Hey! Mr. Big Shot! (Part 3)
Part 3 of 3
The United Express gates are 17.3 miles from the security checkpoint. I walked and walked and walked and even turned down the offer of a ride from a lady on the old-people golf cart thing and finally made it to gate 86B.
Well, if this is the worst thing that happens today, it will be a fine day.
I had the column finished and had done the Mullfoto of the dog park, so all I needed to do was to format the text for Mullings.com and for the e-mail version, and get the appropriate links put in the Secret Decoder Ring page and I could send it out before I got on the plane.
I had about 45 minutes so this was not going to be a problem except that my T-Mobile account had gone inactive due to its being tied to my Amex card whose expiration date had come and gone.
1-888-Fix-This and I got the guy on the phone who, (a) insisted upon calling me “Richard” and (b) was probably in Hyderabad, India updated my info and got the connection organized.
Well, if this is the worst thing that happens …
That took about half of my allotted time and I couldn’t work because I had to keep giving my credit card, phone number, mother’s maiden, last four digits of my social, billing address and shoe size to verify I wanted to spend my money with T-Mobile.
As they were calling the flight I hit the e-mail SEND button and went out to get on the commuter flight to Palm Springs.
The plane had actual propellers but the flight is only 30 minutes so I put up with the indignity of flying on a plane which was about three months later than the last fabric-covered aircraft and thought, “Well, if this is the worst thing …”
We got to Palm Springs at about 11:30 Pacific and pulled up to the gate which is, as it happens, exactly 17.3 miles from the airport exit.
I got into a cab which was driven by a guy who had only been in Palm Springs for five – no – TWO months (uh, oh) and had come here because he had been in a real bad accident and totaled his car and aside from some stiffness in his right hand he was doin’ fine now.
“Say,” I interrupted. “How far is it to the Wyndam Hotel?”
He said it was right after the next light so we pulled up, I threw a twenty at him, and felt lucky to have escaped from the cab with my life and limbs intact.
I went to the front desk, pulled out the very same Amex card which would now be recording my every T-Mobile connection and grandly announced that I was Rich Galen.
It was now close to midnight and the woman behind the desk must not be a regular Fox & Friends viewer because it had no effect.
Other than for her to disappear into the back office and come back with another woman who informed me I had been expected not on the 27th but on the 26th and, as I had NOT arrived on the 26th they had given my room away and the hotel was full and, Rich Galen or not, see ya’, bye.
I pointed to a canvas bag with my name on it sitting on a shelf. See? That’s me! I must have a room.
What part of “see ya’, bye” didn’t I understand?
I upped the handle on my roll-aboard and headed out the front door just as a guy pulled up in the Wyndham van.
“Hey,” I said I that southern way of saying “Hi” that everyone seems to have adopted. “I need a ride to the Hilton, can you help me out?”
He said he could not because he was not supposed to and, in any event, he got off at midnight. See ya’, bye.
So, there I was. Mr. Big Shot. Walking down Tahquitz Canyon Way, dragging my roll-aboard with my backpack attached with one hand, and swinging my NFRW goodie bag in the other.
Humming the theme song to “Midnight Cowboy.”
Everybody's talkin' at me
Can't hear a word they're sayin'
Only the echoes of my mind
People stoppin', starin'
I can't see their faces
Only the shadows of their eyes
Rich
The United Express gates are 17.3 miles from the security checkpoint. I walked and walked and walked and even turned down the offer of a ride from a lady on the old-people golf cart thing and finally made it to gate 86B.
Well, if this is the worst thing that happens today, it will be a fine day.
I had the column finished and had done the Mullfoto of the dog park, so all I needed to do was to format the text for Mullings.com and for the e-mail version, and get the appropriate links put in the Secret Decoder Ring page and I could send it out before I got on the plane.
I had about 45 minutes so this was not going to be a problem except that my T-Mobile account had gone inactive due to its being tied to my Amex card whose expiration date had come and gone.
1-888-Fix-This and I got the guy on the phone who, (a) insisted upon calling me “Richard” and (b) was probably in Hyderabad, India updated my info and got the connection organized.
Well, if this is the worst thing that happens …
That took about half of my allotted time and I couldn’t work because I had to keep giving my credit card, phone number, mother’s maiden, last four digits of my social, billing address and shoe size to verify I wanted to spend my money with T-Mobile.
As they were calling the flight I hit the e-mail SEND button and went out to get on the commuter flight to Palm Springs.
The plane had actual propellers but the flight is only 30 minutes so I put up with the indignity of flying on a plane which was about three months later than the last fabric-covered aircraft and thought, “Well, if this is the worst thing …”
We got to Palm Springs at about 11:30 Pacific and pulled up to the gate which is, as it happens, exactly 17.3 miles from the airport exit.
I got into a cab which was driven by a guy who had only been in Palm Springs for five – no – TWO months (uh, oh) and had come here because he had been in a real bad accident and totaled his car and aside from some stiffness in his right hand he was doin’ fine now.
“Say,” I interrupted. “How far is it to the Wyndam Hotel?”
He said it was right after the next light so we pulled up, I threw a twenty at him, and felt lucky to have escaped from the cab with my life and limbs intact.
I went to the front desk, pulled out the very same Amex card which would now be recording my every T-Mobile connection and grandly announced that I was Rich Galen.
It was now close to midnight and the woman behind the desk must not be a regular Fox & Friends viewer because it had no effect.
Other than for her to disappear into the back office and come back with another woman who informed me I had been expected not on the 27th but on the 26th and, as I had NOT arrived on the 26th they had given my room away and the hotel was full and, Rich Galen or not, see ya’, bye.
I pointed to a canvas bag with my name on it sitting on a shelf. See? That’s me! I must have a room.
What part of “see ya’, bye” didn’t I understand?
I upped the handle on my roll-aboard and headed out the front door just as a guy pulled up in the Wyndham van.
“Hey,” I said I that southern way of saying “Hi” that everyone seems to have adopted. “I need a ride to the Hilton, can you help me out?”
He said he could not because he was not supposed to and, in any event, he got off at midnight. See ya’, bye.
So, there I was. Mr. Big Shot. Walking down Tahquitz Canyon Way, dragging my roll-aboard with my backpack attached with one hand, and swinging my NFRW goodie bag in the other.
Humming the theme song to “Midnight Cowboy.”
Everybody's talkin' at me
Can't hear a word they're sayin'
Only the echoes of my mind
People stoppin', starin'
I can't see their faces
Only the shadows of their eyes
Rich
5 Comments:
Will this be on War stories with Ollie North?
And in a few days your credit card statement will have a little something from the Wyndam Hotels too.
That's why the Hollywooders have "people" for that. Then they at least have someone to call and chew out, or walk out the front of the Wyndham (to avoid the chewing) and hail the cab while dialing the next dive.
I'd feel sorry for you, but the only Wyndham I ever saw was bloviating on a talking head show.
Try all day back from California on Midwest with plane wings that actually flap, the "L" from Midwest to Ohare at midnight plus, the Hilton wanting more money for the few hours of darkness left than is in your wallet or anywhere else, a wooden bench seat until the first bus out at 7:00am 75 miles west, and waiting till noon for another shuttle bus 30 miles to home, that cost your last 50 dollar bill, followed by a 2 mile walk to get to your front door, no cell phone, no laptop, just a few heavy bags.
Sometimes all it takes to be a bigshot is to have a credit card, and for that, one ought to be mighty grateful.
According to Google Maps, you had to walk 0.3 miles to get from the Wyndam to the Hilton. I'll bet it felt like 30 miles with your body clock running on Eastern time.
Hey, Rich Galen,
Sorry you didn't get to stay at the Wyndham, since that is where my Mom and I stayed and we would have loved to have seen you again. I have to ask when did you speak? I went to everything at the NFRW Convention and I totally missed seeing you! My Mom and I met you at NFRW Conv. 2001 in San Antonio and you were gracious enough to take a photo with us.
Can't believe we didn't get to see you in Palm Springs!
P.S. The Wyndham was close to conv. but other than that, it was highly over-rated! As we were checking out, the bellman told us they are planning a huge renovation including all the rooms to which we said, "it's long overdue!"
Again, don't know how it happened, but sorry we missed you!
Repub. women from AR & AZ
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