by Pa Rock
Road Warrior
I arrived safely in San Diego an hour or so ago. After de-boarding the plane and gathering my suitcase, which had flown free due to a computer glitch in Portland, my most immediate concern was to secure a ride to the hotel room that a friend is letting me share in La Jolla, a seaside resort community north of San Diego. (La Jolla is where Mitt Romney bought the oceanfront home in which he installed a car elevator.)
My travel agent in Kansas City had told me to find the Uber pickup point at the airport and then call him. I had never traveled with Uber before and lacked the know-how to arrange for a ride myself. I phoned Tim, he asked a couple of questions, and then replied that a fellow named Nicholas would be picking me up in three minutes. He gave me the first three digits of Nicholas's license plate and then remained on the phone until I saw my ride arriving.
Easy damned peasy!
And now I am at the hotel getting ready to head out and find some lunch. I will stick to the low-end eateries so as not to chance running into the Romney's. I hear that in real life Mitt is actually quite boring!
Update: There are no "low-end" eateries in the Torrey Pines section of La Jolla. I scored a decent sandwich, ordinary fries, and a small iced tea for just under thirty dollars! That included the tip.
On the way back from the Golf Course Grill, I got hopelessly lost. As I was roaming through the hotel trying to find my room, I asked a bellhop for assistance. He was confused by the room number I gave him, so I showed him my room key. "Sir," he said, politely, "you are in the wrong hotel." Then he gave me detailed instructions on how to exit that maze and find my own. As I walked away, I think I heard him singing:
Road Warrior
I arrived safely in San Diego an hour or so ago. After de-boarding the plane and gathering my suitcase, which had flown free due to a computer glitch in Portland, my most immediate concern was to secure a ride to the hotel room that a friend is letting me share in La Jolla, a seaside resort community north of San Diego. (La Jolla is where Mitt Romney bought the oceanfront home in which he installed a car elevator.)
My travel agent in Kansas City had told me to find the Uber pickup point at the airport and then call him. I had never traveled with Uber before and lacked the know-how to arrange for a ride myself. I phoned Tim, he asked a couple of questions, and then replied that a fellow named Nicholas would be picking me up in three minutes. He gave me the first three digits of Nicholas's license plate and then remained on the phone until I saw my ride arriving.
Easy damned peasy!
And now I am at the hotel getting ready to head out and find some lunch. I will stick to the low-end eateries so as not to chance running into the Romney's. I hear that in real life Mitt is actually quite boring!
Update: There are no "low-end" eateries in the Torrey Pines section of La Jolla. I scored a decent sandwich, ordinary fries, and a small iced tea for just under thirty dollars! That included the tip.
On the way back from the Golf Course Grill, I got hopelessly lost. As I was roaming through the hotel trying to find my room, I asked a bellhop for assistance. He was confused by the room number I gave him, so I showed him my room key. "Sir," he said, politely, "you are in the wrong hotel." Then he gave me detailed instructions on how to exit that maze and find my own. As I walked away, I think I heard him singing:
She said "Hello, country bumpkin"
"How's the frost out on the pumpkin?"
"I've seen some sights but, man, you're somethin'"
"Where'd ya come from, country bumpkin?"
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