Sunday to Savannah

Dawn and I are up early to get to Dulles Airport. We’re off to Savannah.

I work at the American Society of Hematology, the professional society of doctors who work to treat and cure blood diseases. The software we use for our membership database, as well as committees, meeting and book products, exhibit products and all hosts of other things, is called TIMSS. That apparently stands for TMA Resources Inc. Integrated Membership Services Solution. TMA Resources Inc. (hereinafter referred to as “TMAR”) has an annual conference called TAUG, which itself stands for TIMSS Annual User Group. As in TAUG Meeting, I guess. It was in Tucson last year. It’s in Albuquerque next year. This year, obviously, Savannah.

Our flight is out of Dulles at 10:20. We leave the house at 7:20. We actually blast over empty roads, getting to IAD before eight. Then there’s the long bus trek from economy parking to the terminal itself, then a long walk to the B gates. Then the long walk to the end of the B terminal to where the economy flights are. There are only a couple of other sleepy people here. We get bagels and water from Starbucks, then settle in for the wait. I’m reading Lieutenant Hornblower, so I’m happy.

We get to Atlanta in short order, but then our connecting flight to Savannah is delayed. Dawn was already unhappy with the three-hour layover, already announcing that I am never to be left alone to book plane tickets again, so the delay doesn’t help me any. And I was cutting it short, as the TAUG welcome reception is from five to six-thirty, and we were due to land at SAV at 4:45. We have lunch at Sbarro, and the court area where we sit is crowded, so we join a young woman and her mother at a table. Said young woman is on her way to Carolina to get married to an enlisted man in the Army. She’s from upstate New York and has never especially travelled before. She’s in for some big changes.

We grab a beer after a while, still waiting.

We get to SAV at about 5:45, then have to wait for the shuttle to the Westin on which we’ve reserved seats. Eric drives mighty crazily. We’re riding with women slightly older than we are, having some sort of reunion. They’re from Indianapolis. They love the president.

I get to the reception at exactly 6:35, able to catch like the final beer. It’s a Budweiser, sadly. But I see Rob and Parag and Charlene and Suzi from TMAR and Dwight from ITAG and meet Mary and Rashida and Denise and Scott and Glenn from SHRM, all out at a gazebo overlooking the river.

Dawn and I then hop on the short ferry ride over to the south side of the river, to the historic district, and have dinner at Huey’s on River Street. I order filĂ© gumbo and pasta jambalaya, but our server forgets the gumbo and only brings the jambalaya. Dawn has some sort of penne formaggio. We share a bottle of pinot grigio and lots of cornbread.

Our bed is huge, a king-size. We wave to each other from across it. We’re used to our double at home. We meet somewhere in the middle of this expanse of bed and snuggle and sleep.

One thought on “Sunday to Savannah

  1. I love airports, love Dulles. I guess that’s because I never flew until I was in my late 20s (I think) and it’s still a new experience. And I love Dulles because it’s so convenient for me, as opposed to BWI. Sadly, Independence Air went under, so I can no longer take the cheap flight from Nashville directly to Dulles. I suppose it was too good to be true. Now my alternatives are to fly into BWI and deal with renting a car and fighting the traffic, or driving home 11 hours one-way. To me, it’s six of one, a half dozen of the other. Nashville is a big enough town to have a football team, but do they have Amtrack Service? Nooooooooooooooo. “You don’t know what you got until you lose it,” as John sang on the “Walls and Bridges” album.

    Anyway, I like airports in general. Crowds don’t bother me so much. As long as I get where I’m going early enough, it’s still a novel and interesting experience, especially in foreign airports. To me, airports are little hermetically sealed environs of their own. Hey, ya got pizza, ya got newspapers and magazines, and ya got chairs. Not a bad set-up, really, even if you do have to wait. I’d much rather chill and read than be in a car somewhere any old day. A three-hour layover? I say, enjoy it. Study the people. Study the interesting graphics on the tails of the planes. Study the paper. Our lives are too busy as they are.

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