Dat Sky Was Friendly Today

(Somewhere up in the air) - A 767 filled with Saints fans the day after their beloved team won the Super Bowl is a happy place. The faithful were wearing their black and gold gear, sporting smiles as wide as Lake Pontchartrain and still carrying signs.All corners of the state were represented. In addition to my seatmates from Monroe, I spoke to folks from Lafayette, Lake Charles, Shreveport, Hammond, Houma, Ruston and Pickering. Certainly the City of New Orleans filled its share of seats. Saints cornerback Malcolm Jenkins was in first class, happily signing autographs. New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin was leading "Who Dat?" cheers in coach. It was a party in the sky!
Despite all this star power, God help me, for a few moments I became the center of attention.You see, I am still suffering the emotional scars of having my roll-aboard taken from me and lost by the airline on the trip to Miami. This time, I made sure to board as early as I was allowed and stashed my precious bag into one of the overhead bins. People came along after me and put their things in there,too. After everyone was seated, I noticed the flight attendant couldn't close the door to the compartment. My bag was the obstruction. She said, "We will need to check this. It won't fit." I said, "Hold on a minute. This is the bag I always travel with. Trust me. It fits." She said, "Give it a try. I'll give you a couple of minutes."
I started shoving the bag back into the bin, then a wheel would pop out or a handle would snag. After a couple of minutes of wriggling it around, I snapped the door shut and it latched! To my shock and amazement, the people around me on the plane broke into a round of applause. They're ready to celebrate anything, it seems.
I turned and saw smiling eyes staring at me. Literally everyone in my view was wearing some kind of Saints paraphernalia. So, as the clapping subsided, I just raised my arms and said, "Who Dat?" In unison, they shouted back, "Who Dat!"
Caught up in the moment, I responded "Who Dat say dat bag won't fit?"
I got my laugh and took my seat.
I had hoped to bury myself in my book for a quiet trip home, but it was not to be. I was surrounded by chatter about the game. People are living it over and over again, and who can blame them? It's like they have to ask themselves time and again if their lifelong dreams of a Super Bowl championship have really come true.
True Dat, Who Dat.

Sphere: Related Content

Not Exactly A Seamless Trip

(Ft. Lauderdale, FL) - I have met an angel disguised as an islandic overnight clerk at a hotel in south Florida. More on that in a moment.
The good news: I have arrived in suburban Miami for my Big Super Bowl Adventure. Getting here wasn't easy. Being here hasn't been a picnic so far.
I don't want to say my frustrations are all Delta Airlines' fault, but they're all Delta Airlines' fault. Knowing this was a weekender (although a remarkable one), I just brought a carry-on bag. (Or, as they call them these days, a "roll-aboard." For a year or so, I wondered why flight attendants were talking about "roller boards," but that's another story.) The plane I was on for the first leg of the trip was packed and the flight attendants determined their was no room for my roll-aboard, among many others. At least three people in Delta uniforms assured me that my bag had been checked all the way to Miami. When I got to Miami, my bag was not there. After standing in line for an hour at the baggage problem office, it was determined that my bag was in Atlanta.
What's in my bag? All of my clothes, my Garmin, my camera, my phone charger, my Kindle charger, you name it. It was my carry-on. It had everything in it.
So, in a strange city I can't navigate and I can't call anybody because my phone is dead. I'm also running several hours behind. (Not Delta's fault mostly, because of severe weather.) The fact that flights were delayed all over the southeast makes the lost bag even more inexcusable.
I found a phone charger at a gas station and found my way to the hotel, where I encountered the angelic, islandic all-night clerk. She heard my tale of woe: "All I have is the clothes on my back, and to be honest with you my feet stink. I can't wear these socks, or frankly this udnerwear, another day." I asked her if there is a Wal-Mart or a Target or something nearby so I can buy socks and underwear and maybe a pair of khakis. She said, islandicly "It is too far away. I will take care of this for you." She offered to launder my clothes for me. I kept my jeans, a tee shirt and my shoes. I turned over the objectionable items to her on faith.
At this writing, I don't have my clothes back yet. Hey, wait a minute! What if she's not an angel at all? What if she's a polo shirt thief?
Thank God I kept my pants.

Sphere: Related Content