The adventure started off a little shaky; I woke up dazed and confused to my phone vibrating around 3:05am. After breaking out into a cold sweat, realizing I had missed the shuttle, I called and scheduled another to come pick me up an hour later. So far, so good. I’m refusing to drink coffee at this point because I’m petrified to go number two on an airplane, and I’m only human so obviously espresso does these things to me. My flight to Dallas is FULL; like, so full the travel agents are requesting people volunteer to be strapped to the side of the aircraft to save room. Just kidding. I’m hungry, so maybe I’ll convince my stingy self to buy a $5 package of oatmeal at DFW. Stay tuned.
So it ended up being a Tex-Mex inspired chicken sandwich, and it was $20; when in Texas right? The flight was relatively painless. I had a window seat, because I’m not a peasant, and my seatmates were a teacher and a very talkative high-school senior. He talked my ear clean off. But he was funny, and was fascinated to learn the ways of large schools, considering he’s from a tiny town in Iowa that I haven’t heard of…which isn’t that shocking I guess. He asked what our lunch choices were during my high school days, and when I told him there were normally 4-5 different things on the menu, no joke I thought the kid might tear up. He used the word ‘tritator’ to describe a triangle shaped hashbrown that’s normally offered at their lunches everyday, and I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a while. I contemplated getting a drink on the plane, but decided against it after both the guys got ginger ales and waters; I didn’t want to look scandalously like an alcoholic–or have to pee every 5 minutes. Okay, so the Texas cowboy stigma is no joke. I had barely made it off the plane before I started seeing leathery Toby Keith’s in every direction. And their accents! It’s so difficult to keep a straight face.
I am so damn tired. My plane to Costa Rica doesn’t leave for a couple hours, and I plan on closing my eyes for a minute, even though sleeping in an airport is equivalent to trying to sleep with clothespins holding your eyelids open during a Nickelback concert–impossible and utterly horrifying. I’m equally as excited and nervous to land in San Jose… mostly because I’m not 100% sure that there will be someone there to get me at the gate. Apparently I should be expecting a guy, waiting next to the payphones at baggage claim with a sign for me, but honestly, with my luck I’ll be walking to the sanctuary. Fingers crossed I have good luck this trip, and if not, I guess it’s all a part of the grand adventure. Okay, time to rest.