Posted in adventure, airports, chocolate, funny, humor, trains, travel

A Is For Adventure

My story begins on the wrong side of the tracks. The tracks would have been on the right side (literally and figuratively), if the train behaved itself. However, it decided that instead of arriving on Track 2, near where yours truly was waiting, it would arrive on Track 1. So I hustled across the trestle in the nick of time (thanks to the kind passenger who alerted me).

Then I was sitting on the train and suddenly I heard noises coming from my shoulder bag. I peered inside and the three hazelnut chocolates a friend had given me were clamoring for attention. I had put them inside for safe-keeping and planned to save them for later, but they were making such a fuss that I had no choice but to eat them.

After I de-trained, I caught the shuttle to the airport. I realized I had forgotten to look up the terminal for my flight, but no worries, I knew I’d see signs directing traffic, plus the shuttle had a friendly automated voice listing airlines for each terminal. As the shuttle drove toward the departures area, I looked up in time to see a green sign indicating my airline left from Terminal E.

First we stopped at Terminal A. For some reason, I had a hunch to get out. But I reminded myself, and even double-checked with another passenger, this was Terminal A.

Next we stopped at B, very close by. Then C, a little further away. Finally, E, extremely far away. It looked like it was way on the other side of the airport. Gee, I thought, what would happen if someone accidentally went to E, but realized they needed to go to A? I pitied that poor person. I knew it would not be yours truly, since the shuttle’s friendly automated voice had just announced the list of airlines leaving from E and mine was happily among them.

I went inside. To my surprise, I didn’t immediately see my airline’s kiosks for check in, but maybe if I went to the counter way down the hall? Still no luck, plus a line that I didn’t want to stand in. So, I asked an employee.

He said, “You need to go to Terminal A. Domestic flights. E is for international.” He gave me directions and really, it was quite easy. All I had to do was walk close to a million miles.

I was ravenous by the time I arrived. I bought my favorite brand of potato chips. I usually don’t buy anything at the airport because prices are so exorbitant. But these turned out to be nineteen cents cheaper than those at my local supermarket. Next time I want some, I’ll fly cross country to Terminal A.

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Author:

I am a rather obscure 14th C. poet, whose work has been translated into over thirty dialects of gibberish. I now spend my days translating from the gibberish into English and back again, as need be.

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