I'm not so much "on the road" as "in the airport" today. Being a proper little doobie, I arrived two hours before my flight. Once I reach Phoenix, I'll wait 90 minutes for the shuttle to arrive, then nearly another two hours before I reach home. *Sigh* This is not the most enjoyable way to spend a day.
As almost everyone knows, there's no longer much fun to be found in an airport. The "two hours early" rule seems about an hour too long. Security measures have improved—not that going through a security checkpoint isn't a special level of Hell, in and of itself—and crowds seem to be herded through the process more quickly than ever before. But Google Assist informed my phone that I needed to hit the road at 0738 if I wanted any chance to meet the recommended two-hour pre-flight deadline… and here I am. Blogging.
It's something to do while I sit, sit, sit and wait to be cattle-driven into the great metal bird. Despite Federal rules and regs, I notice some male members of society refusing to keep a mask over their mouth and nose. This isn't meant to be a sexist comment. It's only that, while on the trip here, I only saw men using chin-masks. On the way home, I only see men using chin-masks. Perhaps they're worried about chin-COVID. If that's a thing, I'm okay. My mask covers my nose, mouth, and chin.
I'm feeling a little grumpy. Can you tell? On the way here, the stewardi also appeared grumpy. It seems that no one is enjoying air travel any longer. We're all sharing this ordeal together, and all anyone wants is to be done with it and get home.
If it didn't take so long, I'd have gone by car. Driving from Point A to B, in my opinion, is frequently enjoyable. Generally, I can leave when I want and travel with people I like. (On the trip here, I sat beside a man who sniffed constantly. Speaking from behind his mask, Drip Nose assured me he had allergies, not a disease. Before staying with ancient relatives, I used a home COVID test, just in case.) Driving, travelers can stop and enjoy the sights as we go, riding in companionable silence, or listening to Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, as the miles roll past.
I love listening to that decades-old radio mystery drama. Bob Bailey wasn't the first Johnny Dollar, and he wasn't the last, but he was the best. He sounded 6'2" tall and nicely muscled. In the television pilot that he filmed as Johnny Dollar, Bob turned out to be 5'9" and thin as a rail. Less of an action hero than the action hero's accountant. It's no wonder it never went to series.
It doesn't matter. His voice is marvelous. If you're wondering, the "transcribed adventures of the man with the action-packed expense account—America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator" can be downloaded free and legally, all over the internet. If you haven't given it the program a try, you're missing out.
I wish I'd loaded a few episodes to help this day pass more quickly. I will next time. Oh, Johnny Dollar, take me away!