Welcome to Seat 12B.
Seat 12B … somehow I got the middle seat. It’s not atypical for this to happen when I fly America West, since I tend to fly them only when I need to get to the west coast at the last minute.
Last week I was on vacation, using time on St. Simon’s Island to readjust from Taipei induced jetlag. I come back on Monday, book some el-cheapo tickets & leave Tuesday evening for Seattle.
One flight to Seattle, two days of training, three hour drive to Hillsboro, four beers at Imbrie Hall, five hours sleep … perhaps it’s time to stop counting.
My short-hop business trip is now at an end, bringing home via Phoenix. The flight from Portland to Phoenix is my only middle-seat experience (lucky me). I’ll get in after midnight, then sleep and enjoy time with the spouse.
My planned weekend activities include a visit from Joyce, making sawdust in the basement in an attempt to create elevated goat feeders, and preparing a guest bed for Amy before Sunday night.
Before any of that happens, this bumpy little ride over Mt. Hood needs to get me to Phoenix. I have a layover date with some ugly terminal carpeting.
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