Stupid Minneapolis (though it's partially my fault)

Minneapolis, MN (Temp. Hi/Low 1°/-12°)

“Uhhh folks, we’re just having a little difficulty with the jetway out there. It appears to be frozen solid, but if you just hang on a couple of more minutes, we’ll get you on your way. And again, we thank you so much for your patience.” I hate it when people thank me for things I haven’t given them yet. After working in hospitality for more than a decade, I understand the ploy and have used it myself plenty of times, but when I don’t have any patience left to give, it’s a little annoying. We had already sat on the plane for more than 45 minutes back at JFK then had waited for maybe 20 minutes at a different gate for another plane to move, so now I’m ready to get off the damn plane. Finally they finish defrosting the jetway or whatever, the door opens and the line starts to move. When I step off the plane and into the long tunnel leading up to the terminal, there’s a cold blast. It doesn’t even feel cold. It just feels like my bones are going to snap in half for a second. Up in the terminal, my presenter and I make the long walk down to the baggage claim. It’s already almost 8:30pm. We’re both tired and we just want to get to our hotel. She suggests that she wait for the bags while I go and pick up the rental car, so I head down to the tram.

I love the tram in the Minneapolis airport not for the comfortable seats or the sanitary looking poles, but for the woman’s voice that comes over the speaker. As I step onto her tram, her sultry tones remind me to hold on to the rail while it’s underway. She has a throaty European accent that isn’t quite British. She’s probably from somewhere like Brussels or Reykjavik, though I bet her family had a summer cottage in Cornwall where she learned English and the art of seduction from an ex-MI-6 agent named Portia. Her voice makes me want to sample fine cheese and luxurious chocolate-covered fruits – naked. Her voice is champagne. The tram comes to a stop, jolting me out of my reverie. As I exit, her voice tells me to enjoy my stay in Minneapolis. “Oh, I will sexy-voiced lady,” I think to myself. “I will.”

Except I don’t. As an executive member of the Emerald Club, the National Rental Car umm… club, I pass-by the counter and go out through the doors into the garage. The air is an aluminum baseball bat. It’s the kind of cold that turns your cheeks into leather and your nose hairs into tiny daggers. I fight through the frozen air and find the nicest-looking car in the Executive section, throw my carry-on into the back seat and hop in. Before taking off I look in my wallet for my Emerald Club card and my license, except my license isn’t there. I frantically search my pockets. “Oh there it is,” I think, feeling it in my pocket. But when I pull out the card, it has a Holiday Inn logo on it. Shit! I look everywhere, but it’s gone. It’s probably still in the seat I was sitting in back at JFK. No license, no rental car. I picture my poor presenter sitting outside the terminal waiting for me in the freezing cold with all our bags. I fight back through the cold air, cancel my reservation and run back to the tram.

This time I don’t find her voice nearly as sexy. Her accent sounds put on. She probably grew up in Minnetonka or somewhere in the slums of St. Paul (oh they’re there!). I bet she learned the accent from some vagabond Aunt who used to dance for pennies and cigarettes in a travelling vaudeville show. When not working fancy gigs like doing Airport Tram announcements, I’ll guarantee you she moonlights doing voice-overs for smutty late night commercials for 1-900 numbers to feed her diet of Snickers bars and meth. When I leave the tram, she has the nerve to tell me to enjoy my flight and come back soon to Minneapolis/St. Paul. “Not if I can help it,” I think to myself.

I find Leslie, my presenter, huddling outside with the bags, bravely waiting for my arrival. Luckily, she’s a super-laid back lady from Seattle and so she’s understanding and even sympathetic as we go find a cab to take us to our hotel.

(Yeah I know, not much of an ending. But what do you want to know? The cab overcharged us, we got to the hotel and checked in. Then I had dinner and went to bed.)

What I learned today - Always put your license back in your wallet after showing it to security!

Actual product sold in Skymall magazine - Orignal Backnobber II - I don't even care what this product is and how it works, but there are so many things wrong with the name I don't even have time go over it all. Okay just one - How can you call something the orginal, but then label it II? That like calling somebody John Davis II Sr. And I'm not even getting into the whole 'Backnobber' business!