The Road Warrior

Hello to all my Loyal Readers from the beautiful and corporate Pittsburgh International Airport. Here, you too can enjoy poor enterprise-level air-conditioning at sunset the dulcet sounds of crying babies, high-end shopping for crap you don’t need, and the joy of expensive junk food and unwatered mixed drinks. Yes, Pittsburgh – a hard-drinking, hard-working town trying hard to submerge its innate hills-and-rivers natural beauty behind rusted steel railroad trestles and industrial sites. I was told by a proud Pittburghian that when driving, natives here navigate by tunnels and bridges.

From a distance, the city is actually remarkably beautiful – the downtown is on the terminus of land between the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers, which merge at Fort Pitt, one bridge away from Heinz Field and PNC Park, to form the mighty Ohio River.

The leaves are starting to turn here, and it is cool and pleasant enough to qualify as a brisk autumn day. I spent that brisk autumn day in Pittsburgh standing in a forensic arson investigator’s storage facility, watching other arson investigators sift through ashes and burnt pieces of metal and wire. Of what it told them, I know nothing; no more than I understand why I took the time to wear a suit.

And, despite the fact that it this City of Three Rivers is the traditional hub of U.S. Airways, a destination to which I could not obtain a direct flight. So I wait – having missed my first flight due to experts taking over-long periods of time analyzing evidence, and having had my second flight, a connect through Charlotte, North Carolina, delayed by half an hour for no apparent reason.

Yes, the joys of modern business air travel are truly endless. Aside from the thirty-eight pound “laptop” computer sitting heavier in my bag than one of my dogs, and the knowledge that I may not have enough time to make my connecting flight in Charlotte, I can also enjoy the sweaty awfulness that is my own suit, the numbness in my feet, legs, and ass from too much sitting on too many uncomfortable chairs, and the too-quickly-evaporating buzz from the overpriced drink my employer is not yet aware he bought for me. I miss my house and my wife and my pets. I want to sleep but of course cannot.

Hopefully, the now-delayed flight to Charlotte will begin boarding soon. I am in boarding zone seven, which means I get to squirm onboard behind the first-class passengers, Medallion-level club members, passengers with special physical needs or small children, and the spare gerbil cages. So, I remain awake, with my allergies acting up, a mild case of dehydration afflicting me, numb and sore feet, and an appalling sense of an utterly wasted and useless day.