A trip to Maryland
Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008Some time ago, I had a rather remarkable visitor. It was the epic poet Homer, having navigated the treacherous seas of the space-time continuum (is there anything those old Greeks couldn’t do?), and he was carrying a small notepad. He told me that he was having some trouble working out the finer points of his story about a dude who has trouble getting back home, and he asked if I wouldn’t mind being observed on a simple expedition. Those notes would eventually become The Odyssey — one of the cornerstones of modern western literature. True story.
For those of you who have not witnessed the utter cosmic disarray that occurs whenever I attempt to move beyond about a 100-mile radius of my present location, allow me to encapsulate: stuff goes wrong. Lots of stuff. So much stuff, in fact, that scientists have considered renaming Murphy’s Law after me, or at the very least giving me the benefit of sharing one side of a hyphen with the long-forgotten Murphy. (Eddie? Audie? That chick that Dan Quayle hated?) This is also a completely true story.
Mind you, my most recent trip was not a vacation. (I am presently in a financial position that makes pleasure trips nigh impossible.) I was headed back to southern Maryland — the region where I spent 25 of my 33 years; a region which my family still proudly calls home. Since relocating to Seattle in early 2006, I have managed to make it back home for Christmas each year, but that’s about it. My mom, fulfilling her legal duties as a mother, frequently gives me crap about not coming back more frequently. But it was the failing health of her mother — my last remaining grandmother of the three I started with — that convinced me to head back a few months early.
The honest fact of the matter is that she may not be there by the time my next Christmas visit rolls around. I hate to get too heavy in what is otherwise meant to be a fluff piece, so this will be the only time I mention it. But just so you know — this is pretty much the only way anyone could lure me back to the region at this time of year.
Mom booked me a pair of non-stop flights, which I’m certain she considered a favor to me. And in the practical “less stuff to go wrong” sense, she was almost certainly right. But in the sense of “I may be 33, but I’m really still a squirmy 5 year-old who can’t sit still for five hours,” this was probably not the best choice. I will say that I’m glad my iPhone can play Tetris as well as movies and music now, but even that only occupied me for so long. Why I can spend upwards of 10-12 hours sitting at my computer (or the computer at the various jobs I’ve held over the years) without so much as a potty break, but utterly crack at the idea of sitting in a reclinable seat with a view of the entire continent… no man can say. I guess I have control issues or something.
I did notice this adorable gay couple on the flight. And yeah, I realize when I say stuff like that, I sound like an old person trying to sound hip and progressive. I don’t know what to tell you — I’d love to be blind to such things, but the fact is, even since moving to Seattle, I rarely see same-sex couples displaying affection openly. And I’m not talking about the tonsil-scraping kind of affection; just simple hand-holding on take-off and landing. Those subtle reassurances that couples give one another. It shouldn’t be a big deal to me, but it kinda is. It’s cool to see them not telegraphing “we’re gay, live with it!” from 30,000 feet, but also not afraid to act like two people who are together would act. I had been preparing myself for a return to the rural Navy-centric town in which I’d grown up, so I guess this just caught me off-guard. In a good way.
Eventually we landed at Fred Sanford International airport, which is located in Baltimore, my absolute least favorite place to be in the entire United States. You know all the filth and murder they show on The Wire? Yeah, that’s cleaned up for television, trust me. Naturally, this would end up being where I got stranded for several hours. Naturally. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.
I collected my luggage, stepped out of the airport and into the oppressive mid-Atlantic heat/humidity. When I left Seattle, it was about 70 degrees. Now it was in the mid-90s with the humidity also in the mid-90s. When summer hits in this area, it feels (and often smells) like you’re being held in someone’s damp armpit for about four months. This was probably the thing I missed the least. But hey, since I got laser surgery, I don’t have any glasses to fog up when I step out of the air conditioning. (You know me… always looking for that silver lining.)
So I headed for the rental car facility. This airport has one of those satellite buildings where all the rental agencies are forced to live in peace and harmony. Also, there is a food court. It’s like a very specific mall, where you have to be at least 25 to get anything.
I’d reserved a car through Enterprise, and went over to pick it up. I actually had trouble understanding the guy behind the counter at first, as I hadn’t encountered the unique Maryland accent for quite some time. But eventually I was able to work out that he was offering me an upgrade from my reservation, for a small additional fee. It’s not usually my style to accept anything from a pushy salesman, and I’m not sure why I decided to do it this time, but that’s where all my troubles began.
“Sorry,” he told me, handing back my debit card, “it’s been declined.” We quickly figured out that, because of the $200 deposit that Enterprise takes from debit card users, my balance was about $20 shy of what I was being charged. “Fine,” I said. “Give me something smaller and try it again.” But naturally, they couldn’t do that. They can only charge the same card once in a 24 hour period, you see. For your protection.
(This same “protection” philosophy is why it takes me 20 minutes to log into my bank account, or why I have to give a blood sample to the phone company to check my bill balance.)
Of course, this is the only card I have. So basically, I was screwed. Fortunately I was in a snazzy little consolidated facility with all the other rental places within a few steps of one another, so finding an alternative shouldn’t have been too difficult. I even requested the car for a single night, to ensure I would have enough money for this transaction — I could always put more money into the bank the next day and extend the rental. But it turned out that Enterprise had the most generous policy of all when it comes to debit cards: most of the other places (well, the ones that actually had cars without a reservation) wanted at least a $500 deposit. So, yeah. No car for me.
I called my parents, who did everything they could do to help from 100 miles away. My mom is currently taking care of my grandmother, and was not in a position to leave her for a few hours. My dad was prepared to head up and get me, but while all this was happening, my younger brother had taken the family boat out and gotten stranded. It wasn’t his fault, mind you — it was something about a bad repair on the engine — but the end result was the same. He was stranded in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay, while I was stranded in an air conditioned building. It suddenly put my problem into a bit of perspective.
Fortunately, I do still have a couple of friends remaining in the area. I called my friend Bob (whom I have known for over half my life), and he very graciously agreed to ditch his plans for the evening (sorry!) and cart me down to the nether-regions of Nowhere.
In an odd way, this ended up being a good thing. I mean, I had taken Bob from a production of his Beer Media Tech podcast, not to mention a few hundred miles out of his way when all was said and done. But I also hadn’t seen the guy since Christmas, and it hadn’t initially looked as if I’d have time to spend with him at all on this trip. So it gave us a little time to talk. Which was nice. We got to my parents’ house on the water sometime around 1AM and decided to take a romantic walk out on the pier.
My parents’ pier (click to see full-sized).
I mean. Uh. Nothing.
He ended up staying in one of the spare bedrooms (a different one than I did, all right?), and headed out early the next morning. I eventually got up sometime before noon — I actually keep pretty sensible hours, but I was trying to stay on west coast time — and was greeted to the vicious sounds of my family’s guard dog as I made my way downstairs.
Fira, my brother’s daschund, who could fit in my pocket when I last saw her, clearly did not recall our last meeting. I guess she thought I was an intruder of some kind, and was barking out warnings to the otherwise empty house. I’m actually mildly curious to see what would have happened if this exchange had continued for any length of time, but as it happened, both my parents stopped in almost immediately. The dog, seeing that I was not a threat, proceeded to lick me, nibble my toes and drag various squeaking toys toward me for the duration of my visit. Oh, the torture.
My brother’s weiner dog (click to see full-sized).
There’s not a ton to relate about the actual visit itself. I spent a fair amount of time breathing in second-hand smoke (everyone but the dog smokes — and even that’s a matter of time, I think), watching a lot of mindless TV (Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? Are you fucking kidding me?) and being taunted for my recent unemployment and weight gain. (Both of these things, I should point out, are things I deserve to be taunted for. I’m not complaining.) I read the local paper, discovering that the most amiable drug dealer I’d ever met was going to prison (sad!), and that Kenny Loggins’ star had fallen so far that he was playing the Calvert Marine Museum.
I also spent a bit of time with my little brother, who remains the sanest person there. If you’d made this statement to me 5 years ago, I’d have called you a filthy liar. But I have to say, the kid has really grown up. He’s working, going to school and all-around keeping out of trouble. I’m kinda proud of him. He did, however, absolutely insist that the US was occupying the Netherlands. Now, I know I’ve been out of the loop on world events for some time, but I think I would have heard about this. If anyone wants to enlighten me, please do.
I was also hoping to get on one of my parents’ jetskis for a short time, but we couldn’t get them started. There’s no possible way I can express my disappointment without sounding like a spoiled rich kid, so I’m just going to leave it there.
What’s left of the beach at my grandmother’s house. When I was a kid, it was literally 10 times this size. (Click to see full-sized.)
Me, my brother and the little dog (click to see full-sized).
Me, dad and my brother (click to see full-sized).
My brother, my mom and me.
So yeah, after a few days of togetherness, it was time to get the hell out of there. (I love them all to death, but you know how it is. I’m sure they felt exactly the same about me.) On the way out of town, I located a can of the elusive Orange Blast Jolt, which meant the following:
• Jolt, which I had to order by the case via various websites when I lived here, was now plentiful
• a specific flavor of Jolt that I could not even locate in Seattle, was also plentiful
• my shrine is now nearly complete, missing only the nearly-impossible-to-find Passion Fruit Jolt
I got to spend a little time talking with my mother on the way to the airport (she was otherwise occupied with my grandmother for most of my visit), and I tried once again to convince her just why I’m so “pessimistic” (her word) about traveling. I don’t think I really got through to her till the text message I sent a few hours later:
“all westbound flights have been grounded for weather. So I am stuck.” I would have heard her laughing her ass off had I not been instructed to turn off my cell phone. See, being asked to sit still for what ended up being 2 hours was not enough: we also weren’t allowed to access our carry-on luggage (or even to get out of our seats) or use any electronic devices. Fun!
We did finally make it out of there though. I attempted to sleep on the way home, but the pilot was one of those who loves pointing out every tiny navigational detail, and since our route had to be altered a few times, he took absolute delight in telling us exactly how we’d been diverted. “We were going over Pittsburgh, Columbus, then to Cincinatti, Gary, Chicago… but now we’re going over Cleveland, Indianapolis…” Ugh.
With all the delays (and a baggage delay unlike anything even I have seen before), I ended up exiting the airport sometime around 2AM. All the good buses had long since stopped running, so I had to take a ride all the way downtown, then right back into the direction of the airport to end up at my apartment (which is only about a 10 minute drive from Seatac). Most of you probably already know the kinds of people riding a bus at 2AM, but I’m still fairly new to the city and I usually drive my own car. So this was a new, and not terribly pleasant experience for me.
But I did end up making it home, somehow. I had to be up in 4 hours to pick my dog up from the kennel, lest I be charged an extra day… but that was domestic trouble, which is somehow infinitely more manageable than the kind that inevitably strikes when I’m out in the world. I guess there’s really only one thing for it: I am never leaving this damn apartment again.



















































































































