Mr. Purl Goes to Atlanta (Part 1)

This is the story of Mr. Smith goes to Washington. Err, except that Mr. Smith is Mr. Purl. Aaaaand, he went to Atlanta, not Washington. Oh, and Mrs. Purl went with him. They didn't go into any legislative buildings either. Oh well.

Day One, Wed 19 April 2006

It began at the end of a hodge-podge night of twisty-turny sleep on the sectional. It was around 9:00. It was also time to call the cab and fill the suitcases.

The Purls were munching on nutritionally benign Lil Debbie snacks when a loud metal-on-metal screech indicated that the cab had arrived exactly at 10:30 (and he needed some work done on his brakes).

Now, certain things in life "just are". One of those certainties is that Mr. Purl will get "randomly" chosen to step to the side for additional frisking and checking at Wichita Mid-Continent Airport. It should be printed on the bottom of our airline ticket confirmation:

Please arrive at ICT 90-120 minutes prior to departure. Also, patrons traveling with Mr. Purl should allow time for him to get frisked. You won't get frisked, but he will.
Isn't it enough that a big man has to kneel down to take off his shoes and then put them back on, getting that head rush!? Does he also have to "stand with your arms out like an airplane"!? The checker of all travelers Purl ran through his scripted utterances so quickly that Mr. Purl had trouble understanding the goofiness of phrases like "please remove your hat or else i can frisk zabadabadoodoo." He had the canned commands down as if 10,000 black men named James ran through there, all getting randomly checked. Maybe this black man was still light-headed... The Purls took a seat at their gate and jumped into their home on IRC and chatted it up until flying to Dallas-Fort Worth.

The layover was only supposed to last long enough for lunch. A nice, leisurely lunch at 'Friday's, then off to the ATL. But things are bigger in Texas, and the Purls got handed a big, fat, Texas-sized layover, pardner!! As the Purls watched some CNN-airport edition, a friendly voice announced politely that the boarding for flight 1390 had been pushed back an hour. Moments later, it had nicely been pushed back a total of two hours. Tick Tock "Attention, American Airlines Flight 1390 has been pushed back to at least 6:30, and thus been moved to gate C7". The politeness was gone. The Samsung TV smacked 1390 fliers in the face with a CNN crawler exposing the reason for the delay.

Now hoof it over to gate C7!

Tick Tock A man moves to the PA microphone to address the 1390 crowd. Would he say it's time to board? Would he camp them out in Texas a little longer? Would it be revealed that he is the one actually saying "This is a smoke free airport..."? Who would he choose in the Pepsi Challenge? Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret! But I digress, and the man is talking: "We will now begin boarding for flight 1390". YEE HAW! Only three hours later than scheduled, the Purls were finally going to make it to the Atlanta. Or were they? "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking and something's broken on the plane. We've been sitting around for three hours, too. Yes, we could've checked the plane out in anticipation of maybe using it tonight, but then we couldn't have made you wait another forty-five minutes in even more uncomfortable seats than those in the airport!" While Mrs. Purl slept, Mr. Purl played Grand Theft Auto: Liberty City Stories on his PlayStation Portableā„¢. In the game, he ran over three stumbling, staggering, shaggy, homeless characters one right after the other. He knocked a pimp out with a bat he found. Thinking he was funny, he then pimp-slapped a kid off a dirt bike, then busted 'im up with the bat before riding off. No wonder he got searched in Wichita.

Near the end of the flight, Mr. Purl wondered if the pressurization system was what was broken as the pressure in the cabin went crazy, creating tremendous pressure on the ears of all aboard. Mr. Purl got his hearing plugged up where he heard sounds internal to his cavernous head.

The next thing to cause bad thoughts to echo around the cavernous head of Mr. Purl, was a lady that had the audacity to waste the Avis Rental people's time asking for directions to some podunk place she was going. If you don't have your own maps/Garmin/mapquest-printout, then pay for the Avis navigation thing. The Avis line was around an hour and this lady is making like on "The Amazing Race"... Sheesh!

Only thing of note about Day One's dinner is that even McDonald's serves sweet tea in the South. Or as they say it: sweight tay

Coming soon.. More of Mr. and Mrs. Purl go to Atlanta!