I’m sitting at United’s gate 82 in LAX, quite annoyed at the fact that there are some significant events transpiring today, both of which I’m likely to miss owning a DVR and being able to record them. It is the true opening of the NFL season (Colts vs. Saints last Thursday night was just a teaser). I will be missing the U.S. Open’s men’s final (Federer vs. Djokovic; #1 vs. #3 respectively). I’ll be cheering for the young Serb, joining Dragan Djordjevic in spirit (my Serbian college roommate). Federer is unbelievable/awesome, and it is increasingly difficult to argue that he isn’t the best tennis player ever.
Before I return to the subject of football. I’d like to interject at this point another incident that has added to my existing mood. For those that haven’t travelled with me. I always wear appropriate clothing when I fly (long sleeves, jeans, shoes fully laced). I watched some “Dateline NBC” show detailing ways to survive an air accident. I’m compulsive about heeding their expert advice. I also like to fly close to the emergency exit row if not be seated in it altogether. As the flight attendant gave her emergency speech, the gentleman in the emergency exit row was distracted by something else. I became upset that a man who potential held my life in his hands was reading some sort of manuscript instead of listening to the flight attendant. I also noticed that he didn’t once read the emergency exit procedures. I soothed myself hoping that the middle-age man was a frequent traveler and knew how to open the door and assist others in exiting a smoke-filled plane. I then realized that there were so many types of airplanes (models and sizes) and that he couldn’t possibly be an expert on all of them. I became incensed. My guess is that he was a professor of architecture at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo since something to that effect was written on the cover of his manuscript. It’s amazing how much someone can deduce by just glancing for a few seconds. He was tall, slender, with receding brown hair. In fact, he had a bald spot on the top of his head. If I’ve just described your architecture professor and you attend or have attended Cal Poly, let me know who this guy is. I’ll send him a polite email.
Now back to football. I’m travelling on the day that marks the beginning of the Cowboys’ season. I’m dreading any possible connection delays as missing the game or any part of it would indeed be catastrophic. Just thinking of that horrible possibility is driving me mad. I’m hoping to catch the game with a friend of mine (Art Romo) when I land in San Antonio. I’ll keep you posted on the outcome.
So, I’m missing the U.S. Open which is likely to be a thriller. I’m unnerved.
My life is being endangered by a man who carelessly goes about reading a thesis versus emergency procedures. I’m upset.
I might miss out on the Cowboys’ opening drive. I am peeved to no end.
I’ll have a Whataburger when I land. I’m drooling.
Before I return to the subject of football. I’d like to interject at this point another incident that has added to my existing mood. For those that haven’t travelled with me. I always wear appropriate clothing when I fly (long sleeves, jeans, shoes fully laced). I watched some “Dateline NBC” show detailing ways to survive an air accident. I’m compulsive about heeding their expert advice. I also like to fly close to the emergency exit row if not be seated in it altogether. As the flight attendant gave her emergency speech, the gentleman in the emergency exit row was distracted by something else. I became upset that a man who potential held my life in his hands was reading some sort of manuscript instead of listening to the flight attendant. I also noticed that he didn’t once read the emergency exit procedures. I soothed myself hoping that the middle-age man was a frequent traveler and knew how to open the door and assist others in exiting a smoke-filled plane. I then realized that there were so many types of airplanes (models and sizes) and that he couldn’t possibly be an expert on all of them. I became incensed. My guess is that he was a professor of architecture at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo since something to that effect was written on the cover of his manuscript. It’s amazing how much someone can deduce by just glancing for a few seconds. He was tall, slender, with receding brown hair. In fact, he had a bald spot on the top of his head. If I’ve just described your architecture professor and you attend or have attended Cal Poly, let me know who this guy is. I’ll send him a polite email.
Now back to football. I’m travelling on the day that marks the beginning of the Cowboys’ season. I’m dreading any possible connection delays as missing the game or any part of it would indeed be catastrophic. Just thinking of that horrible possibility is driving me mad. I’m hoping to catch the game with a friend of mine (Art Romo) when I land in San Antonio. I’ll keep you posted on the outcome.
So, I’m missing the U.S. Open which is likely to be a thriller. I’m unnerved.
My life is being endangered by a man who carelessly goes about reading a thesis versus emergency procedures. I’m upset.
I might miss out on the Cowboys’ opening drive. I am peeved to no end.
I’ll have a Whataburger when I land. I’m drooling.
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