Part two
Cassie, Cassie's off-again boyfriend Shawn, Cassie's quiet and introverted and I-think-he-liked-me friend Nate, and me. To our nation's capital for an extended weekend.
We arrived in Baltimore in true fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants fashion: with no plans for much of anything, including a place to stay. Strike that -- we did have a plan and that was that for the first night, we would sleep in the airport terminal. Oh yes, the airport. And the plan for after that was to descend upon some merciful members of our church, somewhere, somehow, in the greater DC area who wanted to house some BYU students with absolutely no advanced warning. I can't imagine who wouldn't jump at that chance! Cassie had on her the phone number of a Relief Society president who someone had told her might be able to hook us up with someone to take us in. We were students, remember, and poor, and I'm quite sure the thought of getting a hotel room never occurred to us. I had spent more money than I had to buy a plane ticket. Po-o-o-or. Quite so.
On the airplane I had had the foresight to ask the flight attendant if I could keep my blanket and pillow. "Sure," she said, "keep them. They were sewn by homeless people. Isn't that cool?" "Yes, that is cool, and very apropos, for for the next 4 nights, I will be homeless myself."
We explored the terminal for the most comfortable sleeping spot possible, and came up very short. There was not a flat bench to be found. The best we could find was a row of seats at an uncrowded gate with a few of the lights turned off, so we set up camp. I lay down across the bumpy low armrests on the hard plastic chairs and settled in for 5 hours of "Welcome to Baltimore International Airport. Please do not leave your baggage unattended." Every. two. minutes. That night heretofore has served as my primary motivation for honoring my mother and my father and not bearing false witness and the like, because, I tell you, if hell is anything like the Baltimore airport, I don't wanna go.
More to come. (Thanks for acting like you care what is going to happen.)
We arrived in Baltimore in true fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants fashion: with no plans for much of anything, including a place to stay. Strike that -- we did have a plan and that was that for the first night, we would sleep in the airport terminal. Oh yes, the airport. And the plan for after that was to descend upon some merciful members of our church, somewhere, somehow, in the greater DC area who wanted to house some BYU students with absolutely no advanced warning. I can't imagine who wouldn't jump at that chance! Cassie had on her the phone number of a Relief Society president who someone had told her might be able to hook us up with someone to take us in. We were students, remember, and poor, and I'm quite sure the thought of getting a hotel room never occurred to us. I had spent more money than I had to buy a plane ticket. Po-o-o-or. Quite so.
On the airplane I had had the foresight to ask the flight attendant if I could keep my blanket and pillow. "Sure," she said, "keep them. They were sewn by homeless people. Isn't that cool?" "Yes, that is cool, and very apropos, for for the next 4 nights, I will be homeless myself."
We explored the terminal for the most comfortable sleeping spot possible, and came up very short. There was not a flat bench to be found. The best we could find was a row of seats at an uncrowded gate with a few of the lights turned off, so we set up camp. I lay down across the bumpy low armrests on the hard plastic chairs and settled in for 5 hours of "Welcome to Baltimore International Airport. Please do not leave your baggage unattended." Every. two. minutes. That night heretofore has served as my primary motivation for honoring my mother and my father and not bearing false witness and the like, because, I tell you, if hell is anything like the Baltimore airport, I don't wanna go.
More to come. (Thanks for acting like you care what is going to happen.)
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