hell is cold, not hot

seven true inches of snow fell on indianapolis yesterday. and chaos ensued. well, more like i descended into an all-new gay hell, but i digress.

first off, i got into a yelling match with a t.s.a. "agent" at the security screening checkpoint at the airport in dallas. he wanted to take my anti-perspirant, which he said was over the three ounces maximum. i pointed out that yes, the package said it was six ounces, but since it had maybe seven days worth of goop left in it, it was well under three ounces.

he got an attitude suddenly and pointed to the sign saying the package itself cannot hold more than three ounces.

i corrected him by pointing to the sign to call his attention that the sign did not actually say that, and perhaps he was re-interpreting it. word to the wise: the t.s.a. "agents" do not like to be corrected. or at least this one didn't.

he then got bitchy and told me he was taking it. i told him to take it and be quick about it so i can be on my way.

"fuck you!" he yelled at me.

"fuck you, you piece of shit!" i yelled back in his face.

then as i put on my shoes i had to get a last word in my calling him "asshole." i like winning.

after all of the security drama, my flight was ninety minutes late leaving. if i missed the chance to have a steak dinner at st. elmo, i was going to be even more pissed than i was already due to the security fuck-wad.

luckily the chaos in indy had cleared up by the time my flight landed, which was ninety-seven minutes late, since the pilot had to make two attempts at the runway, costing me valuable time [i am not cheap!] and possibly scuttling my plans for that steak dinner.

it was sixteen degrees in indianapolis. i made it to the hotel safe and sound, checked-in, ran next door to saint elmo's to order my ribeye. i've never understood their whole schtick about offering navy bean soup or tomato juice. well, i mean, i understand navy bean soup, which is quite tasty on a sub-freezing night, but a glass of tomato juice instead? what the fuck?

i went out to a pub for a few beers afterward and then headed back to the toasty confines of the canterbury hotel. my alarm went off right on time the next morning, at seven-thirty, in time for me to shower and dress, check out, and make my eight-thirty meeting.

let me stop right here and tell you that what happened next was nothing less than proof that i had indeed descended into a freezing hell on earth:

THERE WAS NO HOT WATER!

a two-hundred dollar-a-night hotel and there was not a single drop of even luke-warm water coming from the tap. ladies and gentlemen, i am still all shriveled up from that experience. i had to shower, i had a meeting and probably smelled like smoke from the pub i visited.

they comp'd my room and my meetings went exceptionally well, and i amde it back home to seventy-degree weather all safe and sound. and when i exited the secured-side of the airport, i saw my favourite t.s.a. "agent" and i blew him a kiss. tonight when i go to bed, all is indeed better in the world. ahhhhh...

in the background::snowbird:anne murray