Kronikle Volume 5, Issue 7 : Travel Day 2 or The Man with the Serial Killer Eyes
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After experiencing, in stark contrast to past performance and future expectations, a non-controversial evening with the “That is SOOO Wrong” Historians (see: Daniel Boone: American Hero and Kentucky Legend), I reoriented my thinking toward getting the Helsinki out of Louisville. I had already packing my belongings. I had secured a slightly earlier-than-my-norm flight which for some reason forced me to wake up much earlier than my preference. I neglected to take any of the hotel's free stuff, arranged the tip for the room cleaner who occasionally observed my request to leave my bed unmade, and grabbed my gear. I arrived at the bus a full eight minutes before departure so I could be assured I inconvenienced no one by being late and then I sat on the bus for sixteen minutes before departure while I waited for other folks to hold the bus up because they were running late.
I arrived at the airport the recommended two hours early, thinking the sheer number of individuals leaving would put pressure of the security lines but it went smoothly again. I walked the terminals, attempting to find a light breakfast. Unlucky, I think I drank chocolate milk and bought the World Cup edition of Sports Illustrated so I could read it in the brief windows of consciousness I knew were inevitable when one had to change planes to get home.
Faces that had grown familiar populated every corner of the Louisville airport. I had a brief, surprise reunion with Murph the Red (State) while I waited for my conveyance to ATL (which make sense, him being from South South Carolina and all). We talked books and then he told me one of his well-crafted tales about nearly dying in an airplane crash. Then, I took my medicine and slept through the first flight.
I arrived in ATL hungry and irritated the MP3 player I used had not properly recharged. Working on the mantra of “One thing at a time”, I secured some questionable nachos (I don't even know why I would ever order that, ever). Ate and fiddled with my charger, concluding it had failed me. I located one of those airport convenience stores and they had what I needed in addition to a bunch of stuff I wanted, since Atlanta is the headwater of the music that most often pours into my skull. I contemplated a completely exorbitant purchase of an ATL hoodie and then talked myself down to this really dope coffee cup. Still happy with my choice; I think it makes my coffee taste better. Got the MP3 player charging (which is good because I was not leaving Atlanta in a plane until I had music to listen to) and then settled down with my magazine.
Over time, I noticed that one family headed back to Oklahoma City looked incredibly familiar to me. I know I had seen them before, maybe more than once. I don't know if I waited on them during my brief return to active cashiering that I endured a couple of years ago when I worked at Target. Maybe they were connected in some way with the school I am associated with, perhaps generous citizen supporters? They had the appearance of one of those families that are on the flyers missionaries leave on your porch advertising one of the larger Baptist churches when you refuse to come to the door. Clean-cut children with gender-defining color coordination, a comfortable yet carefully dressed mother that wore her empathy on her sleeve with the choice of Moore tornado "Oklahoma Home" t-shirt, and a dad with a closely shaved head and a tucked in polo shirt. The reason I know I knew them was because the dad also had the most soulless, dead eyes I have ever seen, ever. He stared off into space while his wife herded his kids around. Every time I saw this guy, he had the same faraway, chilling facial expression, both in the airport and then again, as I passed him on the plane. Kronkites, you know the end of the intro in Dexter when Micheal C. Hall stares into the screen, clearly bereft of anything beyond an animalistic morality? Well, this guy made Dexter seem downright cuddly in comparison. He was creepy. Real creepy. Fortunately, I did not have to sit near him and his seat was in front of me so I figured if he chose murderous rampaging as a way to while away the time, he would probably start with the folks straight ahead of him since that was the only direction he looked.
I awoke shortly outside of OKC to the excited thrill of two little kids sharing their impressions of their first plane ride. I considered letting them know that there was still plenty of time to die a horrible death so they should save their excitement until their feet hit the pavement but then decided they were better off ignorant. My unfortunate consciousness made me aware that we landed roughly; I arched my eyebrows as far as they would go and took a deep breath and held both throughout the the entire landing . Somehow, the pilot found the brake in time and we disembarked. I found my luggage and my aunt, Saint Jeanne, and headed to the beginning of a blissed out summer, full of silent World Cup matches (no cable, have to watch the free stream from Univision on a speakerless computer), musical exploration (Deltron 3030 lives up to the hype), and delicious meals made from my two hands (no servers necessary, thank you very much). Soon, I will do more but for now, I remain...
Carrie the Red (stripe)
PS—Hope I do not run into that guy again. Whew.
I arrived at the airport the recommended two hours early, thinking the sheer number of individuals leaving would put pressure of the security lines but it went smoothly again. I walked the terminals, attempting to find a light breakfast. Unlucky, I think I drank chocolate milk and bought the World Cup edition of Sports Illustrated so I could read it in the brief windows of consciousness I knew were inevitable when one had to change planes to get home.
Faces that had grown familiar populated every corner of the Louisville airport. I had a brief, surprise reunion with Murph the Red (State) while I waited for my conveyance to ATL (which make sense, him being from South South Carolina and all). We talked books and then he told me one of his well-crafted tales about nearly dying in an airplane crash. Then, I took my medicine and slept through the first flight.
I arrived in ATL hungry and irritated the MP3 player I used had not properly recharged. Working on the mantra of “One thing at a time”, I secured some questionable nachos (I don't even know why I would ever order that, ever). Ate and fiddled with my charger, concluding it had failed me. I located one of those airport convenience stores and they had what I needed in addition to a bunch of stuff I wanted, since Atlanta is the headwater of the music that most often pours into my skull. I contemplated a completely exorbitant purchase of an ATL hoodie and then talked myself down to this really dope coffee cup. Still happy with my choice; I think it makes my coffee taste better. Got the MP3 player charging (which is good because I was not leaving Atlanta in a plane until I had music to listen to) and then settled down with my magazine.
Over time, I noticed that one family headed back to Oklahoma City looked incredibly familiar to me. I know I had seen them before, maybe more than once. I don't know if I waited on them during my brief return to active cashiering that I endured a couple of years ago when I worked at Target. Maybe they were connected in some way with the school I am associated with, perhaps generous citizen supporters? They had the appearance of one of those families that are on the flyers missionaries leave on your porch advertising one of the larger Baptist churches when you refuse to come to the door. Clean-cut children with gender-defining color coordination, a comfortable yet carefully dressed mother that wore her empathy on her sleeve with the choice of Moore tornado "Oklahoma Home" t-shirt, and a dad with a closely shaved head and a tucked in polo shirt. The reason I know I knew them was because the dad also had the most soulless, dead eyes I have ever seen, ever. He stared off into space while his wife herded his kids around. Every time I saw this guy, he had the same faraway, chilling facial expression, both in the airport and then again, as I passed him on the plane. Kronkites, you know the end of the intro in Dexter when Micheal C. Hall stares into the screen, clearly bereft of anything beyond an animalistic morality? Well, this guy made Dexter seem downright cuddly in comparison. He was creepy. Real creepy. Fortunately, I did not have to sit near him and his seat was in front of me so I figured if he chose murderous rampaging as a way to while away the time, he would probably start with the folks straight ahead of him since that was the only direction he looked.
I awoke shortly outside of OKC to the excited thrill of two little kids sharing their impressions of their first plane ride. I considered letting them know that there was still plenty of time to die a horrible death so they should save their excitement until their feet hit the pavement but then decided they were better off ignorant. My unfortunate consciousness made me aware that we landed roughly; I arched my eyebrows as far as they would go and took a deep breath and held both throughout the the entire landing . Somehow, the pilot found the brake in time and we disembarked. I found my luggage and my aunt, Saint Jeanne, and headed to the beginning of a blissed out summer, full of silent World Cup matches (no cable, have to watch the free stream from Univision on a speakerless computer), musical exploration (Deltron 3030 lives up to the hype), and delicious meals made from my two hands (no servers necessary, thank you very much). Soon, I will do more but for now, I remain...
Carrie the Red (stripe)
PS—Hope I do not run into that guy again. Whew.