Santa Clara
|
Santa Clara At the moment, I am, if not bright eyed and bushy tailed, at least unpacked and connected to the internet in Santa Clara, California, at an anonymous Marriott hotel just five long blocks from the Convention Center where I have to be at eight o’clock. It is just past two AM local time, though I am not sure what that means. Back home I would be rising in two hours. This was the hard part, and I made it. The transition from the trip to the northeast to the midwest, and brief visit with my folks, and the college graduation and the long drive back to Washington. I managed to shilly-shally long enough with the watering on plants that I could have been late, but wound up right on time I have flown across the country in the deep darkness and landed after midnight at San Francisco International. I have taken the train to the rental car stop, and as a preferred customer, been directed to a mid-sized anonymous Chevy in the garage without human intervention. I think it is a Chevy. I hope I recognize it in the morning. But I have the remote buzzer on the key chain, and I can always just point it at the line of cars and one of them will hopefully light up to show me the one with which I have a conractual relationship. I think back on the morning, dualing in traffic somewhere in Pennsylvania with German and Japanese vehicles in my old-line Chevy and I blush in shame. It was a smooth flight in an exit row, and based on the endurance of the flight, we got a movie and a small bag of pretzels. I must say the film “Spanglish” was not that bad; perhaps the most approachable role I have seen Adam Sandler play. It was edited for content and format, though, so maybe that improved things. The flight was remarkably smooth, an Airbus A-320. I prefer Boeing products, largely on the basis of the Airbus composite tail, and the seating. But I get preferential seating based on my demonstrated willingness to experience inconvenience with an American carrier. I am praying United doesn’t go out of business. I would hate to lose that. So, it was with interest that I studied the gents next to me in the exit row. One needs to be aware of things these days. They got on later than I did, so I had a chance to check them out. They were Middle Eastern and Asian, respectively, and the one next to me had the shakes prior to take off, his leg trembling almost uncontrollably. In an almost casual pre-flight, I nodded to the Flight Attendant that I understood the responsibilities of the window removal, and they did, too. I wondered what I would do to immobilize my seatmates if they were bad. Tackle them? Pre-empt? What would they have as part of their plot? Some plastic weapon, a cell phone that shoots something? Or a shoe that explodes? How could I stop them? In a tail-chase situation, could I get at least one of them and immobilize or kill him? Curious. Could I be civil enough in ase they were just average joes like me? It is just part of the check-list these days. I did not like being on the window side for that contingency. Life in the good ole’ U.S. these days. I’m here safe, and that, either early or late on a Monday morning, is a good thing indeed. I can feel the air off the Bay. It is refreshing without being cold. Palo Alto and Santford are behind me, as is the giant dirigible hangar at the former Moffett Field, and Sunnyvale and the Blue Cube that controls the heavens. Nice to be back in the Bay area. Nice to be on the ground. Copyright 2005 Vic Socotra |
