January 22, 1998
Dear Everyone:
Just got back from a short trip to
Denver.
Took a day to get there.
Spent a day learning (more or less) how to use a software
application called
RetentionManager (what do programmers have against spelling,
anyway?). Spent the next day
getting home.
I’ve been
through
Denver International Airport (DIA) a number of times, changing
planes while traveling to or from “Cincinnati” or “Hobby”.
When you change planes at DIA, you get off at a gate like B15.
Your connecting flight is at gate B47.
You get from one to the other by walking along many, many slide
walks. If you have less than
an hour between connections, you
sprint along many, many slide walks.
But this time, I was actually going
to Denver. Instead of
getting on another plane, I headed for Baggage Claim.
I had no idea what I was in for.
DIA is big. Very big.
I understood this when I discovered that you take a
train to get to Baggage
Claim. Ditto when I saw a
sign that read, “Baggage Carousels 1-15 this way; 16-19 that way.”
And this was only the domestic part.
On the plus side, there’s no waiting for your
baggage to show up at the carousel.
Not like
Oakland with its grand total of four carousels.
By the time you get to the right carousel, your luggage is dizzy
from going around in circles so many times waiting for you.
Just grab it and go.
You know how the airlines always recommend that you
check in at least 90 minutes before your flight time?
At DIA, they’ve ensured this by making the airport so big that
you may well need 90 minutes just to get to the right gate.
First there’s the terminal.
Two terminals, actually:
Terminal East and Terminal West.
In between the two terminals is lots and lots of shopping and
restaurants (I use the term loosely, meaning that
McDonalds and
Burger King both
qualify). Actually, DIA is
sort of like a really spread out shopping mall, with planes.
And rental cars, something most shopping malls don’t generally
provide.
The terminals, however, have nothing really to do
with the planes. The planes
are parked at one of three concourses.
You use the train to get from one concourse to another.
Each concourse is a long series of gates with the aforementioned
slide walks to get you past gates you don’t care about and on to the one
you want. Concourse “B” has
gates 15 through 67. And, in
case you’re hungry, or forgot to pick up that anniversary present, there
are restaurants and shops set up in “cores” between every five pairs of
gates.
Take lots of money with you.
Not that they won’t take plastic, of course.
During this trip, I made a mental list of things I
like and don’t like about flying.
Things I like about flying:
Reading.
You can get tons of
reading done while sitting around airports and, of course, while sitting
in planes. I finished one
book and started another. I
even toyed with the idea of taking along the “Access
97 Developers Handbook”, which I desperately need to read and digest.
But since it’s 2-½ inches thick and weighs only slightly less
than my suitcase, I decided against it.
I guess I’ll just continue with my present course which consists
of reading it once a month at the hair salon.
(I’m up to Chapter 2.)
Things I don’t like about flying:
Airplane food.
‘Nuff said. I know
they try, but they’ll never get it right.
Airport rest rooms, with their
self-flushing
toilets. I detest having
to use a toilet with a mind of its own.
So many of them are clearly demented.
Only a man could come up with an idea like this.
A woman would know that some things just take longer than others.
It should not be up to the plumbing to decide when you’re
finished.
Dragging a coat around with you.
You can check your luggage through; but for some reason, you
almost always have to have some kind of coat which you obviously don’t
need to wear inside the airport, so you carry it everywhere.
And, getting back to the rest rooms for moment, they know that
people are going to have coats, so why don’t they provide hooks on the
walls so you can hang it (the coat) up to wash your hands?
Other things I don’t like about flying:
Carry-on luggage.
Or, rather, the people who use carry-on luggage.
Some people seem to think, if they can carry it, no matter how
large it is, they can carry it on.
Then they stand in the aisle, blocking everyone else, while they
try to wrestle some huge thing into an over-filled overhead compartment.
These are the same people who spring to their feet
the moment the wheels touch the ground so they can be the first ones out
the door. Then they stand
there, blocking the aisle again, for ten to fifteen minutes, waiting for
the door to be opened.
What’s the rush? Got a plane
to catch? No, because these
are the same people you see hanging around the baggage carousel, waiting
like everyone else for more luggage.
Even more things I don’t like about flying:
People who fly with small children.
I know it’s necessary.
But maybe they should have their own section of the plane, like
smokers used to have.
Actually, the two-year-old who sat next to me for 2½ mortal hours was
pretty well behaved, all things considered.
But he kept twisting around and kicking me in the thigh.
Or playing patty cake with the armrest, which happened to be
right next to my arm.
And don’t even get me started on things I don’t
like about hotel rooms. I’m
just glad to be home, sleeping in my own bed again.
Until next time.
Love, as always,
Pete
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