I don’t travel much, unless you count taking the train into Chicago to see a show. So going down to Florida was a big deal for me. I learned some things:
Pens set off the alarm at airport security, resulting in them unpacking your bag to make sure you’re not transporting weapons of mass destruction. Plus, the rivets on the pockets of my jeans also set off red flags. So I got my junk patted. Coming and going.
The hotel was still under repairs from hurricane damage. This meant the restroom near the convention rooms wasn’t working. Long walks to go pee.
And I had a marvelous lunch, set up by Sue from GraveTells, at Doc Bale’s Grill at the hotel. Oddly, though, the restaurant gives you NO choice as to what to eat. They had fish and vegetables. If you didn’t want fish and vegetables, tough nuggies. And I’m not talking varieties of fish. You ate the one dish, or you ate nothing. I thought that was bizarre. I’m not a fish guy, but this dish was tasty. When I told my buddy Matt about this on the phone, he stated that he’d have looked at the waitress and said, “I’ll have the steak.”
Woke up Friday morning with seagulls buzzing around my window. I pondered why, and the phone rang. It was security, asking me to stop feeding the birds. I told them it wasn’t me. Not sure the guy believed me. But for a few minutes I felt like Tippi Hedron.