Alright...a week away. Its been seven days and I already feel lost...here goes.
The Philadelphia Monologue.
Well, believe me when I say that this trip was the most adventurous (and Chevy Chasian) of all vacations my socially maladjusted family has ever been on.
Cut to the airport, Connecticut.
"I'm sorry Mr. Cronen but your flight from D.C. to Charleston has been cancelled due to inclement weather...I can get you on a flight now to Philly that will connect right to Charleston and get you in an hour later...?"
Wonderful. The world, one hour. Cronen family, zero.
Cut to the airport, Philly.
"What do you want first, the bad news or the worse news?"
So it turns out, mid-ozone, that Charleston airport decided to close, with no re-opening in sight. All flights were cancelled, including our connecter out of Philly. How could things get worse? Oh thats right, the airline refused to cover the money for a hotel for the night so we stayed at a busted Airport Hilton (I have NO idea how those girls got their money...) Worse still you say? OK, why not. These things only happen to me anyhow...
"Oh, and I'm sorry, but we've lost one piece of luggage...belonging to a...Patrick."
So I'm lying on the sidewalk, having already fallen asleep twice, tired, hungry, and cranky as the shuttle to the Bates Suites takes its time clunking towards us. My sister and I have already been yelled at by our One-Strike-Rule father for stealing an abandoned wheelchair and attempting to use the ramp. We get to the hotel, everyone changes for dinner, and I am sitting in the (albeit rundown excuse for elegance) hotel restaurant in a wifebeater. (See left, minus the cool Newsies hat...)
We go back to the airport to check the fate of my bag and can't get in. No boarding passes? No destination? No airport clearance. We finally yell and flail our limbs enought to win the pity of a baggage clerk, who gives us waivers to get past security. This is now the 3rd time today I've taken off my belt and shoes...
The second we get in, we get two more fun facts: 1. My bag is OK but is waiting for me...at the closed down Charleston airport... 2. We have to evacuate. One of the security guards FELL ASLEEP and let 3 unidentified males and 15 bags pass through security unchecked. Philadelphia: City of Dreams.
So, back to the hotel to kill time. We eat again, they know me by dress code now, and I go back to the room to unpack my...nothing...and lie down. We rent a movie, and 1/3 of the way through my sister's room's phone gets a call.
"Yeah what's up pretty lady? I'm in 717 and I saw you in the hallway. Wanna get yo' fuck on?"
My sister's response was clear proof that we have sheltered her like bambi from the shotgun.
"Um...please stop calling me. My parents arent here and I'm only 17." Click.
The phone rings for the next 2 hours. Intermittantly, I pick up and attempt a lower bravado, to which the voice replies "Who the fuck is this? Put the lady on or I'll come over there and beat your ass with a fuckin lamp. I'm doin your girl tonight buddy, so you better lock your door." We unplug the phones, focus on the movie, and put a chair in front of the door. The world, 1 day of my life, 500 dollars, all my worldly possessions, and most of my smug masculinity. The Cronens, zip.
But our story does have a decent ending. Being the saint that he is, my lanky theatre pal Tom (also a Wagner boy) finally picks up his cellphone. As the last bastion of Philly Pride, he begs us to take a taxi into town, where he gives us a complimentary tour of the Historic district and a duckboat tour (he's the administrative duck...whatever the fuck that is...). Finally, as we needed to catch our new connecting flight and quest after my luggage at 3, we had time for a cheesesteak and slowly my problems melted away. It was only when I decided to take one for the road that the world had the last laugh.
Missing a connecting flight and being put up at an airport? 500 dollars and a Day's vacation.
Almost being killed by a Philly thug? Pat's dignity and 2 loud pointless movie rentals.
Buying a Philly cheesesteak to rectify the vacation of the damed and dropping it in the terminal before you board the plane? Fucking priceless.
The vacation itself, once it started, was a blast. 5 days of sun, and in the end the airline ate crow and put us up another day. But while I am tan, tropical, and far happier than I was a week ago, there will always be a part of me unwilling to return to Philedalphia.
The End.
The Philadelphia Monologue.
Well, believe me when I say that this trip was the most adventurous (and Chevy Chasian) of all vacations my socially maladjusted family has ever been on.
Cut to the airport, Connecticut.
"I'm sorry Mr. Cronen but your flight from D.C. to Charleston has been cancelled due to inclement weather...I can get you on a flight now to Philly that will connect right to Charleston and get you in an hour later...?"
Wonderful. The world, one hour. Cronen family, zero.
Cut to the airport, Philly.
"What do you want first, the bad news or the worse news?"
So it turns out, mid-ozone, that Charleston airport decided to close, with no re-opening in sight. All flights were cancelled, including our connecter out of Philly. How could things get worse? Oh thats right, the airline refused to cover the money for a hotel for the night so we stayed at a busted Airport Hilton (I have NO idea how those girls got their money...) Worse still you say? OK, why not. These things only happen to me anyhow...
"Oh, and I'm sorry, but we've lost one piece of luggage...belonging to a...Patrick."
So I'm lying on the sidewalk, having already fallen asleep twice, tired, hungry, and cranky as the shuttle to the Bates Suites takes its time clunking towards us. My sister and I have already been yelled at by our One-Strike-Rule father for stealing an abandoned wheelchair and attempting to use the ramp. We get to the hotel, everyone changes for dinner, and I am sitting in the (albeit rundown excuse for elegance) hotel restaurant in a wifebeater. (See left, minus the cool Newsies hat...)
We go back to the airport to check the fate of my bag and can't get in. No boarding passes? No destination? No airport clearance. We finally yell and flail our limbs enought to win the pity of a baggage clerk, who gives us waivers to get past security. This is now the 3rd time today I've taken off my belt and shoes...
The second we get in, we get two more fun facts: 1. My bag is OK but is waiting for me...at the closed down Charleston airport... 2. We have to evacuate. One of the security guards FELL ASLEEP and let 3 unidentified males and 15 bags pass through security unchecked. Philadelphia: City of Dreams.
So, back to the hotel to kill time. We eat again, they know me by dress code now, and I go back to the room to unpack my...nothing...and lie down. We rent a movie, and 1/3 of the way through my sister's room's phone gets a call.
"Yeah what's up pretty lady? I'm in 717 and I saw you in the hallway. Wanna get yo' fuck on?"
My sister's response was clear proof that we have sheltered her like bambi from the shotgun.
"Um...please stop calling me. My parents arent here and I'm only 17." Click.
The phone rings for the next 2 hours. Intermittantly, I pick up and attempt a lower bravado, to which the voice replies "Who the fuck is this? Put the lady on or I'll come over there and beat your ass with a fuckin lamp. I'm doin your girl tonight buddy, so you better lock your door." We unplug the phones, focus on the movie, and put a chair in front of the door. The world, 1 day of my life, 500 dollars, all my worldly possessions, and most of my smug masculinity. The Cronens, zip.
But our story does have a decent ending. Being the saint that he is, my lanky theatre pal Tom (also a Wagner boy) finally picks up his cellphone. As the last bastion of Philly Pride, he begs us to take a taxi into town, where he gives us a complimentary tour of the Historic district and a duckboat tour (he's the administrative duck...whatever the fuck that is...). Finally, as we needed to catch our new connecting flight and quest after my luggage at 3, we had time for a cheesesteak and slowly my problems melted away. It was only when I decided to take one for the road that the world had the last laugh.
Missing a connecting flight and being put up at an airport? 500 dollars and a Day's vacation.
Almost being killed by a Philly thug? Pat's dignity and 2 loud pointless movie rentals.
Buying a Philly cheesesteak to rectify the vacation of the damed and dropping it in the terminal before you board the plane? Fucking priceless.
The vacation itself, once it started, was a blast. 5 days of sun, and in the end the airline ate crow and put us up another day. But while I am tan, tropical, and far happier than I was a week ago, there will always be a part of me unwilling to return to Philedalphia.
The End.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
cureelise:
love your rocky horror pics. i got my first taste of it when i was 13 . got my first gig as magenta at a local theater in cali when i was 16 . they wanted someone that was 18 to do her , but i fit the part and my mom had to sign a paper saying she was ok with me doing it. LOL. i was hooked from there on.
veganvixen:
ok, i'm sorry, but i could not stop laughing when you talk about the phonecall to your sister's room, and then the sheltered like bambi from a shotgun. i didn't think it was possible to have so many shitty things happen in only a couple days. i hope you are not tramatised to go on future vacations.