Tuesday, June 30

Do. Not. Be. Late.


So the last couple of times I've met my folks at the airport I've been late. First time I blame the Spanish train system (never the same since Franco's death), and last time they landed crazy early and practically ran thru' Customs.

This time we set off with plenty of time to spare and headed for the parking lot of Terminal E.

Side note: I wish an airport would have the balls to go with something instead of numbers or letters. "Oh yeah, Delta land at Terminal Decline, while Continental fly out of Terminal Illness."

So back to E. The entrance for the lot is blocked off, forcing us to do another lap of the airport ... only I miss the turning and instead find myself on the Ted Williams toll tunnel heading for South Boston.

$4.50 and 15 minutes later and we're back. I drop Anne off and try again for the car park. Still blocked I tell the guy that perhaps they should change the "Open" signs on the airport loop. "Sure, I'll get that done", he lies. "Mmm, of course you will", I reply wearily, as the clock in my car ticks to 'many minutes since your parents landed'.

After a bout of Tourette's of which my best effort was "The fuckers at Logan could fall into a barrel of tits and still come out sucking their thumbs", I found myself on the back roads of Logan Airport. It's another 10 before I hit central parking, and guess what, all of the floors are full. I finally squeeze into a space on the 7th floor, and start running for the Arrivals lounge.

Only one of the words in the phrase 'moving walkways' is truthful.

I finally get to the arrival area out of breath, and Anne tells me I have hair like a TV evangelist. One minute later my parents come through the doors and all is well.

Then the machine won't accept my parking ticket. Thumbsuckers!!

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