I ponder yet another trip to Florida–always for work; I almost never go there by choice. Not that there’s anything wrong with the state (I’m a fan of Tim Dorsey’s Serge Storms), but I get my fill during these annual sojourns on business.
For a period of my life, I flew “non-rev” on the good graces of American Airlines, being a member of their friends and family. So on the one occasion when I came to Orlando on a vacation, I found myself at the tail end of a standby list that would fill a Disney ride. Thunderstorms cancelled an earlier full flight or two, leaving me at the back end of the line.
I had my trusty new El Chupacabra–courtesy of Disney’s new “Planes”–flying shotgun on my rollaboard as we flew the corridors of MCO in search of sustenance. He busca’ed me a plate of Mexican comida, and a companion Dos Equis. Any port in a storm…any guacamole somewhat fresh would make do.
Just as I finished up, I heard the call for the next flight coming to a close. We ran back to snag one of the last seats out, just in time to see the final parade of towering cumulonimbus march towards the ocean and the setting sun.