Terminal 8

JFK's Terminal 8 is the terminal that time (and the renovators/decorators) forgot.

Seriously, there is money to be made by turning this idea into a TV show or something. I'll have to iron it out with the writing team, but I'm thinking a darker "Wings" with nuances of "It's a Living"/"Alice"/whatever other 70s/80s situational comedies we can throw in--without a laugh track.

The main characters HAVE to be the two obviously overworked, yet wonderfully sweet "counter attendants." I would definitely keep the rude and too-cool-to-talk-to-you stewardess who flashes nasty looks at waiting passengers when they come up to try to ask a question. "I am not a counter attendant!" That would definitely have to be her catch-phrase. The effeminate steward with the suitcase whose wheels light up different colors as it roles? Also a keeper. I could not make this up if I tried. As I never saw him, he must be a "first class" steward. Or all they all called flight attendants now? Whatever. The pilot? I don't know about him. He was a little too apologetic during the flight. HE APOLOGIZED FOR THE TURBULENCE. Not as in, "I'm sorry we had to fly through the turbulence," but, "I'm sorry for the turbulence." Ummm what? Maybe his ego is too big...that's it. So I guess we do need him.

How is it I got to know this terminal so well on Saturday?

Well, after arriving at 2 ish New York time, dealing with customs, and saying goodbye to Mary Jane at the very swank terminal 9...I still had about 2 hours to kill before my flight. As it only took getting lost 4 times before finding the correct terminal, I figured this would go fast.

As soon as I stepped through security, I changed my mind. It was like stepping from clean crisp newly painted outside of a house into the haunted mansion. Old, black gum all over the carpets, lights that need new bulbs, arcade games in the hallway with dark/broken screens, no water fountains or working bathrooms within 7 gates or so (I was gate 53, if you've been there, you know what I mean).

When the flight was announced, the counter attendant was yelling to be heard over the wimpy PA. It couldn't have gotten any worse.

And then it did.

After boarding First, Business, Children, and Groups 1 and 2, they had to empty the plane. Grounded, mechanical problems. We would get the next plane coming in, could we all move to gate 55? Thanks.

At 5:55 PM, my original boarding time, my brain already told me it was 11 PM (Italy time).
We didn't take off until after 8:30 PM...there were 6 hours to go to get to Seattle...my body hated me so very much for insisting it do all this horrible traveling when all it wanted was to be fast asleep. Did I mention the babies and turbulence? 4 babies.

We arrived at 10ish Seattle time...or 7 AM in Rome.

Yesterday was a blur. I remember drinking coffee with Andy...and watching multiple episodes of "Lost" while tending the washer and dryer...but man it was hard to deal. I'm told I ate breakfast...and I remember sharing the last of my Italian dark chocolate with Andy when I should have been hungry for dinner, but wasn't...and not much more.

And now it's Monday...instead of flaking it off or even starting a new assignment with the temp office...I get to jump into finding a new place to live. The landlord let us know he wants to sell (while I was in Italy), so I have a lease termination form to sign and a new place to live to find.

Nothing like jumping into real world problems to shake off the jet lag...