Everfree Northwest 2022, Outbound: I hear the blues a-callin'... · 7:34pm Sep 3rd, 2022
Before I start on the first entry in this blog series, I want to thank all of the supporters who, through Patreon and Ko-Fi, made this trip possible. I wouldn't have been able to attend without the help from every last one of you.
I wanted to thank you first because once I get too deep into this blog, I may start to believe that the part of the audience which often feels as if it revels in my suffering somehow managed to set this first part up on purpose.
Thursday, August 25th
There are few things so exactingly banal as covid home test instructions. Add four drops to the tiny plastic well, and no more. Rotate the swab around each nostril five times. Read results after twenty minutes, but not after thirty. After a while, you start looking for things like 'spin on your right foot, land on the heel -- DON'T FORGET IT! -- adjust all undergarments because dear gawds, was that move stupid...'
It's five a.m. Eastern Daylight. I am currently on the stage which really should have read 'continue moving swab up nostril until frontal lobes attempt to sneeze'.
I've told myself this is a basic human obligation. Make sure I'm not going to kill anyone today -- unless they really deserve it. Directed murders only, please: no random fire. In this case, it means that if I test covid-positive on either end of the trip, I can't go (or I can't come back). Two thin purple lines on the test strip = cancel the flight, because someone's parents are going to be on it.
I've also been up since two-thirty a.m, because I'm just that stressed over... everything.
The luggage is packed and waiting. This is one of the things I'm stressed over. Are my nail scissors slightly too long? What if I'm carrying 2.1 ounces of a fluid? Also, there just isn't much room in there. This is dense packing, because I couldn't risk the baggage fees. Anything I pick up at the convention has to be either shoehorned or mailed home.
Boarding passes? I printed those yesterday, and it took a library trip to do so. I made a mistake a while back: picked up a discounted printer from Amazon on Prime Day and yes, that was stupid. It's wifi only: no cable connection, and it took about a year before it stopped finding the network. Any network. So I'm back to printing at the library, and all I got was the outbound passes because I don't receive them until I check in -- and I can't do that until the clock moves under twenty-four hours to takeoff. There's a certain question as to how I'm going to get the return passes printed in Seattle. I'm hoping their public library is in the mood to be merciful.
(Why not just get a QR code to show on my phone? Because I don't have a smartphone. I have a dumbphone. It makes phone calls, and only when it feels like doing so. I can't even receive a text: running any app is right out. Do you feel I should have a smartphone, and that it would have solved so much of what happened later? Support links at the top of the blog. And it probably wouldn't have helped.)
The tablet is charged. Managing the power level is going to be a key priority today. If I see an outlet or port, I have to plug in. But I have two external batteries, each of which is good for about 8% because tablet.
There is a travel plan. I go into Manhattan, then get to the airport. There are two flights involved here: the first goes into Chicago, and then there's about a three-hour layover before I can transfer onto the plane into SeaTac. Once I land, there's a bus which I have to catch outside the airport -- and the timing is going to be crucial. By the time I reach the west coast, there's only going to be a pair of Bus Route 560 runs left for the night and that, other than cost, is why I can't check my luggage: time lost at the carousel after a held-up flight could cost me the last ride out. But if I reach the bus in time -- basic fare, and then a walk at the end to reach the first night's hotel.
The first night. There are four nights and three hotels. By the time I booked, the Hyatt was sold out for both Thursday and Sunday. I'll need to make my way into Bellevue on Friday morning, then escape to Factoria late Sunday afternoon. This first night is the only one I prepaid, and that's because I received a $3.00 discount for doing so. But this payment can be pulled back. Nearly everything can be, because I'm waiting for a strip of paper in a plastic trench to tell me whether I'm going at all.
I gave it four drops of solution, and I'm starting to wonder why there was no .cc attached to 'drop'.
Wait it out.
Wait.
Pace a little.
Look at the 'verse Discord server. People will be monitoring the trip. FOME will be in the air before I will. He's got the nonstop. I have a connection and a timetable, in a year where 3% of all flights are being cancelled and nearly a third wind up delayed.
I've been up since two-thirty, because that's just part of what I've been thinking about. Good luck at the convention, me. Rest assured that you won't be hearing your name and if you somehow do, the gathering rooms likely have high ceilings. Skull-cracking on an upwards panic jump is unlikely --
-- twenty minutes.
I wore my mask in public all week. Steadfastly. Sometimes it felt as if I was the only one doing so. I had to get last-minute supplies for the flight. Trail mix, some jerky, a little sugar. In case there's nowhere to eat, or for those times when I find an empty space in the terminal. I can't eat on the flight. Or drink. (There's a daily food budget, and unused portions do roll over -- but eating in the airport is going to kill it in a hurry.) There's another covid test to come, and it's in the luggage. A new box, untouched, ordered during the second wave of government distribution. Lurking.
I did everything I could...
...just look.
One purple line. Not two.
...okay.
It is Too @$#% Early To Leave. It will still be too early in a couple of hours. And I am leaving then anyway, because I've never taken this route before. I'm unsure of what the delays might be. And if something does happen with the first flight, it's best to be at the airport early. That way, I can get in line to be ignored because the higher-paying passengers will have first priority.
Let's pretend towards control...
There's a few ways to get into the city.
I have the option to drive. This gives me full control over not being around other people on the way in. Absolute minimum illness risk. It also gives me NYC tolls to deal with, followed by having to leave my car at the airport for several days. The costs associated with doing so total out to a very large percentage of the airline tickets.
If I wanted to cheap out, I could take the bus -- or only use the main train lines until I hit Newark, then switch to the PATH. Both add time and chances for possible exposure, because there is a mask mandate on mass transit and some of the drivers seem to have forgotten that: the majority of passengers followed suit.
Cheaping out adds an hour inbound and saves $1.50.
I'm running on the convention budget now, and I have to run fast. But I can't afford to drive. This is going to be the direct train into Penn Station.
Walk to the nearest rail stop. That takes a while, but it's downhill and then level. (Reverse when I get home.) I get some stares as I go. No one else is towing luggage today, and the wheels make an awkward racket on the wheelchair ramp bumps for the sidewalk edges. One officer gives me the side-eye as he cruises by.
No one's enforcing mass transit mandates on the platform, either. And then the conductor is unmasked...
It gets worse in Penn. As with the terminal, there are occasional announcements over the PA system: respect space, be cautious, mask up. No one cares. I have a KN-95 on, because I'm waiting to apply the adhesive model. I am one of the roughly 3% wearing anything at all. Penn Station is like the airport: a crossroads for the country and, in some ways, the world. It also doubles as a virus crossbreeding lab. But hey, pandemics are boring now. We're just going to ignore the recent dead. They probably went down from news burnout. And I get to look at bare faces and nothing but, because the lower level of Penn is being renovated. All of the stores are gone. Temporary walls block off construction areas, a few screens peek out to show train timetables, and we all hustle because we're all New Yorkers and if you don't move, you get run over. Deal with it.
Some people cough. Others sneeze. Easy to see who it is, when nearly all faces are exposed.
Basic human obligations...
To reach LaGuardia Airport (and the city remembers its little flower still) from Penn Station, you take the E subway line into Queens, then transfer to the Q70 bus: the latter recently became free. These days, the odds of getting a subway car with air conditioning are over 90%, and that's especially a positive today because the temperature will be rising fast. For Seattle, I'll be arriving as one heat wave ends, leaving just before the next comes in. Some of the locals are grumbling about the convention's perfect timing.
I keep the suitcase close. Ignore the stares. Yes, I'm still masked. I am trying not to get sick. If I test positive in Seattle, that's at least five more days of hotel costs and order-in food delivery and I will have to beg for help. I'd rather avoid that. Deal with it.
Transfer. Climb out of the subway system. There's a cafe across from the bus station, and it's called PokeMom. I get a picture.
The Q70 is two buses half-welded together by flex-strips: this one is less than half-full. It turns like a brick, with slightly less stopping power. An onboard screen shows the few stops it has to make, and encourages people to report anti-Asian discrimination. We All Ride Together. We also all ignore the built-in luggage rack, which can hold four very small pieces and mostly sees them fall out during the turns.
And then it's the terminal.
Luggage inspection is mercifully brief. I do screw up in not taking my sunglasses off my hair before stepping into the booth, but it's forgiven. Find a place to get shoes back on, and then pass through the shopping area. A shopping area which not only features high-end fashion and Lego sets unique to the Museum Of Modern Art, but features a Mortal Kombat arcade machine in two-thirds scale. I'm not sure how anyone is supposed to get this on the flight.
LaGuardia, like Penn, is being renovated. However, the process is far enough along to allow open access for most of the redesign. It's more open, airier, one reverse fountain has water falling from the ceiling, and you're going to pay five dollars for a bottle of water because flight regulations forced you to dump out all drinks on the way in.
There are thousands of people moving through this airport, and perhaps two percent of them are masked.
It encourages moving.
The airport bookstores are more of a guide to what people are reading right now than Amazon. I take note of Ordinary Monsters, The Apollo Murders, and Hench as potential titles of future interest. Find my gate, then find a bathroom. (I am not chancing the one on the plane.) Sinks that exist as a down-and-in sloping plane, plenty of soap and sanitizer. Perfectly clean. A touchscreen asks people to rate it on their way out.
Find a plug. Privacy. Wait and listen. Check in on the Discord. Once I have space and relative safety, trail mix is nibbled.
I'm carrying two unique tokens with me. Things which I only own due to the postal dropbox (pinned in the Discord under #p-o-unboxing) and the time and generosity of others. Items which no one else in the world has. They're my 'proof' that I went on the trip, and I already know that there will be at least one person who claims trickery anyway. Both are extracted, and I get a picture.
Keep listening. For hours, because I'm just that early. But I have nowhere else to be today or rather, I do.
I've never been to Seattle. My mother went, years ago: I used to have a cousin out that way, and she was invited to visit. Following in her footsteps? Not really. Just... partially sharing an experience. It would be similar if I ever went to BABScon...
...one year at a time. One day. Just keep listening. Once we get within a certain time frame, the adhesive mask goes on. Press down around the edges and seal. It's my best hope, I have eight of them left, the group was nearly fifty dollars with Too Much Shipping Charge, and I don't believe it's actually going to work. This just means I can't eat or drink.
I also look stupid. When you seal this kind of mask, you wind up with a huge hanging tab of material under your chin. I now have a fabric wattle.
...put the KN-95 on over it.
Slightly less stupid.
There is no announcement of my flight's cancellation, and we're boarding on time.
I'm in the cheap seats. Group 8. (If we were ranking by PPE, #1 of 7.) Back of the plane, because economics is always going to substitute for Back Of The Bus. I get on close to last, wrestle the luggage into the overhead bin, and check in from the plane while I still can. Once we're in the air, I lose all signals, and I'm not paying for wifi on this hop. I have audiobooks. It'll be enough.
The flight is going to leave on schedule.
It's a good lie. I wish the world would have let me keep believing it.
Because that was when the plane didn't move.
Didn't warm up the engines.
Didn't do anything.
...well, it did blow a gasket.
That's actually the official announcement from the pilot. Blown gasket, along with the ring surrounding it. This has to be replaced, and he's waiting to hear from the airport parts warehouse as to whether they have the part in stock. Because in your local auto shop, they can just look up the supply in the system, but the airport means someone has to go in and search. Please allow at least half an hour for this. Then the part has to be brought to the plane, swapped in, pre-flight inspection starts all over again...
I have about a three-hour layover in Chicago. A very busy, very large airport. My second boarding pass does not have a gate listed, and I've never been to O'Hare. I can't even guess as to how long it'll take to cross the distance. My luggage is with me, but if I'm looking at opposite terminals or a place which has its own rail line between gates...
We've all been sitting in the plane for about forty minutes -- since the parts announcement. Total time is longer. The part has not been found, and my seatmates are a father and his little girl. She's about six and playing a game on her smartphone. She tells her dad that he's too old for cartoon zombies. I wonder how she'd feel if she knew where I was going --
-- another announcement.
Everyone has to get off the plane.
Replacement part is still supposedly on the way. But gee, we shouldn't just be stuck in here waiting for that. So everyone off. Don't go too far. Also, it'll take about half an hour to board again, in the same order as last time. Figure for that.
And I'm doing the math.
Half an hour added to this. Repair time. Inspections. Everything. The best case has this plane squeaking out of the terminal in about -- another seventy-five minutes? Worst case is hours. And in the middle ground...
The little girl is singing. I Don't Want To Wait. She's about six and her sense of irony is already keen. Wonder if she likes writing...
...I have to get off this plane.
I have to find another flight into Chicago, or a direct to Seattle.
I am, by my best math, seventy minutes away from being stranded.
...at least I took flight insurance, right? And needing to change planes isn't my fault, because this is a mechanical issue. They're not going to charge me for this...
...right?
(They didn't. I wasn't able to fully get into my bank account until I got home, but no portion for the next parts of the dance was charged to my debit card.)
There's a line at the gate desk, because I'm not the only person with a connection to make. Sixth back.
Fourth.
Time is passing...
...okay. This is my boarding pass. Please ignore the group number. I need to reach Seattle. I was going to switch in Chicago, and no one knows when the current bird is getting off the ground. Can anything be done? Because if you tell me that it's wait until Sunday morning, then thank you for your time and I'll just go home --
-- you have to be in Seattle tonight?
...Friday morning at the latest. (I can try to cancel the prepaid. Try.) But after that...
The desk clerk shuffles screens.
There's another flight out to Chicago in forty minutes. It's two gates over. You can see it from here. She'll stick me on that one. Because there's a connection to catch and you might not make it.
New boarding pass. I look at the expected landing time.
...wait. She was talking about doing this because I might not make the connection on the original flight. She agreed with that. This new landing time would give me...
...how far apart are those gates?
She's busy with someone else now, and I only have half a swap.
There's an airline station dedicated to flight changes behind the escalator. Move.
...only one person ahead of me here.
None.
Hi. Let me explain. No, there's too much: let me sum up. Can you...?
...yes, but she has to put me off the airline which was going to manage the second flight. Keep me with her own. She can do that, because they're partners.
However, I am now leaving Chicago more than an hour past my original plan. If there are any delays, I'm going to miss that last bus. And my new initial flight is going to be leaving in a few minutes --
-- I don't have time to look for another option. I have to get out.
In your professional opinion, as someone who has to know all the airports... can I reach the original connection in time, moving from gate to gate, with my luggage, if nothing happens in the air?
She ponders. Looks me over.
No, I'm told. She doesn't know the exact gate, but -- she knows where that airline usually leaves from. So -- no. I could never walk it in time. Not even a run would do it. In her professional opinion, I need to complete the swap.
All right. I'm trusting you.
Take the other new boarding pass. (Which has me in the very last row, at the absolute back.) Break for the gate. I am now Group 9. Get on the plane. Rewrestle.
I manage to get a look out the window as the plane starts moving. So many other flights spread around the gates. Planes pulling up. Pulling out.
Two gates over, the airplane I just abandoned is backing away from its entrance tunnel, ready for takeoff.
...
...well, @#$%.
All right. Changed flights. Lost at least an hour for arrival time in Seattle. But maybe I can still make the bus.
Maybe.
Cloudscape. Nothing but fluffy white cloudscape as soon as we clear New York. The flight performs the traditional act of passing over Citifield and making sure no batter ever gets to concentrate -- but after that, the landscape is white clouds. It's pretty for ten minutes, and then mostly reminds me of how painful winter is going to be once the snow comes down. Either way, screw you, Rainbow.
The chosen audiobook for this stage is not a happy story. I listen. I watch the clock.
We're moving pretty quickly.
We're... moving faster than I expected.
I'm sure we're getting ahead of the projected timeline.
I know --
-- we touch down twenty-two minutes early.
What's O'Hare, from the outside? It's planes engaging in a commute. You land, and then you wait while the pilot drives everyone in the rest of the way across long, winding, and slow trails. Sometimes you get backed up, or wait for another plane to go by. Someone's probably trying to climb up on the windshield, wipe it down with their sleeve, and demand a dollar for the service. Regardless, we still arrive at the terminal well ahead of schedule, and my original connecting flight is still on the ground. Has, in fact, just barely started to go through boarding. But I can't switch back. I'm stuck on the later run. But I'd never reach it in time --
-- would I?
I get off the plane. Find the schedule board, locate the gate. Start following signs.
It takes me less than seven minutes to reach the departure zone.
Normal walking pace.
I am... not exactly happy right now...
...okay. She didn't know we were going to make up time in the air. (I'm still insulted by her opinion of my foot speed.) Just... do what I can. For starters, I can call my first hotel and tell them I'm stuck in Chicago. Please don't give my room away. Please don't keep the prepay. I am on the way. I am trying. Just...
...what do you mean, wrong number? This is what was listed for the hotel!
...oh.
National chain number. And you can't forward me or send a message.
So the local would be...?
Repeat everything. They can hold it for a while.
Explore the airport. Overpriced popcorn (with cheese)! Tomato sauce pot pie, which the natives have deluded themselves into calling 'pizza'. There's also a McDonald's and after I find a safe space, I get to have the worst mass-produced burger of my life, horrible fries, and am vaguely pleased that I only paid $11 for the horror of it. (The adhesive mask can be removed and reapplied -- carefully. It can't be washed or baked sterile.) What I can't find are working outlets. There are seats with plugs between them, and none of the ones in this section are turned on --
-- an older woman notices me trying, and asks for a plug to use. I explain the situation and, two minutes later, spot a Starbucks. Then I go back for her. The Starbucks has twelve working outlets and I don't get one because I'm still exploring, but she does.
Another bookstore. Cupcake vending machine? That's odd... and that next one is for cosmetics. Another has diaper supplies. No PPE versions. No mini-arcades for sale. Also, just about no public electricity. Maybe it's first-class lounge only.
Wait for the plane's USB seat slot. It's got to have one --
-- getting tired...
Wait it out.
Boarding. Whatever's behind Group Nine, I am now that. Last seat, last row. In a plane that's about a third empty. I am so far back that my row doesn't have its own luggage bin. You have to jam in wherever you can find room. But hey, great view of the bathroom. Buckle up, kids.
...sorry? You want me to what?
It's not an upgrade. The plane is just kind of empty, and the attendants don't need to walk the full length. They're bringing people forward. I move from Row 33 to Row 18, and I have the entire side of that row to myself. Window seat and elbow room, with a perfect view of --
-- the wing.
It has the words No Step printed on it, every five feet or so. After a few seconds, my mind switches this to Step Off and then starts a dance competition.
We get in the air. (Screw you, gravity!) I can't eat. I can't drink. I'm having trouble keeping the tablet on the drop-down table. I've been up since two-thirty, most of what I can see is a wing...
...no. Fireworks. Someone is setting off a full barrage, miles away, and we stay in sight of it for nearly eight minutes. I can't spot the venue. Just explosions of color, without reason or source.
I'm tired...
I never stay asleep for more than forty minutes at a time. I don't wake up for more than five. Not until descent is announced.
We make up no time in the air.
I touch down at SeaTac, and I have less than twenty-five minutes to make the bus.
There are signs. Dear sweet pony gawds, at least there's signs. Mass Transit, This Way. Buses and -- the light rail? Whatever. I need the buses. I need the 560, the very last of the night, and I pass closed shops, I get out of the secured area, I'm in the parking section and the signs are still going. Curving around the inner edge. But I'm setting a good pace and once again, that woman cannot evaluate walking speed to save her life. That's the escalator up to the light rail, and -- stairs. Stairs going down, but I've got about ten minutes still, we deplaned pretty quickly and being at the middle may have saved me, go down the stairs and here's the bus stop with all of the lines and times listed and --
-- wait.
Where's the 560?
Why isn't there a listing for...
...maybe it's on the other side of the street. One-way pickup only. Just cross and --
-- there are at least two mass transit zones at SeaTac.
The signs leading out of my terminal only point towards one.
The wrong one.
And by the time I realize that, it's too late.
I can't get to the right place in time.
The last bus is gone.
...megacrap.
It's a little before midnight. I have no personal experience with this transit system. With alternate routes. With...
...hey, Siri?
The tablet perks up.
I need to get into Renton. Just... get me into the right city, by whatever buses or trains remain. Can we still do that? And I'll figure it out from there. Just... tell me what to do.
Light rail, she says.
To the city?
No. One stop. Then more stairs down. Maybe an escalator. And that's a different bus station. One last bus out remains.
Back up the stairs. I don't quite understand how the fee structure works for the light rail, and wind up overpaying by the $1.50 I didn't save earlier through the art of hitting the wrong part of the screen. Take the ride, climb back down, go past some kind of art into the dark and cooling Seattle night and join the denizens milling at the bottom of the structure, none of whom speak to me. The same teenagers pass three times, weaving and listing a little more with each trip.
Check in on Discord.
They want me to take a taxi.
Two of them are Ko-Fi tipping to get me on a taxi.
We were talking about it earlier. The last resort, if I missed the bus. About $23 to $28 from the airport, says Google. Get out of the transit system and just direct-line. Here's the money so you won't wreck the budget. Please...
...breathe, everyone. I'm going to the Renton Transit Center. That's their hub. I'll be in the right city and in my experience, you find taxi companies just outside of such hubs. I promise that once I'm in Renton proper, I will try for a cab. But this should at least bring down the fare. And I'd have to go back to the airport to try for a cab here anyway.
...fine. Just be careful.
Bus. I ask the driver if the route passes by the hotel. He's never heard of the hotel. He asks another passenger, and they haven't heard of it either. I'm having some signal trouble and can't get a tablet route while on the bus. So I'll just get off at the Transit Center, then...
...it's been advised, on the Discord, that I call the hotel again. Ask if they have pickup service. (It's a $97 overnight: the cheapest stay of the trip. That's gonna be a no.) But I said I would call. Once I'm off the bus, and...
...the transit center is just a bunch of bus stops clustered in a small radius. There are a few shops. Everything is closed, everywhere, and -- I'm the only person here.
The bus pulls away.
Walk around. Look for lights --
-- nothing is open.
Nothing at all.
There are no taxi stands.
No waiting businesses.
I call the hotel. Still on the way. Do you have -- no, I didn't think so. Then can you recommend a taxi service -- okay. Yellow Taxi. What's the number? Thank you. I'll call them now. I did promise.
Hi! I need a pickup, riding to --
-- where am I? Renton Transit Center.
There's a very short pause.
"We have limited service at this hour."
I immediately translate from Discrimination.
So you're not dispatching. Period.
Dead silence.
Any particular reason?, I ask. Is the area I'm in? Looks safe enough. Is it the sound of my voice --
-- the non-dispatcher hangs up.
I glare at the phone, because... that's all I can do now. Look around, and... nothing looks like a no-go zone. It's just a quiet part of town at night.
Do I have a signal? Yes. Check in on the Discord. I'm sorry, but -- the cab isn't coming.
Uber? Lyft?
...dumbphone. No apps. Can't try to install on the tablet right now. And a debit card. Not credit. They may not respond. My region... it would be about a forty percent -- look, just -- you can pull those Ko-Fi tips back. (They don't.) I'm out of options. I...
...check the charge. I've done this before, usually while driving. It burns power like almost nothing else, because it requires realtime constant data flow. Tracking.
It's always hard to orient at first. The tracker needs a few seconds to tell which way I'm facing, and doesn't always get it pegged on the first try.
Hey, Siri?
She perks up. I've already got her on a backup battery, and the cable trails awkwardly from one part of the bag to another.
I need walking directions. GPS me and track.
I'm in the right town. Surely...
She doesn't question my sanity. (She's very polite that way.) She just pulls up the map.
Four and a half miles.
It's Renton all the way down. Or, in a few minutes, up.
...I...
...@#$%.
...no taxis.
It takes two tries to get oriented.
Grab the luggage handle. Start hauling.
At the Gala...
It's sort of like homicidal Christmas carols. Malice as motivation.
At the Gala
On the long road
I'm going to kill them all
I will murder taxi drivers at the Gala...
Well into the small hours, and... I keep passing bus stops. The route signs say this is for the bus I was just on. If I'd stayed with it for a while longer...
I will slice them
their organs
into pieces big and small
they'll be served in a haggis
right here at the Gala...
There's just about no one else on the street. During the entire walk, I see all of three other pedestrians: two on the opposite side, and no one after the first mile. They don't speak to me.
I'm waiting for the first shout. It'll be from a passing car. The shouter will be between the ages of seventeen and perpetual immaturity. They will see someone on the sidewalk, get their window down, and try to scream in my ear as they blow by at top speed. The goal will be to make me jump. Ideally, into the road, where the next car will hit me.
This happens at home sometimes, when I walk at night. I'm usually braced for it. Display finger and move on.
Tonight, give chase. Hope for red light. (There's barely any lights.) Swing luggage into windshield until...
...the malice is keeping me awake. Moving.
More bus stops. Closed stores. I'm thirsty now, it's getting worse, and there are no 24-hour convenience stores. No open gas stations. I can't even get a vending machine. Passing a corporate park, still on the bus route. Boeing. So this is where they operate...
...a police car slows slightly as it passes me.
Yes, officer. Walking at this hour, towing a suitcase whose wheels were not meant for long-distance. Very suspicious.
Clearly you must arrest me.
No, really. Right now.
The cell has a bed, right? And a water faucet --
-- the police car goes by, and it's the only one I see all night.
Off the bus route now. There's a Hyatt off to the left and since I'm in Renton, it's the wrong one. Starting into an uphill...
...more uphill...
...just how much slope is --
-- and we're all out of sidewalk. Perfect. Because the homes are becoming more expensive with every step, and dropping the sidewalk means these people are so well-off that spotting someone walking anywhere is seen as a reason to call the police. Split-levels abound. Interesting design choices. There's a five-car garage at one point. Wealth accrues by the block, and I haven't found a penny during this walk because it's possibly illegal to need one.
Climbing. Huge spiderwebs glisten under streetlights: the orb style, and the weaver is best avoided. At one point, I think I see a cat up ahead, expressed as lambent reflections and shadow. I softly call out to it, say I'm no threat and I'm just glad for the company --
-- it doesn't move.
When I get closer, the reflective portions of the thrown-away glass stop tilting green.
Siri wants me to tilt right. Pure uphill. (On Monday, I'll learn this was an overstatement. Mostly by comparison.) My feet are sore. The towing arm is tired. Wheels are rattling. But that's the route --
-- there's a car coming.
It's yellow.
It's a Yellow Taxi.
Limited service, huh?
I present my salute. The driver, unheeding and likely unknowing, speeds on.
Climb through a world made of slopes and shrouded shades of green. Oxygen is mine for the asking, because there are plants everywhere. Even once I leave the homes, their extensive gardening, and stop estimating property values, greenery grows wild. But it's all shaded and glistening and I have to be careful about more webs. I just can't dodge around anything, because there's no sidewalk and almost no shoulder. Walking space just barely exists. If any car isn't paying close attention...
Four and a half miles.
There are two bridges. One -- the last one -- has an elevated side path that's barely wide enough for the suitcase. The other has never heard of pedestrians and wants to know when my trial starts.
Climb, over and over. Any downhills are short and mostly serve to set up the next slope.
Nothing is open. No one is here.
A sign proclaims that Renton is the home of the Seahawks. I thought they played in Seattle itself.
Also, I hate the Seahawks now.
Seriously. One gas station. A 7-11, or the local equivalent. Is that so hard?
Bottle of water dropped at the side of the road would be nice...
...why am I here?
I'm three thousand miles from home, and the only path I have is a glowing blue line on a screen that's running out of power.
My only guide through the dark.
Turn left, says Siri.
...it's an exit ramp. I can see a highway at the far end. Also construction, which means I have nowhere to walk except flush against a barrier. And straight ahead are the first stores in several miles. All closed, of course, but I can make out a strip mall. There's a McDonald's. Maybe if I kept going that way, I might find a vending machine outside a supermarket. And Siri wants me to turn left, with...
...two-tenths of a mile to go.
Yes, I can see buildings. At least one of them is either an apartment complex or a hotel. But I can't make out a sign from here, and is it really going to have access from a ramp?
...crap.
I've come this far. Turn left.
Another uphill. A sharp slope. Lights on at one corner of the building. I can see the sign now...
...chain hotel.
That's nice.
I booked a different chain.
Sonova...
...just... go up to it. Someone will be there. Maybe my destination is behind the main building. Hotels do cluster.
...can't go in.
I can't. The door is locked. There's someone in the office, and they only interact with the world via sliding window.
Hi. Do you know where the other chain is? Please say it's close. I'm on foot --
-- this is the other chain.
...it says --
-- doesn't matter what the sign says. You sound familiar. Did you call earlier?
Yes.
You walked?
Well, as it turns out, your recommended taxi company...
...yeah. They've been getting... picky. The ride services took most of their business. Now they don't care who they piss off. Sorry about that.
Nothing you did.
Check in? ID to verify. And a deposit.
...please.
There's a $100 security deposit due at checkin, refunded when I leave. I try the debit card, because I told my bank I would be in Seattle and this is a good way to find out if they ignored me. Carrying cash for backup. Let's see...
The debit card goes through. I get my room key and directions. Up the exterior staircase. Third floor.
I look at my luggage again. Find the room.
...third floor. Do you have a vending area?
It's on the first floor. It contains laundry equipment, one Coca-Cola machine, darkness, and features an Out Of Order sign. On the entrance door. Which is locked.
Climb.
Slowly.
I have less than four hours before I have to get up again. Another hike. Find the bus into Seattle itself. And I'm worn out and frustrated, I check in on the Discord once I'm in the room, get in the shower and a cheap room with a middling television and a mattress which has no give turns out to have the best shower of the trip. It has exactly one setting: Hot Spray, and it keeps the heat coming for as long as I need it.
Plug everything in to charge. Get dressed for bed. Eat some trail mix, because... I haven't eaten since Chicago --
-- the phone rings.
The room phone.
...yeah. Hi. So when I took your ID... it's still down here. I'll bring it up --
-- I... just showered. I'll...
Another change of clothing. I go back down, retrieve my ID (and that could have been so much worse), go up those stairs again, and then it's another clothing swap. Plus I should fold the dirty stuff. And transfer items between pockets --
-- this pocket is empty.
...is this one supposed to be empty?
I was shuffling things to reach the debit card. My cash was in --
-- I closed the door behind me, I locked it, I took the keycard and...
...I...
...I'm three thousand miles from home and I've just been...
No one will believe me.
I can never explain.
I have enough on debit to reach the return flight, but --
-- it's... in the tablet bag.
I was tired. I stuck my ID folder in the side pocket. I put the cash right behind it, without thinking. And then I zipped it up.
...
...lie down.
Just...
...it's Friday. It's been Friday for hours, and I barely slept on that flight. I need to lie down.
I don't stare at the ceiling for hours. I have the sense to keep my eyes closed. And maybe there's times when I drop into sleep, at least for a few minutes.
But if so, I keep waking up. I have another bus to catch. A convention to attend, for that value of attendance which means just... being on my own.
...four days.
I'm on the west coast for the next four days.
Tell me it gets better than this.
It has to.
(To Be Continued)
I'm not sure how it could have gotten worse after that.
I wasn't privy to the long trek up until after the fact. I didn't know the full details, like the idiocy of the taxi company, until now. Wish I could have treated you to lunch or something even more.
I really do hope you had fun at some point last weekend.
They do play in Seattle, but they’re headquartered in Renton and do their training there.
And, uh, yikes, that was even worse than you made it seem on Discord. I don’t get why SeaTac’s airport transportation is so godawful.
Wow, that is one heck of an adventure for the first day of travel. It's good you were simi prepared and didn't have checked luggage...
That's... seriously depressing, I'm sorry things went so bad for you! I'm not in your discord so I wasn't aware of that, I really hope the rest of your experience was better, Estee.
Sorta guilty over here? Blaming the victim: you write about your suffering so beautifully I can’t help but enjoy reading about it. I’m on your side though and only want the best for you.
Yup. Feels like that’s something even poor people, or especially poor people, can’t really afford to not buy these days. That “I’m too busy in the real world to look at my phone all day” dumbphone fashion statement is for those who can afford the cost of it. Pawn shops don’t give warranties but have been reasonably good to me over the years. iPhone6s is kinda the sweet spot on the purchase price / parts availability curve right now.
The covid cloud has a few little silver linings. Even if we’re mostly not masked it was an overdue reminder of public sanitation.
I expect so much less of the hotel industry than what it offers. All I want is a flat spot to lay down and a good hot shower. That’s it. Even the cheapest hotel has a pretty big room with two queen beds, it’s own full bathroom with a tub (?!), a bunch of complimentary soaps and stuff, and often a kitchenette. Why can’t we have those coffin hotels like they have in Japan?
Anyway: no matter what trials you faced on the journey you seem to have survived to write about them back home, great to see another post!
I rarely comment, and I hope I don't come across as a dick, but uber and lyft will take debit cards.
Sorry your outward trip was utter crap, hope your stay and return were better, and here's some luck for the future.
Ouch. :comfort:
"Limited Service" indeed.
...hey, I resemble this remark!
(Don't worry, any actual Chicagoan would tell you it's a thing you only eat when you want leftovers for the next 3 days.)
Yikes! Sorry to hear all this happened to you.
I sympathize with your printer woes. I made the mistake of buying a Lenovo laptop paperweight.
As the covid plague heads towards year 4, it may be necessary to revive a phrase from the Great Depression: "the New Normal."
I'm old enough that I remember when wearing a mask into anywhere with a lot of cash would draw Unfavorable Remarks from the police.
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Had a surreal moment like that a year ago. Went to the bank to get a couple grand to buy a car. Seller just wanted wanted folding money so whatever. Got to chatting with the teller, gave my passport, was signing the forms and stuff, and he asked me to briefly unmask to verify my identity. There I was with big floppy hat, dark sunglasses (hey: it was bright out), full cloth mask, asking for “all hundreds please”, and he was only concerned I put the mask back on immediately!
Made the getaway without the dye pack exploding at least…
I've got relatives from Dad's sister in Seattle. I really need to look them up sometime. I was going to do that last year but I got con crud and spent my extra day in the hotel (but on the plus side, it gave SuperTrampoline a place to crash, so win/win). Then this year, the world conspired to keep me here. Perhaps next.
I'm sorry this happened to you. All I can say is, at least nothing... permanent happened to you during your forced walk. I suppose getting a smartphone is a matter of safety, these days. Not that any of this was your fault, that taxi service can go straight to hell.
Hey Estee
For financial reasons I've lived my last 6+ years in a Halfway House.
Thus, I know the prayer said after
every A.A. meeting.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference
Calvin "The strength to change what I can, the inability to accept what I can't, and the incapacity to tell the difference. "
Hobbs "Your life is going to be very interesting. "
As there is no appropriate emoticon that I can silenty leave; I can only sympathise about how utterly horrible and wretched reality is and again inwardly cringe that you will in a place in which a four-mile walk at night is not merely irritating but potentially dangerous. (That such places exist AT ALL is just one more abomination of humanity.)
I'm not sure what you are saying here, did you loose all of your cash? Something else fall out? I just don't get this bit.
Sorry to hear you had a rough start to things and a rough time of it all from how it sounds. Why do you do this to yourself? I understand having wanderlust and wanting to go places but go somewhere you'll enjoy being, not somewhere you won't.
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Estee-Typical Negative Narrative space.
I believe my read is that "cash was not in the expected pocket, Panic Attack, frantic search located cash in unexpected pocket."
Easily done thing, done it myself on numerous occasions (all three parts, replace "cash" with various other things), e.g. DS-with15+years of Pokédex; though not, admittedly in such potentially cicumstantially-injurous conditions.
Understandable confusion; it took a careful re-read myself on realising no-one was mentioning it in the comments.
Here's hoping that it did get better than day one!
...That's tempting fate on the lines of 'hey y'all, watch this...'
Not sure if I should look forward to reading the rest of these entries or dread them. I'm just glad that you appear to have made it home safe.
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Look at it this way: Estee got home on time; this means they, at the very least, did not get a positive Covid test while away from home.
That's one thing to celebrate!
...I don't know what the situation is with your karma, but, uh... yeah. Sorry.
Well, glad you made it home safe. I saw some of the trip reporting on the Discord, but I'm bad at keeping up with Discord. So... still plenty of mixed hope and dread for the rest of the story.