Never Board Any Planes

Emerging into the SF airport.  I suppose I’ve seen them before, but tonight  I sat and looked up at the picture of Donald Trump, which the Homeland Security team are obliged to hang predominantly as people enter the United States and considered his mendacious mien.  It cast a pall over the evening.

Outside I needed to get online.  The U.S. SIM card I’d used last time didn’t seem to work when I popped it in this evening.  Usually they direct you to an online payment system to top it up, but no such luck this time.  I tried entering my new card details into the Uber app I haven’t used since last summer.  They kept telling me there was an error.  I went upstairs, to find an ATM in the departure lounge.  Up there I spied two small cubicles they provided where you could charge your computer.  

A lot had happened in the time since I closed up my laptop on the flight till now.  Some good news in there.  Glad to see. But for some reason my bank wouldn’t let me do any online banking.  I had no idea what the issue was.  I tried again and again.  Over at the other cubicle a man with a cart was conducting a loud monologue to himself.  I tried not to pay attention to his commentary.  Someone who was leaving the country, about to leave the United States had asked him to move out of the way.  This did not sit well with this gentleman.  He repeated it over and over, incredulous that someone leaving the country would behave this way.  How strange to occupy an airport, and never board any planes. 

The ATM the machine gave me cash.  So there’s nothing wrong with my account, as I suspected.  I have no idea how far this hotel my client has arranged for me is from the BART station.  An old-fashioned cab, then?  I take the escalator back down to arrivals and head over to the island out in the car circle where the San Francisco Yellow Cabs are all lined up.  I only have to tell the guy once and he knows where to go.  

Tuesday, 02/26/19