Voice From Above? More Like Voice From the Airport Floor

So here I am, back on the east coast for spring break.  Oh wait.  No.  Not Maine.  I'm still in fuckin' Philadelphia.  I'll be here for another 4 hours.  That makes it a total of 6 fucking hours spent in this unfortunate excuse for a quality airport.  Although, I'm not entirely as angry as I may sound.  I snagged a free ticket out of this shit.  Here's what happened:  I made my way to my gate after an uneventful flight from Minneapolis (complete with a pre-flight tearful parting between Marky Mark and I in the middle of the main terminal), and I did my usual routine where I make sure everything's all good with my flight.  

Then, I sit down next to a dude wearing a Carleton sweatshirt and playing a guitar (he had his case open and I was tempted to throw him some quarters).  Some guy asks him to play some Dave Matthews, so my fellow Carl plays an absolutely face-melting interpretation of the rather bro-ish (but equally enjoyable) "Tripping Billies".  I commend him silently - I'm not sure if he knew I went to Carleton as well, and I never actually revealed that either.  (Tangent:  Why was there another person from Carleton on my flight?  That NEVER happens.  Nobody else lives in Maine.)  So he his jammin' and these two older ladies end up coming and sitting in the two seats between my personal guitarist and myself.  Then, the PA turns on and they ask for a volunteer because somebody needs a seat.  Nobody steps up, so I call my mum to see if she loves me enough to pick me up at 10pm rather than 5:30.  In the middle of trying to make this call, one of the ladies turns to me and says, "So are you trying to make arrangements so you can get a free ticket?" (in the Mark-Olson-Old-Lady-Jewish-Grandma-Voice, of course) I'm like "Yeah. But my Mum's not answering."  Finally she answers and agrees to pick me up, so I say to myself "Why not?  At least I can have an adventure and then BLOG about it." 

I go up to the podium and volunteer.  The lady tells me I may or may not be needed - the person who wanted the seat hasn't shown up yet.  "But we'll put you on the list," she says.  "Ok, great," I'm thinking.  Nothing better than ambiguity when I'm traveling.  

Back at my seat, I start to talk with the ladies who've befriended me.  "Where do you go to school?" "Are you coming back for Spring Break?" "What's your major?" Turns out they're coming back from a little mother-daughter trip to Las Vegas.  How cute.  I didn't bother asking how it was - as we all know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

So, boarding starts, and I walk up at the end of the line, not entirely sure what to expect since I hadn't been told anything other than to get to the back of the line when boarding.  I hit the podium.  Lady looks at me.  

"You my volunteer?" 

"Uh.. yeah?"  

"I'ma need yo' seat."

"Okay." *step forward to get free ticket voucher and give her my info*

"No, that means you can't get on this plane."

"Yeah."

Sweet.  So I stand there for a few minutes, she leaves, makes me sign something, and now I have an incredibly restricted (however it IS transferable) free roundtrip ticket on USAir to be used within only the contiguous 48 states, subject to availability, and which may not be available during peak travel periods.  Hmm.

Bottom line of all of this:  Over the next four hours, I'll be observing people (I'm sitting right next to Vino Volo right now - this place is a freaking yuppie-ass wine bar in the airport - funny stuff has to go down here), making sure my legs don't get run over by those modified electric golf carts made specifically for the elderly and/or obese (I'm sitting on the floor since all the rocking chairs near electric outlets are taken), and probably blogging a few times (because that's just what we do, apparently).  Maybe I'll eat dinner at some point.  Who knows.