[Further communication with the manager yielded such terms
as "one of our best housekeepers" and similar nonsense. I
figure I might go back there someday if someone else pays.]

It was early still, and the shuttle wasn't running yet, so
I walked to the airport, about a mile in the dark.

CO4117 DCA CLE 0625 0741 ERJ 12A

This was flown by a windup toy plane: perfect for this
length of route, but I still marvel at the marketing genius
that allows for these unprepossessing aircraft to service
the flagship airport for the capital city of the free world.
You'd think that Congress would do something to change all
that - certainly after being wedged for hours in such little
space, a government fat cat would be feeling the pain enough
to want to change the situation. I shouldn't much complain,
though, as as usual I was asleep for most of the flight.

Walker's shortbread and OJ at the club in Cleveland. And,
yeah! they are now stocking bananas at breakfasttime.

A short stroll through a construction area to the unpleasant
low-ceilinged, dimly lit gate area, which I reached right at
the end of boarding.

CO1101 CLE SFO 0845 1058 753 3B

I find the CO seating really uncomfortable. The full upright
position feels really wrong, and the reclined position feels
somewhat wrong. The upholstery is no prize. Old-style over-
aisle entertainment, no electric outlets.

Our crew appeared distinctly Texas, my own attendant being
a blonde country girl somewhat younger than myself.

A request for Courvoisier neat got the response, "that's
Cognac, right?" [nod] "Good, because that's easier to
spell." I didn't peek to see how she spelled Cognac.

Presently she came back with a water tumbler full of the
stuff. "Do you know what you just did?," said I. "You asked
for a glass of Cognac with no ice." "Did you have to open
four of those little bottles for me?," said I. "Yep, I'll
see if there's more in the back." "I'm not sure I'll need
any more." She winked and answered, "We'll see how you do."

The meal was of mixed quality.

A fruit appetizer: edible melon and pineapple topped with a
slice of mango that had been cut fresh last month sometime.
Siding this was a soup bowl full of pink berry yogurt (I try
to avoid yogurt, but this was certainly more than any
normal person would eat).

The hot plate had extraordinarily salty but not country ham
next to a saltfree tastefree sausage patty: the memo must
have gone out to boil the ham, but they boiled the sausage
instead. A mushroom cheese omelet was very mushroomy-tasting
despite containing but two small slices of mushroom; cheese
(thank the heavens) was missing. A substantial serving of
broccoli in a squishy tasteless substance rounded out the
meal. Someone came by with a choice of homestyle biscuit or
cinnamon roll; the latter was, shall we say, no Cinnabon.
On biting into it, a squoozle of stroozle (one daren't call
it by the official name) squirted out; an exploratory taste
showed no flavor and no merit - the sweet and bland
counterpart of the salty and bland broccoli substrate. All
in all, a sugary doughy experience that called out for yet
another Courvoisier.

Some substantial bumps probably caused by headwinds: there
had been an announcement that we'd be landing around 10:40,
but in fact we landed shortly after 11. I hate it when they
give us these optimistic estimates that unduly raise our
expectations and then dash them. Texted my buddy to fetch
me. Shortly after I got to the curb letiole roared up in her
snazzy black vehicle, and off we went to the Elisa & Fish
extravaganza. It took less time than the mapping programs
say, and we were early so got to take a peek at the house,
which though one of those faceless things on the outside
was very nicely appointed, and good for them.