Oh how I wish the “Beam me up Scotty” technology of Star Trek was a reality. I really do love going on vacation, but the “getting there” and “getting home” stuff can be quite annoying. Our trip into San Francisco today was no exception.
The first leg of our trip, in the wee hours of the morning, was on the smallest plane ever. I think it must double as the touring plane for the Keebler Elves. I’m pretty short, yet I have a few lumps from bumping my head; and my size 0 daughter was complaining about claustrophobia. My hubby, who is 6’4″ was none-too-happy either…and the air conditioning didn’t work. To top it off, someone near our seats had the worst case of flatulence — so bad that I actually almost lost my coffee at one point. Oh dear heavens. Thank goodness it was a short flight.
The connecting flight was actually much better, comfort-wise, but it was five and a half hours long. Yoinks! That’s a long time to be on a plane! But we arrived safe and sound at San Fran Int’l Airport and so did our baggage. (thank the gods for that small favor!). The rental car ritual was uneventful and we were soon on our way…or were we? Did I mention my husband has the worst case of road rage ever? Not the shoot-em up kind, just the cursing, complaining, grunting, groaning, stressed-out, drive me to insanity kind – but only when we’re in new territory. As a Capricorn, he does not do well with “new.” He went around and around the airport about seven times, unable to figure out how to get on the highway, like in a scene from Groundhog day. I finally convinced him to pull over and let me drive to the hotel.
With me at the wheel, we arrived at our hotel in a jiffy. Ahhhh…no worries. Now the relaxing part! We were staying at a beautiful, historic (read: old) hotel with lovely ambiance and comfy rooms. We checked in and piled into the elevator and pushed the button to our floor. It began to move, up, up, up, up, … and then it stopped. We waited for the doors to open, but they didn’t. “Push the ‘open door’ button” we all said in unison. Nothing. Looking at each other, fearing the worst, we stood there in silence. We were all thinking the same thing. The unthinkable. We were stuck, shoved like sardines, luggage in tow, in an *old* elevator, between floors. Did I mention I have claustrophobia? “Push the ‘open door’ button again” we all said again in unison. Nothing…except the rising temperature in the elevator. Trying not to soil my claustrophobic shorts, I said to my daughter who was nearest the buttons… (Ok, more like screamed) “Push the alarm!!!” —- brrrrrrrrreeeeeaaat, went the alarm. “Push it again!!! and hold it in!!” brrrrrrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaatttttttttttt.” Nothing. “brrrrrrrrreeeeeaaat”…”brrrrrrrrreeeeeaaat”…”brrrrrrrrreeeeeaaat”…”brrrrrrrrreeeeeaaat” Nothing.
Ok, so we didn’t die in the elevator because I’m writing this post. Several minutes later the elevator began to move – back down to the lobby. The bellhop was waiting when the door opened chuckling, and asked us if we were having problems. Uhhh, yeah. See that puddle on the floor?
We unloaded and took the stairs.
It’s now 7pm and we’re heading for dinner at the number one vegan restaurant in the country. What excitement awaits? I can hardly guess.
Tomorrow – Yosemite! I will hopefully have pics to post.
Got any vacation horror stories?
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The Confluence 