mwp2paris
Jul 3, 04, 9:18 am
June 23, AA MCI-DFW-BUR...Also Lunch with Mrs. Paris and Fun Times with a Broken FC LAV!
It was another one of those perfect days when it is hard to think about leaving. The weather in Kansas City is warm with low humidity and the sky is an amazing azure blue.
I had arrived the night before on AA from DCA by way of ORD. Of course, the ORD-MCI flight that was to arrive at 10:25 p.m. was delayed an hour for some undescribed reason, so Mrs. Paris, who had come out to MCI to fetch me, and I finally pulled into the Chez-Paris driveway at just after midnight, Wednesday morning. We talked and noshed a bit on Tuscan sausage, cheese, and some left-over white wine, chided the oldest Paris offspring for being 10 minutes late for her 1:30 a.m. curfew (like she could give a care...18 year olds…!?!), then it was lights out.
Wednesday morning I awoke after a very busy night dreaming, laid in bed for a few minutes, then arose, dressed, and walked about my property surveying the progress of my new shade garden, reprimanding my mint for infringing on the lovely Provencial Lavender which is in glorious bloom and fragrance, then went in to roust Mrs. Paris so we could go have coffee at Aixois, our wonderful neighborhood French café run by a gentleman from…bet you can’t guess…Aix-en-Provence.
We walked the shops of Crestwood (a lovely, Euro-feeling strip of tre’ chic shops in KC), then sauntered through the Kaufmann Memorial Gardens, then went home so I could do a little laundry and pack for this trip to the Left Coast.
We lunched on the patio of my favorite KC restaurant, Grand Street Café, then, though it was early for my 4:13 departure, decided to drive on to the airport so Mrs. Paris could make it back home before rush hour. The 2 younger Paris offspring are away at various camps and conferences, the older Paris offspring was off to spend the night at some friend’s house, so Mrs. Paris was alone for the evening. She had a “girl’s night out” date with several work friends and wanted to get in a disco nap prior to that event. You go girl.
I arrived at an AA kiosk in Terminal C, attempted to secure my boarding passes, but the machine decided to go off line just as it began to print by boarding passes, so I leaped like a gazelle into the FC line and not only got my boarding passes, but managed to get on an earlier flight to DFW with FC seat secured. A few extra minutes in the DFW C Terminal AC ain’t a bad deal!
Pranced through MCI scrutiny where they advise me to take off my Teva sandals (THEM: “Sir, we advise you take off your shoes.” ME: “They aren’t even shoes” as I flung them onto the x-ray conveyor belt…foot fetish is alive and well at MCI and this past Sunday they were asking EVERYONE if they had a camcorder…must be the new fetish.) then headed into the MCI AC.
Yippee!!!…2 of my favorite AAngels are working so we gab and laugh for about 30 minutes then I head out to board the MD-80 to DFW taking seat 5E.
The FC FA looks familiar (was she on my flight last night/this morning…I don’t really remember given a certain gin haze I was experiencing at the time) and attempts to run pre-departure drinks but before she can even finish taking the orders of 3EF, the door is slammed by the GA and we are on our way.
Well, the flight was uneventful…2 rum and diet cokes, typed out some expense reports, had a quick nap and we are landing to the north at DFW on the wrong side of the terminal. So we taxi and taxi around to the AA C Concourse and I deplane and head to the AC where I purchase a daypass to T-Mobile and surf the web for 90 minutes then head down to C-12 for the DFW-BUR flight.
Problems begin almost immediately upon my arrival at the gate. Inbound is late, may have maintenance issues once it does arrive, they are looking for another aircraft, they find another aircraft, it is being brought over from the hanger and will be parked at gate C-19. I go back down to the Admiral’s Club and surf the web for a few more minutes then head back down to the gate just across from the AC entrance.
We board slightly later than our delayed departure time, and then, suddenly, maintenance is swarming the front of this plane like bees on pollen and the GA keeps popping her head in making furtive looks at everyone. Seems the FC lav is not working and, according to the pilot, “making you fly nearly 3 hours without a lav working is just not good business” or something to that effect.
He assures us it will only be 30 minutes but then, of course, they decide they have to take the entire toilet apart. They carry out huge chunks of the thing, bring back huge chunks of the thing, all accompanied by lots of head scratching and toolbelt shifting.
I loved this part of the worker jabber…
Maintenance worker #1: Do I loosen this?
Maintenance worker #2: Yes, but not too much.
#1: Is that too much?
#2: You’ll know if it is too much. It will start spraying stuff you don’t want to be wearing.
Oh My God, please, I don’t want to be drenched in projectile sh*t. I’ve got my newest Tommy Bahama silk on. Why did I let them put me in 3E?
During all this, the FC FA, who could barely tear herself away from her magazine to greet us upon boarding, decides she will condescend to us and serve a round of drinks, yippee, there is nothing like a gin and soda served with a side of grudge. She has to step over the worker boys who, at this point, are on their hands and knees with their as@es sticking out of the lav. Every time she passes, she looks at them, looks in the lav, curls her nose and rolls her eyes. You just can’t make this stuff up.
Well, an hour passes and they finally give the thing one more test flush, there are no projectile blue fluids, so we are ready to head out of DFW.
We taxi and takeoff and the FC FA keeps running up and down the aisle spraying deodorizer on the carpet then finally remembers to serve us our drinks and warm nuts and hot towels.
Dinner in FC this evening is chicken casserole, pasta with mushrooms, or salmon. I chose the salmon and it is dry and served with that weird butter/caper zingy sauce AA catering loves. For dessert she offers a scoop of vanilla ice cream or fruit and cheese. Did they forget to cater the sundae toppings or was she just too d*mn lazy to spoon out some fudge and Cool Whip? I m guessing the former but it was probably the latter. Anyway, I had the cheese and fruit and only ate the cheese because I’m still trying to fool myself that I’m on the Atkins.
Well, I settle in, fire up the pathetic Dell, and watch Kenneth Branaugh’s “Much Ado About Nothing” which I just love, mostly because of the Tuscan villa where it was filmed and then we are finally making a long, deliberate descent into Burbank. We hit the runway with a bang and the pilot slams the brakes and we all go flying forward, testing the integrity of our seatbelts. Ex-fighter jock, no doubt.
We are over an hour and 15 minutes late but he taxis the ten yards from the runway to the gate like he can still make up time.
The ex-fighter jock welcomes us to “that aircraft carrier, the Burbank Airport,” and then we deplane down the jetstairs and I feel very 1950s Hollywood and, wishing I had dressed a little snazzier, give a little wave but alas, there are no snapping paparazzi so I just whip it over to the National Car Emerald Isle kiosk and help myself to an Impala and head out to the Sheraton Four Points, Monrovia/Arcadia.
The Sheraton 3 ½ Points, Monrovia/Arcadia and Their Special SPG Platinum Treatment
Oh my. Well, my meeting the next day was at the Embassy Suites/Arcadia. The Embassy Suites/Arcadia is a delightful hotel and I enjoy the free booze at the Manager’s reception each night and the sweet little bartender who, when I asked her to put a splash of dry vermouth into my gin and soda, reached around and grabbed a jug of bleach. After much head nodding and pointing we finally arrived at the right bottle together and I enjoyed my drink and avoided caustic chemical burns to my digestive system.
Knowing I was getting in late and would miss the Manager’s reception, and also knowing that I could stay at the Four Points for $100.00 cheaper thus putting $50.00 in my pocket thanks to my company’s 50/50 hotel savings plan, I booked a room at the, as I shall hence refer to it as, the Sheraton Three and a Half Points, Monrovia/Arcadia.
My King I had reserved is no longer available so I'm stuck in a 2 double-bedded cell on the second floor just shy of the eastbound lanes of the 210…the bathroom is actually on the shoulder of the freeway.
When I politely point out that this is no way to treat an SPG Platinum, I’m interrogated with questions along the lines of “when did you make your reservation?,” “how did you make your reservation?,” and “we’ve been sold out for days on Kings, who told you YOU could have a King?” Someone is one step past cranky and it isn’t me.
I like Kings and I chose a King right off the rates available menu selection at SPG.com, thank you very much under-trained biddy service lady.
I remind the under-trained biddy service lady about my Platinum amenity and choose the points then whip it up to the 2nd floor, find my very stale smelling cell, toss my stuff down and head immediately to the bar where a very friendly bartender is happy to see me and falls all over himself fetching me a gin and soda with lime.
I sit and visit with him for a while and comment that, despite the front desk person stating the hotel was sold out, the bar is amazingly quiet, it’s just little ol’ me! He states they are nearly full but it is all kids ordering pizza and sneaking pay-per-view porn.
Well, I stay until about 11:00 p.m. then head up, iron a shirt, and set the trusty Sprint PCS to wake me to the sounds of the “Stars and Stripes Forever” at 7:15 the next morning.
It was another one of those perfect days when it is hard to think about leaving. The weather in Kansas City is warm with low humidity and the sky is an amazing azure blue.
I had arrived the night before on AA from DCA by way of ORD. Of course, the ORD-MCI flight that was to arrive at 10:25 p.m. was delayed an hour for some undescribed reason, so Mrs. Paris, who had come out to MCI to fetch me, and I finally pulled into the Chez-Paris driveway at just after midnight, Wednesday morning. We talked and noshed a bit on Tuscan sausage, cheese, and some left-over white wine, chided the oldest Paris offspring for being 10 minutes late for her 1:30 a.m. curfew (like she could give a care...18 year olds…!?!), then it was lights out.
Wednesday morning I awoke after a very busy night dreaming, laid in bed for a few minutes, then arose, dressed, and walked about my property surveying the progress of my new shade garden, reprimanding my mint for infringing on the lovely Provencial Lavender which is in glorious bloom and fragrance, then went in to roust Mrs. Paris so we could go have coffee at Aixois, our wonderful neighborhood French café run by a gentleman from…bet you can’t guess…Aix-en-Provence.
We walked the shops of Crestwood (a lovely, Euro-feeling strip of tre’ chic shops in KC), then sauntered through the Kaufmann Memorial Gardens, then went home so I could do a little laundry and pack for this trip to the Left Coast.
We lunched on the patio of my favorite KC restaurant, Grand Street Café, then, though it was early for my 4:13 departure, decided to drive on to the airport so Mrs. Paris could make it back home before rush hour. The 2 younger Paris offspring are away at various camps and conferences, the older Paris offspring was off to spend the night at some friend’s house, so Mrs. Paris was alone for the evening. She had a “girl’s night out” date with several work friends and wanted to get in a disco nap prior to that event. You go girl.
I arrived at an AA kiosk in Terminal C, attempted to secure my boarding passes, but the machine decided to go off line just as it began to print by boarding passes, so I leaped like a gazelle into the FC line and not only got my boarding passes, but managed to get on an earlier flight to DFW with FC seat secured. A few extra minutes in the DFW C Terminal AC ain’t a bad deal!
Pranced through MCI scrutiny where they advise me to take off my Teva sandals (THEM: “Sir, we advise you take off your shoes.” ME: “They aren’t even shoes” as I flung them onto the x-ray conveyor belt…foot fetish is alive and well at MCI and this past Sunday they were asking EVERYONE if they had a camcorder…must be the new fetish.) then headed into the MCI AC.
Yippee!!!…2 of my favorite AAngels are working so we gab and laugh for about 30 minutes then I head out to board the MD-80 to DFW taking seat 5E.
The FC FA looks familiar (was she on my flight last night/this morning…I don’t really remember given a certain gin haze I was experiencing at the time) and attempts to run pre-departure drinks but before she can even finish taking the orders of 3EF, the door is slammed by the GA and we are on our way.
Well, the flight was uneventful…2 rum and diet cokes, typed out some expense reports, had a quick nap and we are landing to the north at DFW on the wrong side of the terminal. So we taxi and taxi around to the AA C Concourse and I deplane and head to the AC where I purchase a daypass to T-Mobile and surf the web for 90 minutes then head down to C-12 for the DFW-BUR flight.
Problems begin almost immediately upon my arrival at the gate. Inbound is late, may have maintenance issues once it does arrive, they are looking for another aircraft, they find another aircraft, it is being brought over from the hanger and will be parked at gate C-19. I go back down to the Admiral’s Club and surf the web for a few more minutes then head back down to the gate just across from the AC entrance.
We board slightly later than our delayed departure time, and then, suddenly, maintenance is swarming the front of this plane like bees on pollen and the GA keeps popping her head in making furtive looks at everyone. Seems the FC lav is not working and, according to the pilot, “making you fly nearly 3 hours without a lav working is just not good business” or something to that effect.
He assures us it will only be 30 minutes but then, of course, they decide they have to take the entire toilet apart. They carry out huge chunks of the thing, bring back huge chunks of the thing, all accompanied by lots of head scratching and toolbelt shifting.
I loved this part of the worker jabber…
Maintenance worker #1: Do I loosen this?
Maintenance worker #2: Yes, but not too much.
#1: Is that too much?
#2: You’ll know if it is too much. It will start spraying stuff you don’t want to be wearing.
Oh My God, please, I don’t want to be drenched in projectile sh*t. I’ve got my newest Tommy Bahama silk on. Why did I let them put me in 3E?
During all this, the FC FA, who could barely tear herself away from her magazine to greet us upon boarding, decides she will condescend to us and serve a round of drinks, yippee, there is nothing like a gin and soda served with a side of grudge. She has to step over the worker boys who, at this point, are on their hands and knees with their as@es sticking out of the lav. Every time she passes, she looks at them, looks in the lav, curls her nose and rolls her eyes. You just can’t make this stuff up.
Well, an hour passes and they finally give the thing one more test flush, there are no projectile blue fluids, so we are ready to head out of DFW.
We taxi and takeoff and the FC FA keeps running up and down the aisle spraying deodorizer on the carpet then finally remembers to serve us our drinks and warm nuts and hot towels.
Dinner in FC this evening is chicken casserole, pasta with mushrooms, or salmon. I chose the salmon and it is dry and served with that weird butter/caper zingy sauce AA catering loves. For dessert she offers a scoop of vanilla ice cream or fruit and cheese. Did they forget to cater the sundae toppings or was she just too d*mn lazy to spoon out some fudge and Cool Whip? I m guessing the former but it was probably the latter. Anyway, I had the cheese and fruit and only ate the cheese because I’m still trying to fool myself that I’m on the Atkins.
Well, I settle in, fire up the pathetic Dell, and watch Kenneth Branaugh’s “Much Ado About Nothing” which I just love, mostly because of the Tuscan villa where it was filmed and then we are finally making a long, deliberate descent into Burbank. We hit the runway with a bang and the pilot slams the brakes and we all go flying forward, testing the integrity of our seatbelts. Ex-fighter jock, no doubt.
We are over an hour and 15 minutes late but he taxis the ten yards from the runway to the gate like he can still make up time.
The ex-fighter jock welcomes us to “that aircraft carrier, the Burbank Airport,” and then we deplane down the jetstairs and I feel very 1950s Hollywood and, wishing I had dressed a little snazzier, give a little wave but alas, there are no snapping paparazzi so I just whip it over to the National Car Emerald Isle kiosk and help myself to an Impala and head out to the Sheraton Four Points, Monrovia/Arcadia.
The Sheraton 3 ½ Points, Monrovia/Arcadia and Their Special SPG Platinum Treatment
Oh my. Well, my meeting the next day was at the Embassy Suites/Arcadia. The Embassy Suites/Arcadia is a delightful hotel and I enjoy the free booze at the Manager’s reception each night and the sweet little bartender who, when I asked her to put a splash of dry vermouth into my gin and soda, reached around and grabbed a jug of bleach. After much head nodding and pointing we finally arrived at the right bottle together and I enjoyed my drink and avoided caustic chemical burns to my digestive system.
Knowing I was getting in late and would miss the Manager’s reception, and also knowing that I could stay at the Four Points for $100.00 cheaper thus putting $50.00 in my pocket thanks to my company’s 50/50 hotel savings plan, I booked a room at the, as I shall hence refer to it as, the Sheraton Three and a Half Points, Monrovia/Arcadia.
My King I had reserved is no longer available so I'm stuck in a 2 double-bedded cell on the second floor just shy of the eastbound lanes of the 210…the bathroom is actually on the shoulder of the freeway.
When I politely point out that this is no way to treat an SPG Platinum, I’m interrogated with questions along the lines of “when did you make your reservation?,” “how did you make your reservation?,” and “we’ve been sold out for days on Kings, who told you YOU could have a King?” Someone is one step past cranky and it isn’t me.
I like Kings and I chose a King right off the rates available menu selection at SPG.com, thank you very much under-trained biddy service lady.
I remind the under-trained biddy service lady about my Platinum amenity and choose the points then whip it up to the 2nd floor, find my very stale smelling cell, toss my stuff down and head immediately to the bar where a very friendly bartender is happy to see me and falls all over himself fetching me a gin and soda with lime.
I sit and visit with him for a while and comment that, despite the front desk person stating the hotel was sold out, the bar is amazingly quiet, it’s just little ol’ me! He states they are nearly full but it is all kids ordering pizza and sneaking pay-per-view porn.
Well, I stay until about 11:00 p.m. then head up, iron a shirt, and set the trusty Sprint PCS to wake me to the sounds of the “Stars and Stripes Forever” at 7:15 the next morning.