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Aug. 6th, 2006 09:21 amI had a nightmare last night.
One part of it involved trying to convince a gate agent that I should be allowed to get on a plane because, y'see, I had a freakin' TICKET to the plane and it's RIGHT HERE AND I'M SHOWING IT TO YOU.
I have nightmares about trying to deal with bureaucracy at airports.
Does this mean I'm a grownup?
(There were other parts of the nightmare, too . . . I dreamed that my cousin Ben, who we rarely see, died unexpectedly, leaving his wife and child, and his wife was pregnant again, and we went to the funeral. I think that's why I was going on the airplane in the first place. And that was AWFUL. The fact that I wasn't wearing pants was just, y'know, frosting on top. Oh, also, the gate agent at the airport knew perfectly well who I was -- and even knew my sister. Apparently, Leila had flown out of that airport on that airline so often that she and the gate agent were actually friends. In any case, the way that the airline thing was resolved was that, even though I didn't have the RIGHT kind of photo ID -- apparently, a driver's license was suddenly not good enough -- one of the other gate agents went to an internet terminal and downloaded some photos of me in elementary school that happened to be online. And those, apparently, WERE good enough. At that point, I felt really bad about having yelled at them, because they really went above and beyond the call of duty in helping me out, so I apologized abjectly for losing my temper. Also, at the place where the funeral was being held, there were a couple other events going on at the same time -- a wedding, and a couple of birthday parties. I remember the look of shock on the bride's face as her white limo pulled in, passing a hearse and a long line of cars forming a funeral procession.)
One part of it involved trying to convince a gate agent that I should be allowed to get on a plane because, y'see, I had a freakin' TICKET to the plane and it's RIGHT HERE AND I'M SHOWING IT TO YOU.
I have nightmares about trying to deal with bureaucracy at airports.
Does this mean I'm a grownup?
(There were other parts of the nightmare, too . . . I dreamed that my cousin Ben, who we rarely see, died unexpectedly, leaving his wife and child, and his wife was pregnant again, and we went to the funeral. I think that's why I was going on the airplane in the first place. And that was AWFUL. The fact that I wasn't wearing pants was just, y'know, frosting on top. Oh, also, the gate agent at the airport knew perfectly well who I was -- and even knew my sister. Apparently, Leila had flown out of that airport on that airline so often that she and the gate agent were actually friends. In any case, the way that the airline thing was resolved was that, even though I didn't have the RIGHT kind of photo ID -- apparently, a driver's license was suddenly not good enough -- one of the other gate agents went to an internet terminal and downloaded some photos of me in elementary school that happened to be online. And those, apparently, WERE good enough. At that point, I felt really bad about having yelled at them, because they really went above and beyond the call of duty in helping me out, so I apologized abjectly for losing my temper. Also, at the place where the funeral was being held, there were a couple other events going on at the same time -- a wedding, and a couple of birthday parties. I remember the look of shock on the bride's face as her white limo pulled in, passing a hearse and a long line of cars forming a funeral procession.)