DanMargarita.com

Fri., Mar. 15---My first post Sept. 11 plane trip leaves me with some trepidation as to what I can expect for security at the airport. I arrive at Logan the prerequisite two hours ahead of flight time and find two U.S. Army MP's checking ID's at the x-ray machine. I don't know that because someone is wearing camouflage and a pistol that it makes him any more capable of discerning a terrorist from a non-terrorist than a civilian could. I guess if it makes people feel more secure, than all the better. It's a connecting flight to Tampa by way of Detroit. As we are about to land, the guy sitting next to me holds out his hands in front of him, and then begins moving his right hand from right to left, as if playing an imaginary "triangle."

After landing we sit on the tarmac a while when the pilot announces there's a delay and it will be a while before we can get to the gate. Triangle guy makes a smart remark Detroit's airport. Upon de-planing (is that a word?) I find that my connecting flight to Tampa has been pushed back an hour, leaving me with a four hour layover in Detroit. I consider going into the city to kill some time, but then I remember that the city is Detroit.

My flight gets pushed back five, then ten, then fifteen minutes. I finally board the plane at about 10:40 pm, but we sit for twenty minutes because they've overbooked the flight and they have to find volunteers willing to be "bumped."

We take off at 11:05, land in Tampa at 1:20, and get off the plane at 1:30. After getting my bag I pick up my rental car at 2:00 am. I get to the Howard Johnson's Motel at 2:30. As I pull up, a boisterous group of male patrons are leaving the club across the street. I can?t see the name of the club. All I can see are the words "Live Nude Show."

Sat., Mar 16---Jim is supposed to arrive at the motel via shuttle, but never shows. I call his cell phone number and find that his 6:20 am arrival has been changed to 7:00 pm, as he has been bumped. On my own, I head to Bradenton, spring home of the Pittsburgh Pirates, to see them take on the Cincinnati Reds. Waiting in the ticket line, a woman approaches me and asks me if I just need one ticket. I say "yes" and she tells me that she has one behind the Reds dugout. I get out of line and start to follow her when she sees her husband selling the ticket to someone else. I sheepishly jump back in line and mutter something about being back in "the right spot."

I don't make eye contact with the couple that I've cut in front of, and though they say nothing, I can tell out of the corner of my eye that they're not too happy about it. The only single seat available is a lower box seat down the right field line, and I get my first sunburn of the year. The Pirates win 3-2 in the ninth and I drive back to Tampa and find a nice Italian restaurant just a few hundred yards down the street from the "Live Nude Show" club.

Security at the Tampa airport is tight. Upon entering the parking garage, a security officer asks me to pop the trunk for inspection. I hadn't opened the trunk yet, and for all I know, someone at the rental car agency could've left a dead body and ten kilos of heroine in the trunk.

I get to the airport to meet Jim's 7:00 pm flight and find that it's been delayed until 10:20 pm. I decide to do what any young (well, not old), single (lonely), handsome (OK, cute) man would do...take a nap.