Sporadic

This morning I woke up at 5 am. Not about anything…I was just up. I read for a little bit and then decided to try to go back to sleep for a little while. I remember looking at the clock and thinking “Okay, 5:30…sleep til 7:30….that’s two hours, I should be fine”

I fall asleep and have this really intricate detailed dream.

I’m trying to get through security at the airport and I’m having issues with my ticketing and then my flight is delayed. I end up getting through security but it takes me like 45 mins. I get to the gate and my flight is two hours delayed so I head over to a bar.

The bar as it turns out is the one from the Pittsburgh International Airport that I end up sitting in everytime I go back to PA. I think it’s like a Sam Adams Ale House or something. I order a beer and the game is on so I’m watching the Steelers. I think they were playing the Houston Oilers, so clearly the dream is lying to me. I end up talking to the guy next to me who explains that the “Texans” finally decided to go back to the powder blue Uniforms and scrap the whole Texans thing.

We watch about half the game and the Steelers are up by 6 points at the half. I walk over to the gate and find out that the flight has switched gates so I have to walk over to another terminal. I get there right before the 4th quarter. Steelers are still up but only by three.

I check my boarding time- which is still out about 30 mins, so I order a beer and watch the last quarter. The steelers win and I go over to the gate, my flight is boarding. I find my seat, I stow my luggage, I send a quick text to Nicole, who is apparently picking me up, I turn off my cell and wake up.

It’s 5:45.

Here’s what I’ve learned: If you want to stop time, think about the airport.

I can’t say I’m a big Primus fan, but everytime I have to spend time in the Dept. of Motor Vehicles I remember a lyric from Pork Soda. I can’t remember which song. It says:

“I’ve been to hell:  I spent it.

Spent it at the DMV

And anyone who’s been there knows precisely what I mean”

And Mr. Claypool is correct. I stood in line for 45 minutes so I could get a number to let me wait in line again. The numbers are designed to confuse you so you don’t know exactly how long you’ll wait- it’s like G 018 or F 046 and they might come back to back. Very confusing, but confusing by design.

So I get my number and take a seat in one of the many highly uncomfortable plastic chairs and embark on an adventure!

I sat down with my number towards the edge of the room, right next to window #12. At window # 12 was a guy named Frank Wolenski. How do I know this? Well Frank said his name about 46 times and the woman behind the counter repeated it 46 more. Frank’s name was actually Warren. Frank explained this to the dutiful state employee at length. However, Frank lacked anything but his good word that this was true. The employee required more than his word.

It went like this:

“I’m Warren Wolenski”

“I’m sorry sir but your documents say that you name is Frank”

“But my name is Warren.”

“Do you have any documentation to show that Mr. Wolenski?”

“No. I have my driver’s license.”

“Which says your name is Frank.”

“But my name is Warren”

“But your license says Frank”

“But it should say Warren.”

“But it doesn’t”

“How do I change that?”

“I’ll need documentation”

“I have my license”

“Third Base”

This went on for almost the whole hour I sat waiting for my number to be called. Here’s the worst part:

He gives up 2 mins before I get called to my window. They start processing his new license. I get to my window. They process my renewal. We finish within seconds of each other and then he walks around to the Photo window and gets in line right in front of me.  I get to hear the previous conversation repeated every time he speaks to a new person. It easily adds 30 minutes to everything I do from that point forward.

If it wasn’t so funny it would be sad and if it wasn’t so sad it would be funny.

The other night, new friend Nicole and I are out to dinner at The Front Porch. We have ordered the fried chicken, which is what you get at the front porch. They have other stuff, and it’s good, but the fried chicken is the thing that they excel at. We’ve also ordered a few of the new appetizers specifically the corn dog & deep fried pickle chips. So we’ve got a corn dog, deep fried pickles and fried chicken on the way and I start looking for the next thing we’re going to drink. I’m thinking about this chalky white wine that I had the last time I was there. We’re sitting at the bar, so I ask the bartender about chalky whites. He tells me that the wine list is changing and they don’t have all the stuff they normally do, but let’s try to figure this out.

10 minutes later, I have had a taste of 4 separate wines. The bartender is in on the act. He’s tasting with me. We’re chitter chatting the whole time.  I have said the words “fruity finish”, “lacks brightness” and “Deeper tannin flavor” more times than I feel comfortable letting you know. Yes, I’m probably trying to be a little smarter than I am to impress the lady, but most of it I really meant. Finally we settle on an unobtrusive pinot gris that does almost everything I want.

I say to Nicole “I think this should be a good pairing”

she says “You do realize that you just spent ten minutes working on a wine pairing with a corn dog and deep fried pickle chips right?”

Then we’re both in hysterics.

Oh San Francisco. I’m a snob and a man of the people at the exact same moment.