Athens Taxi Ride - Serious Activities

Posted by seomypassion12 on January 28th, 2021

7:50 PM, PST... U.S.Air, Trip 2845 first leaves the runway from Seattle-Tacoma Airport with some problem, experiencing serious vibrations before the hotel transport next attempt, finally training off and removing Sea-Tac's evening drizzle. Rescheduled following a debateable landing at San Francisco International, our flight extended at 9:40 PM in still another airplane, planned to arrive at San Diego's Lindbergh Area at 11:42 PM, PST.

Further trouble. Dense reduced haze cover over Lindbergh, below minimal visibility. Nowhere else. Exactly that little pocket of important Southern California harbor actual estate. The night lights of San Diego twinkled brightly with disconcern, as our pilot tried 3 times, in vain, to set down as scheduled. Every time, only at the moment of striking the low mantle, hardly airborne, tip-toe on the tarmac... our craft swooped steeply into the starry evening sky, as the full moon yawned and shrugged. Not today, Pal. Maybe not here. Sorry. We're shut for the night.As I seen, and thought, that whole process from my double-window seat to starboard, behind the bulkhead, the midnight atmosphere dim because the airplane was focused due west, no more California-bound. Far out on the Pacific, we put aside the reflective delightful of San Diego.

By this time, the loquacious passengers had become unusually quiet. Cracks and mild issues ceased. Each one was quietly running his or her place, without the aid of description from any representative of the airline, other than the knowledge of our obvious bodily condition. "Loose lips drain boats!" flashed through my mind. Did that affect airliners also?We were large within the Pacific, soaring west. Lindbergh's luggage claim area was silent. These buddies and family members who had reached the airport around 11:30 were patiently questioning of a petulant fellow carrying a U.S. Air blazer, "Where are they? What's occurring?"

The guests of Trip 2845 were silent. No questions. Quietly, I rolled up the best peacock-blue ski hat, a Christmas present from Gabriel, cuddly and warm... and placed it in my own panel, against my chest. My light case and brilliant orange umbrella were hidden properly beneath the seat facing me.It had never rained adequately in Seattle or the San Juan Islands, to use that umbrella. But I had carried it hard every where, prepared for a predicted "climate entrance ".The only real person in Seattle holding a bright yellow umbrella.

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