And We’re Off...
- Michael Jay Tucker's explosive-cargo
- Aug 21
- 4 min read
Okay, last time I talked about how we were getting ready to go visit Vincent...our old friend and David’s “Uncle Vincent”...in Raleigh, N.C.
Martha did the airline tickets. She is much better at arrangements than I am ...I, after all, am the guy who got online and tried to buy airline tickets with a return date before the departure. Which works just fine in the Twilight Zone, Escher Prints, and Pan-dimensional Hyperspace, but, here, in the normal Euclidean universe, well, somewhat uncool...
Anyway, Martha got tickets for a Southwest flight on Thursday, March 6, 2025. The kids and g’kids were coming a day later, on Friday. This, though, had its own complications. You’ll recall at just about that time, Elon Musk’s DOGE had been firing a number air flight traffic controllers, and there had been a couple of serious airplane crashes. Normally, none of us is afraid to fly, but...well, ah, er...we were thinking about making an exception. Just this once.
ABOUT THE PHOTOS: First, an actual representation of what it feels like to park at any major airport. Except I left out most of the zombies. Not enough room for ‘em.
Second, Martha having a coffee during our visit.
And, third, another of my experiments with close ups. This one is of tomatoes...surprise, surprise. You never would have guessed, would ya?
But, on the other hand, what was the alternative? Drive? From Central Texas? I mean, it’s only twenty hours. Easy peasy. Do it in our sleep. Which...of course...would be the problem...because around hour eighteen we *would* be sleeping...and the Highway Patrol frowns on that. As do the EMTs. Who have to clean up afterwards. Messy.
Anyway, she got the tickets and then we went the day before. We’ve found that spending the night before a flight in a hotel near or at the airport vastly reduces our levels of stress. And, frankly, we’ve got waaaaay more than enough stress in our lives already. No need in upping the supply.
We have also found that private airport parking is a Godsend. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m dull and repetitive, so I’ll do it again. For years, more out of Puritanism than anything, we’ve elected to park in the “long term” garage of the various airports we’ve frequented. That’s because we thought it was cheaper and quicker. Okay...so...yeah...it meant that you had to fight your way through heavy traffic...and maybe find a parking space (if the garage wasn’t full)...and probably lose your car if you didn’t remember to write down your floor and space number ...something we’ve done that more than once. (Remember that incident where we not only lost our car but the battery ran down afterwards and we had to go get help not once but twice? Good times.)
Plus, of course, there’s hauling your luggage from one end of the garage to the other and then to the bag check and then afterwards finding out that you left at least one bag and maybe your tickets back in the car so you’ve got to sprint back and get ‘em and then everyone in line looks at you funny and the TSA wonders why you’re sweating like a pig and gasping for breath and they start fingering their assorted firearms just-in-case. (Like I said. Good times.)
But then, one day, and I’m not even sure how or why, we looked at each other and said, “Say, what does it *really* cost to park in one of those lots near the airport where you park in a reserved space and then they take you right the terminal in their own little bus?” And we checked. And...oh!...turned out it was about the same, and in some cases even a little cheaper...and, whoa!...it is a heck of lot easier and so we got a membership and a local private lot and we’ve never looked back.
Shall we ask why it was that it took me literally decades to realize what was so obvious? For me to realize that we didn’t have to pound ourselves into the concrete to park at an airport? That we could actually take it a little easier on ourselves?
No. We shall not ask those questions. Because we...or at least *I*...might not like the answers. They might include “because you, Michael Jay Tucker, are dumber then a box ‘o rocks...and siliciclastic rocks with extra plagioclase feldspars at that.” Which would make me grumpy. You wouldn’t like me if I was grumpy. I grow fangs and claws. And snort. The snorting is particularly awful. So let’s just play it safe and be fangs-, claws, and snorts-free.
Where was I? Oh, yes. So we went down to Austin and spent the night in hotel near the airport. The next morning we were up bright and early. After that, to our vast astonishment, everything went pretty well. The bag check went fine. There was the usual chaos at TSA but mostly it was okay. Then we were in the secure area. We found something to eat for breakfast. We found seats at the gate and read or cruised our phones.
Then...they were calling us to board.
And from there it was smooth sailing.
Next time, we get to Vincent’s, and the Downtown Hotel...that wasn’t anywhere near downtown.
More to come.
Copyright©2025 Michael Jay Tucker
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