Search:The WebTripod

From Lori Tuckett, Associate Editor:

This summer I went on vacation to balmy Washington, DC. I did a lot. I did a whole lot of nothing. I'd do it again. I'm not too demanding — okay, this isn't an elementary school report. But my trip did give me an elementary lesson in hell, heaven, and hysteria.

Lori's Top 10 Elements for a Vacation:

1. Laziness
2. Sunshine
3. Sweat
4. Strangers
5. Friends (who may be converted strangers)
6. Food
7. Late nights
8. Anxiety/Fear (see the rough start to my vacation below)
9. Anonymity
10. A Time limit (central to any definition of vacation)

I confess to having itchy feet. About every six months I feel an inexplicable urge to pick up and move to a new place, be it a new apartment or new town three states away. Sometimes I can quiet my urge by just going apartment hunting, irrespective of whether I do actually change abodes. Williamstown truly is like everything you've heard in the other letters — beautiful, friendly, rustic — but summer heat, the late acquisition of air conditioning for the office, and knee surgery had made the place take on an increasingly hellish aspect. By the time of my vacation, I was raring for a change of scene.

A good trip must start with a plan and, true to form, I had one that relied upon me getting up in the morning. I spent the eve of my departure worrying that I'd oversleep and so I had only dropped off when the alarm rang. Naturally, I hit "snooze." Again, and again, and again. I was a half-hour behind schedule by the time that I managed to haul ass out of bed and muster a fast breakfast.

Fast forward to me getting into my car. I still needed to get gas, adding another 10 to 15 minutes. And did I mention that I forgot that check-in was an hour before flight time? I drove like a bat to get out of the hell of Williamstown and pulled into the Albany airport at 9:20 am for my 9:30 am flight. (At least my ticket said 9:30 am.) Then, I had to wait to check-in (adding another 10 to 15 minutes). It was at that time that I noticed the message board had posted the flight time as 9:25!

My adrenalin was pumping: Would I make it? How could my ticket be wrong? (Computer error!!) Would it be a mad dash to the gate?

Then I read the rest of the notice, "flight delayed until 9:40 am." YES! — but oh no. Somehow time had warped. It was now 9:35 and I still hadn't gotten to the front...

9:40 am: I'm checking in, and the attendant has called ahead to hold the plane. Clear sailing. I empty my pockets of my keys and pass through security, never looking back. And that was my downfall. Halfway through the flight to DC (with belated and disgruntled passengers), I realized that I'd lost my car and house keys. The rest of the ride was spent worrying: How was I going to get home? How was I going to get IN my home? Who could save the day? A co-worker or one of the lesbians (my neighbors, who prefer to be addressed this way, had a key in order to look after my cats)? Why THE HELL was I always late? (Epiphany: I hate waiting for anything, ergo if I'm late I won't have to. That logic is twisted and sucky, I know.)

But true to form, I'd gotten my drawers in an uproar over an easily solved problem. Once I landed, I immediately went to the United Airlines desk and asked that they call Albany to find my keys. They were right where I'd left them in the security bin. The Albany agent remembered me ("Oh yeah, you were that lunatic who checked in with less than five minutes to spare."), and made a point of asking whether he could borrow my car till I came back. ("Sure, if you can help me remember where I parked it.")

After such a killer start to my vacation, I'd filled my worry quota and was stress free. I never left the house before 12 pm. I took a trolley tour of DC. I went to the new journalism museum (The Newseum which was very PC, glossy, and glorified). I saw three movies whose content can be roughly characterized by the words stripping, misogyny, and phone sex. I went clubbing, I people watched, and thought about Billsville more than I should have.

It was hotter than hell in DC, and kinda' surprisingly, I was glad to go home to Williamstown. Perhaps I just wanted to return to my own place, my own home (with cats/kids) that I've managed to create. Perhaps it was the fact that I was sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of my friend's tiny, stuffy room. Or perhaps I've truly become fond of Billsville with its hills, changing foliage, wide open spaces, and Tripodians who've somehow managed to lay a claim to my heart. I suspect it's the latter.

— Lori (11/21/97)

---

Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

---