I know, WTM has been MIA for quite awhile. What with moving, family stuff, etc., what little time not devoted to taking care of other things has been spent trying to sleep so that other things can be taken care of.
But, I have a goody for you now.
So, recently I went to Denver, CO, for a conference. El Hubbo and two colleagues went with me. We left on a Sunday afternoon, excited for what adventure lie ahead. We had to fly United, which you can read a previous post to gather my feelings on that particular airline. I think there must be a picture of me at every United Customer Service desk, as I arrived to check in to find they had given my perfect seat away, and I was reassigned......but that was minor compared to what would take place later in the trip.
One of my colleagues informed me before boarding the flight that there was a conspiracy associated with the Denver International Airport. Curiosity got the best of me, and sure enough I googled it. And, sure enough, there is a conspiracy! (Hey, if it is on the internet, it must be true, right?) Apparently it is a secret neo-nazi compound! Well, given El Hubbo is far from blonde-haired and blue-eyed, I told him he'd better be nice to me and stick close as we exited.
We were not, in fact, greeted by the Gestapo upon our arrival. We rather uneventfully gathered our luggage and made our way to the rental car.
We checked in downtown and went to our opening session. The speaker was Fonzie, I mean Henry Winkler, and it was a fabulous presentation. We went to eat with some colleagues from other schools at a very nice restaurant.
And then things got interesting.
Our waitress was overwhelmed by our rather large party....and failed to ask if we wanted dessert. Well, of course we wanted dessert. El Hubbo had been discussing with my co-worker that Denver had a famous donut shop - VooDoo Donuts. They discovered that it wasn't located too far from where we were staying, so a decision was made, at 10:00 p.m. Mountain Time (that would be 11:00 p.m. Central - which is what our bodies were used to) that we would go find the donut shop.
The shop was located in the middle of the block. Allow me a moment to describe to you the surroundings:
We are on a busy street. If you were across the street looking at the string of shops, you would start to the far right with a "Dispensary" for marijuana, VooDoo Donuts in the middle, and Happy Teeth Dentistry to the far left. They had all the bases covered.
The line was barely out the door for the donuts, so we decided that we did indeed need to test these donuts out. No parking was available on the street, so we drive around the block and saw a parking lot. We park. We look around for any sign we should not park there and discover none. Woo HOO!!! DONUT TIME!
We go stand in line with the college students and dope-heads to get our donuts. We make our way through, give our order, receive our pink VooDoo boxes and skip merrily out of the store. We were giddily discussing what order we would sample our baked delights when we rounded the corner to our parking lot to discover the rental car missing.
Oh yeah. At 11:00 p.m. mountain time on a Sunday, we are stranded in downtown Denver. We frantically searched and located a sign up about 15 feet, in the shadows, with no light on it on the Happy Teeth building, that indicated we should call a particular number if we had been towed.
Nice.
So, we called, and a somewhat space-y gentleman informed me they "probably" had our car. He wanted me to describe it, which was interesting, as it was a rental, so I really had very little idea. Tag number? Nope, no idea. Great. He tells me what it will cost if I go get it "right then". I'm pretty sure I went white as a sheet, as El Hubbo looked very concerned. My babies won't be getting new shoes anytime soon.
I told El Hubbo he'd better enjoy those donuts. I gave him the cab number the tow agency had given me, and he called. We were informed we should stand out in front of the shop and someone would call as they got close. So, we did. Rather forlornly with our big pink donut boxes. Did I mention it was nighttime in the mountains? Little bit chilly.
Cabs passed us. More cabs passed. No one called. Finally, a cab pulls up and we think, "THIS MUST BE IT!"...But, it was just dropping off some more donut fans. I tell El Hubbo, let's take this cab, and he says, "But this isn't ours?", and I say, "BIRD IN HAND, MAN!" (And good thing, as he never got a call! Our bodies may have frozen stiff and become permanent statuary for the City of Denver!)
So, I must now impart some cab advice: Never get in a cab at night, in the downtown area of a major metropolitan area, wherein the interior light of the cab is not operational.
In our frenzy to get out of the cold and find our rental car, we failed to follow that advice. We piled in, shut the door and told the cabby the address. He replies, "uh, yeah, I think I know where tha........" (the rest was unintelligible.) I immediately mentally assigned him the nickname, Hippy Dippy. I'm convinced we got into the cab of a Charles Manson occult follower who had imbibed too much LSD as a youth. Perhaps he resided beneath the Denver International Airport with his fellow neo-nazi's. He drove erratically, periodically conducting illegal u-turns, randomly turning the radio up and down in the middle of songs, talking to himself, making strange R2-D2 noises, opening and closing the back windows on the minivan. I am at this point convinced the reason the interior light was not on was to hide the bloodstains from previous victims. It didn't help that he was driving us to the warehouse district, which would be an obvious place to dispose of our bodies. I began making an exit strategy.....I could knock down my co-worker, and with El Hubbo's bad hip, I knew I could out-run him. (Hey, in such a situation, it was all men/women for themselves!)
Surprisingly, Hippy Dippy got us to the tow yard. I went up a series of concrete steps to be greeted by a young man with far too many piercings and tattoos. I was equal parts fascinated and disgusted and pretty sure every thought registered right across my face. Oh well. I should have been in bed a very long time ago.
The car was rescued. We went to the hotel. We ate donuts.
Fast forward to going through security at DIA on our way home. I'm pretty good, I know the routine: laptop out, jewelry off and in purse, liquids in bag, shoes off, etc. I forgot one thing: I left my cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans.
This, of course, set off the scanner. So, they take my cell phone and run it through a different security line. Then they swab my hands - which was a new experience for me. Imagine my surprise when the little machine said I tested positive for explosives.
If you are someone who like a lot of attention, you might not have minded being immediately surrounded by several TSA agents. I am not such a person. They grabbed all my stuff and tried (and failed) to not make a scene as they whisked me barefooted and bewildered away from the main security line. They started going through and over all of my things. I stood patiently and dumbfounded as they did so. They clear my stuff, and I expect I will be allowed to go now. Not so.
A very nice female TSA agent appears out of nowhere and starts telling me she'll be conducting my personal search. My wha???? She went into rather graphic detail of what would be happening and I was still processing that it was going to happen and wondering where El Hubbo was, and wha??????
Two female agents escorted me into a room. I considered bolting for the exit at this point, but wisely did not. I may have gotten tased. We all spent special time together as they made sure I was not a danger to myself or others. They were professional, but regardless it was awkward. At the end, they ripped off their gloves and said, "Well, we'll go test these and hopefully they will come out clean." Still shocked and bewildered, I stammer, "And if they don't?!?" They did not answer.....and I was afraid.
But, they came back and said, "You're good to go!" I quickly put my shoes back on and left the room. El Hubbo was waiting with a big grin on his face. "Well? How was it?" He asked. Like I had just had a nice relaxing massage! Or ridden a carnival ride! Or anything but be checked for explosive by a couple people I had never met!
I am convinced it was a part of the conspiracy. Nevertheless, I'm pretty sure it will be awhile before I return to Denver.
But, may I just say that maple bars with a strip of bacon on top are amazing, and the Mexican Hot Chocolate cake donut still causes me to salivate.
But, I have a goody for you now.
So, recently I went to Denver, CO, for a conference. El Hubbo and two colleagues went with me. We left on a Sunday afternoon, excited for what adventure lie ahead. We had to fly United, which you can read a previous post to gather my feelings on that particular airline. I think there must be a picture of me at every United Customer Service desk, as I arrived to check in to find they had given my perfect seat away, and I was reassigned......but that was minor compared to what would take place later in the trip.
One of my colleagues informed me before boarding the flight that there was a conspiracy associated with the Denver International Airport. Curiosity got the best of me, and sure enough I googled it. And, sure enough, there is a conspiracy! (Hey, if it is on the internet, it must be true, right?) Apparently it is a secret neo-nazi compound! Well, given El Hubbo is far from blonde-haired and blue-eyed, I told him he'd better be nice to me and stick close as we exited.
We were not, in fact, greeted by the Gestapo upon our arrival. We rather uneventfully gathered our luggage and made our way to the rental car.
We checked in downtown and went to our opening session. The speaker was Fonzie, I mean Henry Winkler, and it was a fabulous presentation. We went to eat with some colleagues from other schools at a very nice restaurant.
And then things got interesting.
Our waitress was overwhelmed by our rather large party....and failed to ask if we wanted dessert. Well, of course we wanted dessert. El Hubbo had been discussing with my co-worker that Denver had a famous donut shop - VooDoo Donuts. They discovered that it wasn't located too far from where we were staying, so a decision was made, at 10:00 p.m. Mountain Time (that would be 11:00 p.m. Central - which is what our bodies were used to) that we would go find the donut shop.
The shop was located in the middle of the block. Allow me a moment to describe to you the surroundings:
We are on a busy street. If you were across the street looking at the string of shops, you would start to the far right with a "Dispensary" for marijuana, VooDoo Donuts in the middle, and Happy Teeth Dentistry to the far left. They had all the bases covered.
The line was barely out the door for the donuts, so we decided that we did indeed need to test these donuts out. No parking was available on the street, so we drive around the block and saw a parking lot. We park. We look around for any sign we should not park there and discover none. Woo HOO!!! DONUT TIME!
We go stand in line with the college students and dope-heads to get our donuts. We make our way through, give our order, receive our pink VooDoo boxes and skip merrily out of the store. We were giddily discussing what order we would sample our baked delights when we rounded the corner to our parking lot to discover the rental car missing.
Oh yeah. At 11:00 p.m. mountain time on a Sunday, we are stranded in downtown Denver. We frantically searched and located a sign up about 15 feet, in the shadows, with no light on it on the Happy Teeth building, that indicated we should call a particular number if we had been towed.
Nice.
So, we called, and a somewhat space-y gentleman informed me they "probably" had our car. He wanted me to describe it, which was interesting, as it was a rental, so I really had very little idea. Tag number? Nope, no idea. Great. He tells me what it will cost if I go get it "right then". I'm pretty sure I went white as a sheet, as El Hubbo looked very concerned. My babies won't be getting new shoes anytime soon.
I told El Hubbo he'd better enjoy those donuts. I gave him the cab number the tow agency had given me, and he called. We were informed we should stand out in front of the shop and someone would call as they got close. So, we did. Rather forlornly with our big pink donut boxes. Did I mention it was nighttime in the mountains? Little bit chilly.
Cabs passed us. More cabs passed. No one called. Finally, a cab pulls up and we think, "THIS MUST BE IT!"...But, it was just dropping off some more donut fans. I tell El Hubbo, let's take this cab, and he says, "But this isn't ours?", and I say, "BIRD IN HAND, MAN!" (And good thing, as he never got a call! Our bodies may have frozen stiff and become permanent statuary for the City of Denver!)
So, I must now impart some cab advice: Never get in a cab at night, in the downtown area of a major metropolitan area, wherein the interior light of the cab is not operational.
In our frenzy to get out of the cold and find our rental car, we failed to follow that advice. We piled in, shut the door and told the cabby the address. He replies, "uh, yeah, I think I know where tha........" (the rest was unintelligible.) I immediately mentally assigned him the nickname, Hippy Dippy. I'm convinced we got into the cab of a Charles Manson occult follower who had imbibed too much LSD as a youth. Perhaps he resided beneath the Denver International Airport with his fellow neo-nazi's. He drove erratically, periodically conducting illegal u-turns, randomly turning the radio up and down in the middle of songs, talking to himself, making strange R2-D2 noises, opening and closing the back windows on the minivan. I am at this point convinced the reason the interior light was not on was to hide the bloodstains from previous victims. It didn't help that he was driving us to the warehouse district, which would be an obvious place to dispose of our bodies. I began making an exit strategy.....I could knock down my co-worker, and with El Hubbo's bad hip, I knew I could out-run him. (Hey, in such a situation, it was all men/women for themselves!)
Surprisingly, Hippy Dippy got us to the tow yard. I went up a series of concrete steps to be greeted by a young man with far too many piercings and tattoos. I was equal parts fascinated and disgusted and pretty sure every thought registered right across my face. Oh well. I should have been in bed a very long time ago.
The car was rescued. We went to the hotel. We ate donuts.
Fast forward to going through security at DIA on our way home. I'm pretty good, I know the routine: laptop out, jewelry off and in purse, liquids in bag, shoes off, etc. I forgot one thing: I left my cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans.
This, of course, set off the scanner. So, they take my cell phone and run it through a different security line. Then they swab my hands - which was a new experience for me. Imagine my surprise when the little machine said I tested positive for explosives.
If you are someone who like a lot of attention, you might not have minded being immediately surrounded by several TSA agents. I am not such a person. They grabbed all my stuff and tried (and failed) to not make a scene as they whisked me barefooted and bewildered away from the main security line. They started going through and over all of my things. I stood patiently and dumbfounded as they did so. They clear my stuff, and I expect I will be allowed to go now. Not so.
A very nice female TSA agent appears out of nowhere and starts telling me she'll be conducting my personal search. My wha???? She went into rather graphic detail of what would be happening and I was still processing that it was going to happen and wondering where El Hubbo was, and wha??????
Two female agents escorted me into a room. I considered bolting for the exit at this point, but wisely did not. I may have gotten tased. We all spent special time together as they made sure I was not a danger to myself or others. They were professional, but regardless it was awkward. At the end, they ripped off their gloves and said, "Well, we'll go test these and hopefully they will come out clean." Still shocked and bewildered, I stammer, "And if they don't?!?" They did not answer.....and I was afraid.
But, they came back and said, "You're good to go!" I quickly put my shoes back on and left the room. El Hubbo was waiting with a big grin on his face. "Well? How was it?" He asked. Like I had just had a nice relaxing massage! Or ridden a carnival ride! Or anything but be checked for explosive by a couple people I had never met!
I am convinced it was a part of the conspiracy. Nevertheless, I'm pretty sure it will be awhile before I return to Denver.
But, may I just say that maple bars with a strip of bacon on top are amazing, and the Mexican Hot Chocolate cake donut still causes me to salivate.
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