This past weekend, Volvo graciously sponsored a trip for me to return to my Alma mater, Georgetown, and watch one of the biggest games of the season, Georgetown v. Syracuse.
Our trip began with a two-hour delay due to winds in Baltimore. As we all know, I deal with a flight delay by heading to the airport bar. I found the closest (and what I thoutht was the only) bar on the concourse and ordered a double glass of wine (it just makes it so much easier to fly). The SO ordered some water.
The SO and I were then lectured by a woman in her 50s with blond hair in the front and black hair in the back, who we began to affectionately refer to as “two-tone.” (Should you ever decide to visit the Birmingham airport and want to know who to avoid, I’ll be happy to send you her real name in private.)
“Bar seats are for people who are drinking. If you’re not drinking, you shouldn’t be sitting here,” she said. “Sorry, that’s just the way it is.” Then she shrugged and gave us a look of mild disgust.
Since I was staring at a huge balloon glass full of wine, I found this confusing to say the least. Should I have ordered two single glasses of wine and set one in front of the SO until I was done with my first to “save our seats”? I can see how with the long line and tons of people waiting for seats (facetious), our taking up space at the end of the bar was a real problem.
Also, for anyone who’s been to the Birmingham airport, all we really have going for us is alcohol and Southern hospitality. I didn’t appreciate that she was clearly mucking up one of our hallmarks.
About 45 minutes later, I was angry and full of a double glass of wine. I asked for my check (a 15-minute process) and suggested that the SO take all of our stuff and leave the bar. I had no intention of tipping the bartender after the way she acted, and when I don’t tip, I have to run away as soon as I sign the receipt. (I used to wait tables, and I hate not tipping, but sometimes, it’s deserved. That doesn’t mean I feel any more confident about doing it, and I can’t stand confrontation.) That’s why the SO had to collect our things and go. I didn’t want a left-behind scarf leading to a possible run-in.
As two-tone brought me my $15 bill (which I’m pretty sure is enough to rent a room at the airport’s Holiday Inn for an hour, so I don’t see how it doesn’t entitle us to two bar seats while we wait on a flight), she said, “Thank you so much and please come see us again.”
?!?!
Going for niceness at the very end just as tipping time arrives? I think not two-tone. I drew a line through the tip spot and then ran away.
Afterwards, I was down. I thought the one bar was evil, and we still had an hour and a half until our plane was supposed to leave. Then the SO, God love him, spotted a cardboard cut-out of Samuel Adams further down.
“That looks like a bar sweetie.” (Yes, his tone was kind of like distracting a small child with shiny keys or offering candy when you think there might be a temper tantrum.)
“It’s probably just an ad.”
“No, I really think it’s a bar.”
And he was right. Hidden behind a food counter was a little bar where the wonderful Sherry didn’t care what the SO had to drink so long as we “enjoyed ourselves and got to relax.”
I’m thinking of making her my second mother.
A bit later, we boarded and were off.
Now, you’d think that after these bar visits, the trip would have been super smooth, but remember those Baltimore winds I mentioned? The SO claims it took him two hours to feel his upper arm after the grip I had on him during our landing at BWI.
Tomorrow: We actually get to D.C. and pick up our S60 since I clearly had a lot to say about the airport.
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