|The only picture I took at Powell's. I spent a lot of time in the kids' section looking for an out of print book which apparently is not available in a single bookstore or warehouse in the entire U. S. I really wanted that alphabet banner too.|
I did hit the jackpot with one item at Powell's: An illustrated children's book of St. Francis' "Canticle of the Creatures." (See it here--I've also mentioned it here.) It was on clearance for less than $10, and I nearly bought five copies so I could keep one and give the rest away as baby gifts. But then I thought better of it, and I only bought one copy for myself because I don't feel like explaining to each of my friends that this is not a religious gift but a poetry gift and St. Francis is my hero and yadda yadda yadda ... Plus, I would have to fit them all in my suitcase, so that's no good. Powell's is such a cool store--not to be missed if you're in the area. It really made me miss Chester County Book which only recently closed its doors. I hope Powell's is around for awhile despite any crap from the economy.
The Pearl District is really adorable--lots of little shops, tons of cafes, bars, and restaurants. You might be able to cover this part of the city in a day, but you could also just spend the day at Powell's and save the rest of the neighborhood for its own day. And that doesn't include all the other pockets of town that are worth exploring on their own. (I heard a lot about Alberta Street on the other side of the river, but there was no chance that we would make it over there.)
|This and the next few shots are at Porch Light on NW 11th Ave|
|This is next door at Eden.|
|Their back room is dedicated to everything vintage wedding. Love the pink lace on that one dress.|
|Thea's Interiors on NW Glisan Street|
|Moule' on NW Everett Street--omg, can I tell you how I could wear this head to toe outfit every day of my life and never complain about it??? My dream outfit--I didn't even look at the price tags ... just snapped my picture and made myself move on. I can't get over the leather detailing on that skirt.|
|Oh God, and I would pair that outfit with these shoes ... again, didn't even look at the price. Didn't want to know.|
Rather than stay for dinner in the city, we headed back to the 'burbs and went to the Blue Goat in neighboring Amity. Joan warned me that the food is great but the service less than stellar ... sure enough, I loved loved loved the farro salad and veggie burger I ordered, but Ryan was less than thrilled when his medium burger turned out to be rawer than rare. Oh well. He refused to send it back which to me is pretty smart: My grandmother worked as a waitress for 25+ years ... only an idiot sends their food back. Never send your food back. (For the record, my grandmother didn't do anything to people's food, but she can't say the same for the kitchen staff she worked with.) So Ryan enjoyed his fries and was a really good sport about it, but I did feel bad for him.
|At the Blue Goat|
The next morning, I was at the airport by 645am for my 820am flight back to Philly. The plan was to fly direct and arrive around 430pm. I didn't think this flight would be too bad because Ron used miles for my ticket and spent $50 to upgrade it to first class. First class! Yay! Haven't done that since 2004.
You know where this is going, right?
At 840am, I had just ordered my breakfast like a female Thurston Howell--everyone's in their seat, but we're twenty minutes behind schedule still sitting at the gate. It turns out the crew can't get the F-ing door to the plane to shut. Our flight gets delayed to 930 and all hell breaks loose because most people are catching connections in Philly--in the blink of an eye, a sardine can full of people just missed their next plane. Before you know it, the flight's cancelled and I'm hyperventilating on the phone to Ron who has been through this same scenario maybe 5,000 times.
Don't you wish you could have heard me on the phone with him? Here--this is what it sounded like:
Ron: "Ok, you need to calm down."
Me: "I'mnotspendingthenighthere I'mnotspendingthenighthere I'mnotspendingthenighthere."
Ron: "No, you are NOT spending the night there. In the worst case scenario, you'll be flying the red eye home from Phoenix and you'll spend the night on the plane. Here's what you need to do: Get in line at the ticket counter and call the number I'm going to text you while you're in line. DO NOT GET OUT OF LINE."
Ron: "You're not going to get a direct flight home and you can probably forget about first class. Just forget those things: They're not happening anymore. Here's what you need to do: GET YOUR BUTT ON A FLIGHT TO PHOENIX OR CHARLOTTE. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? PHOENIX OR CHARLOTTE. If you get to one of those two places soon, you will get on a flight to Philly and probably get home before 7am tomorrow, ok?"
Ron: "Now hang up and call the number I just texted you."
So I did. And the semi-impatient man on the other end of the line said: "I can get you on a flight to Phoenix at 1130am, you'll land at 201pm, take off to Philly at 249pm, and land in Philly at 1014pm." I said, "DO IT. BOOK IT. DO IT."
I seriously looked and sounded like the crazed mom from Home Alone. ("I'VE GONE FROM CHICAGO TO PARIS TO DALLAS TO ... where the hell am I?" "Scranton.")
"Ok ma'am. You're leaving for Phoenix in two hours. Go to the counter and get someone to print your ticket."
So I did. And I didn't even care that he called me "ma'am." Waiting in line, I quickly realized that my situation was hands-down THE BEST SCENARIO that anyone was dealing with in that line. Want to hear some of the crap people were dealing with? I know you don't, but listen anyway:
- One stunned woman was told at (9am on Saturday) that there was no way out until Monday morning. And she would have to go find the bag she checked because it was being dumped off the broken plane as we stood there.
- One guy had planned an extensive vacation with five branches of his family tree. He was flying from Portland to Dublin and then to Paris to meet everyone, and he had a bunch of corporate meetings thrown in just for kicks. His personal travel agent told him to just screw it and go home--she couldn't get him out of there until Monday or Tuesday. This same guy was also wondering how to get his checked luggage back.
- An older couple managed to get new arrangements back to Baltimore ... with four connections. I didn't even know that was possible. Four connections. God help them if they checked any bags because they will probably never see their bags again. EVER.
I look down at my new tickets, and what do they say? [drum roll please]
First class!! First class all the way back!!
The flight to Phoenix was uneventful (thank you Jesus). The older lady next to me from Pittsburgh thanked me for defending Pittsburgh to Philadelphians (something I do all the time), I scarfed down some free first class snacks, and before I knew it I was sprinting down the hot-as-all-hell jetway into the PHX airport to somehow find gate A18.
A18--where is it?? Is it here? I'm coming off of A23--isn't it right here? NO! Wait, what would Ron do? Follow the signs! A18 A18 A18
I sprinted past all the teenage girls in cowboy hats and boots, past the old people on the golf cart things, past the businessmen with their tiny carry-ons all the way to my gate. We boarded and took off on time AGAIN. Suddenly, all of this felt too easy.
Two hours into our flight I realized I was STARVING. Now I had been awake for twelve hours and I had only eaten a 100 calorie pack of pretzels and this really fantastic fig bar thing. All I can say is: Of ALL the flights to spring $50 for a first class ticket, this was the flight where it came in handy (because my middle-class ass might never do it again). I had no idea if we would get dinner or not, but I knew I would at least get more pretzels and fig bars if I was patient.
They served us dinner. Oh my God: It was the best dinner EVER because I was starving and had spent a solid hour contemplating how to sleep in an airport earlier that day.
|Hummus plate with salad for an appetizer--yes, real plates and silverware.|
|Carrot cake--also inhaled in maybe six bites, but I could've done it in two or three if no one (ie, lady to my left) had been watching.|
Once I wasn't starving anymore, I fell into that "commuter sleep" where you cross your arms and tilt your head down and then your head painfully bobs around like some kind of toy. I once perfected this for the train, but I've been out of practice for a long time. I'm pretty sure that my mouth stayed shut the whole time, but who knows at this point. Who cares.
When I woke up at 9pm (eastern time at this point), I looked out the window and tried to guess where we were. It's hard to tell at night, but the view is so gorgeous anyway. Everything is dark blue-black, and civilization is lit up below in clusters like decadent diamond jewelry. I knew we had to be getting close to western PA--I tried to look for the golden triangle to identify Pittsburgh (because that would be visible from 30,000 feet, right?). I definitely saw Brunot Island in the Ohio River when we flew over it, but I focused on it so intently that I missed the triangle itself to the south. The next thing I knew, we were definitely tracing a path directly above Rt. 30, and then there was the Schuylkill River with River Drive bending around it, and then the iridescent blue Cira Center ... and then the whole skyline. I couldn't believe I had made it. All I kept thinking was that it was 7pm on the west coast and that several of the people who were supposed to be on my morning flight were probably still there waiting things out.
When I turned my phone back on, I saw that Ron had responded to my "Made my Phoenix connection" text with, "Wow! You did it! I'm really proud of you!" which made me laugh out loud. Because if anyone should have been unnecessarily stranded at the Portland airport twelve hours after the initial cancellation, it should've been me ... but this time, it wasn't. I wasn't in Portland anymore. Or Phoenix. I love you Portland (not you, Phoenix ... you're too frickin hot), but I was done with you when I left.
The humid stink of Philadelphia was hands-down the most gorgeous thing I had smelled all week. Well, maybe not as gorgeous as the airplane enchilada but almost.
So the moral of the story is: If your domestic flight gets cancelled, you might not be screwed, and if you get in line AND call at the same time you can probably get new tickets. If a bumbling idiot like me can do it, you can do it too. (And if you're flying internationally, good luck because you are screwed.) And if you're friends with me, you can call Ron and he'll tell you what to do.
And you should go to Portland! Because it's super cute and gorgeous out there, and maybe your flights won't get messed up ; )