So it finally stops being cold in Ann Arbor and Spring is here. If Autumn is Fall shouldn’t Spring be Rise? So it finally stops being cold in Ann Arbor and Rise is here and suddenly everything goes from cold and miserable to nicely warm and the place is full of café’s overflowing on to pavements and pretty flowers. No slow drift towards Rise for this place. One day it’s grotty and grey, the next it’s sunshiny and sublime. That’s Rise in Ann Arbor.
And what happens when it finally gets nice? I have to leave that’s what. My three months visa is up for the second time and it’s time for that emotionally charged trip to the airport again. Possibly not as emotional as it was for the people in the six or seven cars involved in the huge pile up that held me up on the interstate though. I’m guessing their day was worse. The guy driving this truck gets my prize for literalism in naming a company. Well done him for learning two words.
Got to the airport late to be informed that I couldn’t get my nice window seat I like. Damn, should have done that online check in thingummy. Also got told that my plane was full of car reps who’d been to the annual motor show in Detroit. A Plane full of car reps. That should be a joyous eight hours.
People are monkeys, attracted to each other by pheromones and looks. I attract pairs of human female monkeys in air terminals who like to talk absolute crap incessantly at the top of their voices twelve inches from my ears.
Monkey 1 – There was a crash on the road I was taking so I phoned the airport to tell them I was going to be late.
Monkey 2 – That’s good.
That version of the conversation I could have handled. The version which involved saying that over and over again in slightly different ways for 30 minutes was just a little too much for me. She wasn’t late. Ahhh Iphoto with total sound blocking properties…. mmmmm….. God I get crabby when I’m waiting for a plane.
Being a British Airways flight, there were people with far worse teeth than I’m used to seeing waiting with me for it. I’m in danger of becoming a tooth fascist like a proper American. I have also noticed that I no longer feel the need to mock American fast food advertising. Before I would shout at the TV something along the lines of “No wonder you’re all so bloody fat!” Now I laugh with it and my body wobbles along. Must get my teeth polished when I’m at home.
Then I’m on a plane full of car salesmen. The last bastion of the moustache, short sleeved shirts with breast pockets containing pens, all still wearing their name tags from the show. Except for the woman allocated the seat next to me who mutters and sighs when she has to move all her luggage off of my seat so I can sit on it and then proceeds to do the same thing every time I change channels on my tiny TV in the seat in front of me. Or move an inch. Or breathe. For the next eight hours. Oh, fate is kind.
“See them jeans back there all queer wiv ver flairs and the rips? Look at me. White T-shirt and Levi’s an’ I’m still standin’.” Ah must be back in Epsom…
