You have to suspend logic when you get on board an airplane. If you told someone that you were going to put them in and aluminum tube and use highly volatile weapons grade fuel to propel the tube 30,000 feet into the atmosphere and then drop somewhere that you could predict beforehand… Well, how crazy is that? Yet we go to airports and get inside of airplanes without giving the act a second thought.
So here we are in Phoenix (supposedly) waiting for the connector to Salt Lake City. I said supposedly because I don’t really know where I am for sure. The airport is a nowhere space in reality and time. Food and everyday items like toothpaste are totally priced out of scale. You can’t tell where people are from in the airport. People are weird and disparate looking. Rarely is anyone actually friendly which is highlighted by the meta-superficial ‘buh bye’ from the flight crew.
Somehow, someway you end up in another place at another time and you keep it moving.
O.K. I’m just talking shit now. RAFI ate a wild looking Pizza-Hut chicken pizza. I passed on it because I don’t want to deal with ‘the Bubble’ on an airplane. Salt Lake City is the next stop on this journey, and the journey is what it’s all about.
Just keepin’ shit 100 with y’all.
UPDATE: I ended up eating the pizza too. And yes, the rude ‘Bubble’ was cooking up in my stomach afterwards. I made it to base camp in time without having to use public accomodations. Whew!
