Day 2 - Breakfast, anyone?

6:00 AM came early on Wednesday. I was exhausted. But I had to get up early. Starbucks was calling. It's a shame that Starbucks is sort of out of the way of breakfast and of the Willow Campus. Not that it would stop me. It just means that everybody else has to get up earlier.

Then there's Apple Villa. This has got to be my favorite breakfast place in the world. Other people may think me strange for that kind of statement, but I am in love with this place. I've always loved breakfast anyway, and I rarely eat breakfast when I'm home. But when I go out to breakfast I like to go to a little mom-and-pop diner with a lot of atmosphere and plenty of selection. And this place has got it all. Great service. Great selection. Great food. I could eat there everyday. And during the few days a year that I am in South Barrington, you bet I do. Apologies to my staff, who think my excitement for this place to be a bit overboard. I went there every day last year, and I will do the same next year. Still haven't gotten there early enough to try the 20-minute pancakes, though.

More Road Blocks on the Way to South Barrington

Waiting for a later flight is not so bad when there's gummy bears involved. Even if they're gangsta gummies. Of course it would have been better had there been Starbucks too, but one can only hope for so much change in the world.

Our flight finally arrived. Apparently things were going tough in New York because lots of other flights were getting canceled and the air lines were trying to buy off people en route to the Big Apple. Nobody offered us anything.

The airplane that finally arrived was small. Really small. When the call came, it was something along the lines of, "Zone 1 please present your tickets for boarding."

One guy gets up.

"OK, everybody else may board."

That was me and Matt and Tori. OK there were a few more, but it was small. Conditions were cloudy, so the ride was a bit bumpy. I started reconsidering whether I should have eaten all of the gummy bears at once on an empty stomach. After an hour in the air, I was no longer wondering. It was a bad choice.

Finally we get to O'Hare. My friend Lisa had gotten us an outstanding deal on a rental car. Some rental place we've never heard of. On the receipt there were instructions that you MUST call them when your plane lands and they will come pick you up. So we waited on our bags to arrive at baggage claim, and I called them. They said they would be there in a few minutes. Out we go to the pickup station just outside of the baggage claim area. The National Bus goes buy. Enterprise. Budget. Another National. Another Budget. Enterprise. Enterprise. No "Ace Car Rental" anywhere.

Where are these guys?

After 20 minutes, I started to get restless. Were they that far away? I called them again. "Where are you guys?"

It was hard enough to understand the guy with the thick accent anyway. I think all people who deal in the service industries should be required to speak Southern. But I just couldn't hear him on my mobile phone with all the rental car busses whizzing by - none of them carrying an "Ace Rental Car" logo, by the way.

Finally I was able to make out what he said. We were in the wrong place. We needed to go to the Central Transport Station.

What the heck is that? And where is it?

Go back in side the baggage area, and follow the signs.

I went back into the baggage area. Every sign had directions to the Transport Station. Every one of them were pointing in a different direction. Finally we settled on one, went down an escalator, and into an underground tunnel walkway. It was fairly well lit, sort of like a subway tunnel. But there was nobody else anywhere around. Not a soul. We walked for 10 minutes, following the directional arrows. It felt like the airport was long behind us. Once we rounded a turn and there was a lonely man playing the sax. I could see why he was playing the blues. This place was depressing. And he couldn't be making much money. Maybe he just got lost down there so he started playing.

I started to wonder if we were in the sewar system beneath the city.

Finally we came to some elevators that led us up to ground level. We were in what looked like a bus terminal. We walked through the waiting area and out the door, and there was a very kind man standing in front of a white van that said "Ace Rental Car". We all started to cheer and clap. He loaded up our luggage and whisked us away from The Matrix.

Off to the WIllow Creek Arts Conference

My day in the office was tough on Tuesday. Last year's conference was so wonderful and so impacting that I wanted to jump on the flight at noon just so I could get to South Barrington. But somehow in my excitement I forgot rule number one: "Nothing of value comes easily."

I did in fact leave early just to make sure there was ample time for whatever things can go wrong when you're flying. We got there a couple of hours before the flight was to leave. There wasn't a long line at the security check point. Everything was going to go very smoothly and with little stress.

I walked through the metal detector. No problem. I went to the end of the carry-on retrieval line. Uh-oh. The big butch looking lady is scowling. No offense. I'm sure she's very nice. When she's at home playing with her children or something. Right now, though, she's mad. Just let me get my stuff and go. Where is it? My trays haven't come out yet. Oh no.

"Did somebody leave a laptop in their bag?"

Yes, that would be me. How was I know that the principle strategy of terrorists was to hide their laptops in their backpack? I didn't know that there was a new rule that laptops had to be placed in a separate tray.

"Sir, we're going to have to pat you down. Please step to the side."

What? Pat me down? I don't think so.

But it turns out that Bertha's job was done. Her job is just to call out the violators - the potential terrorists. It's Sargent Sumo's job to do the extensive search.

It really wasn't so bad. After all, I had set aside plenty of margin time to allow for unforeseen problems. We went in to a Plexiglas room where all the other travelers could see my bag being ransacked and me being searched. Mothers hid their children from my view as they went by, but it really wasn't so horrible. And my bag now has a clean, fresh pine scent.

So on we went to the waiting area. And wait we did. For 45 minutes or so. I was intent on my book on Emergent Worship when there was an announcement on the intercom system. I thought I heard the word "Jones" in there somewhere, but I ignored it. A minute or two later, I heard it again. My wife said, "Did they just call us up to the counter?"

"Of course not, dear. There must be a hundred Joneses in here."


I don't think there were even a hundred PEOPLE in there. We were, after all in the Richmond Airport. But she insisted. And about that time Matt McGhan popped up.


"Hey - did they just call us to the counter?"


"What?" I said. "They said 'Jones'. There's got to be a hundred Joneses in here."


"No, they said 'Passengers Jones and McGhan, please report to the US Air ticket counter."


Then my phone rang. Anthony. "Hey - the reason they're calling you is because we got you moved to another flight. I got you on a direct flight, so you'll have an extra hour in Chicago tonight. Aren't you happy? You'll have to come to the front ticket counter."


"You mean the front of the airport? Past Bertha? No way. I'll take the layover in Philadelphia."


"You'll have to come back up here to the front counter."


There's got to be another way. So I went to talk to the lady at the ticket counter for my flight. "They just paged me up to the front. Do you know what that was about?"


"Um, no." She said. "Let me call and see." She picks up her phone. "Looks like you've been moved to another airline. You'll have to go back up front."


"Past Bertha," I said.


"Who's Bertha?" She said.


But her smirk told me that she knew exactly what I was talking about.


Back up to the front. There's Tori and Anthony. They've already gotten our tickets. Anthony had us moved over to the other flight. I guess it would be good to get there earlier and not have to have the layover in Philly. The attendants were going right then to get our luggage. They'll be back in a minute.


No they weren't.


I don't know how long it was, but it felt like an hour. We stood up there at the front desk, not knowing if they had forgotten about us or not. We asked "How long is it going to take?"


"They're trying to get it for you now."


No they weren't.


Ten minutes later she walked out to go get the luggage. Ten more minutes later we had it in our hands. Then we had to stand in line at the United Airlines line to check our bags. Again.


Off we went to go back to the concourses again. Oops. There's security. But now I knew better. I took my laptop out and put it in a grey plastic bin all by itself.


**Ding**.


"You and your travel companions have been selected for additional screening."


It appears that another thing terrorists do is to change airlines at the last minute. Bertha seemed to have an accomplished look on her face.


After it was all said and done, we finally got to our seats. The flight was delayed. It seemed we were going to have to wait after all.


So wait we did. It was a good time, really. Here are some pictures of Tori and Matt. Matt looked like this pretty much the whole week.



Tori looks relaxed, but I think she was just posing for the picture. Me on the other hand? After the trama I had endured I needed some gummy bears. Since I had plenty of time to burn now, I bought some from the store in the airport.


Really? $35 for a little bag of gummy bears? OK. Sounds reasonable to me.


These were interesting gummies. We called them "Gangsta gummies". They were all deformed and had holes in them. Still worth it, though.