Salt on the Rim

“I need to see some ID.”

Some ID? How much? My passport, NY State Non-driver ID, Tennessee license, Social Security card. How about my Saratoga Springs Library card? Birth Certificate? She’s just doing her job. I smirked and released a little laugh, but reached for my wallet.

“I’m sorry,” the waitress, an Asian women wearing a floral shirt, said.

“No problem. You’re not the first person who asked me for it.” It was mid-afternoon, but the airport lounge was packed with travelers corralled into the front section of the bar. The back tables had been barricaded off with a rope drooped from three chairs. Huge flat screen high definition TVs filled the dimly lit room with Vikings and Saints. Monday Night Football at three in the afternoon, Honolulu time.

The old rules for flying don’t apply to the surviving competitor airlines that shuttle passengers between the Hawaiian islands.

“It will be $50.00 to change to an earlier flight,” the service counter agent for Hawaiian Airlines said.

“I can buy a nice meal for that price.” I ordered a sliced tomato topped with thick mozzarella cheese drizzled with a vinegar and oil dressing. On the side, a ciabatti that soon would turn rock hard after being zapped in a microwave. I hunkered down for the five hours layover.

“And a margarita on the rocks with salt on the rim. Make that top shelf,” I added.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She gave me a slight bow and hurried off, but soon returned to verify I was of the drinking age. Either that or she wanted to confirm I was Valerie Perez, the author of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. NOT.

The margarita went down as easily as the penalty flags were falling in favor of the Vikings. I killed the two hours it took the New Orleans team to make the first two quarters look like a high school scrimmage. At the half, I wandered downstairs to the Japanese gardens and found the pagoda with a vacant bench. Surrounded by mottled Koi, I stretched out on the concrete bench. The sun had already disappeared behind the buildings. Fourteen hours of travel behind me, six time zones away from where I started and a touch of tequila made it easy to fall asleep.

The stiff neck woke me. I slowly nudged my head off the backpack, working the kinks loose from my neck. I’ll pay for that. My flight was scheduled to leave within the hour so slung my camera bag over my shoulder and set off to the far end of the airport. Estimated arrival time in Kona - 8:30 PM.

That was a week ago. What the heck have I been doing?