I wanted to take an extra bag, what would stop me?

I walked to the attatched rent-a-car place and gave them my information.  Unfortunately, they had no full-size vehicles left, which meant I had to drive a mid-size.  While it wasn’t the smallest car I had been in, it wasn’t the largest, either.  When I put the seat all the way back, I could sit somewhat comfortably, even though my knees were up against the steering wheel.

But it was enough, and I was finally on the road to my hotel, at ten in the evening.  It was a tiring day, and I was glad to be done with it.  Oklahoma was an ordeal in itself… worthy of retelling, I should think.

Zel-kun out.