Trail of Crumbs

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The place was literally falling apart. Whatever. NBD.


Dear Vacation Palm Springs,

Hi guys!

I wanted to send you a letter just between us, you know? But since you aren’t answering any of our emails, and it’s pretty obvious you aren’t going to reimburse us for the money we sent you, I figured I’d just drag all our dirty laundry into the middle of the street and air it out here.

It smells a little like sewage, but I’ll get to that in a moment.


THERE IS A GREMLIN ON THE WING. No, I kid. It’s just a Celica.


Dear Alaska Airlines,

Hi! It’s me, Geraldine. You might remember me from such notable trips as AA Flight #476, Seattle to L.A. (the one that was so bumpy, NO SNACKS WERE HANDED OUT, which turned out to be not that big a deal because I spent the evening throwing up, anyway) or last month’s AA Flight #12, Seattle to Boston, during which I could not stop farting (a.k.a., Stinks on a Plane) and also, I lost my camera.

Let me know if that thing turns up, okay? There are some photos on there that I want. In particular, several snapshots of a collage I made of Elvis Presley being eaten by a robotic T-Rex wearing a bow-tie. I used my copy of Alaska Airlines Magazine to create the masterpiece. After all, you said it was mine to keep (also, your editorial staff keeps ignoring my article pitches on how to conceal your farts on cross-country flights. Granted, I am clearly unqualified to speak on that topic.)

I have utterly lost my train of thought.

No, wait, I got it!


To the little blond kid on Alaska Air Flight #232,

It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.

I see this as largely your fault, of course. When you saw me quietly sleeping in my chair, you – for reasons that defy logic (Was it curiosity? Thoughtlessness? Demonic possession? I’m leaning towards the latter) – decided to shake the back of my seat vigorously until I woke up.


Last night I penned this:

It's true.



Okay, fine. I’m being a little melodramatic. But still. When it rains poop … um … make poop-ade? I suck at maxims, too, it seems. The point is, things are going less than optimally well in the Everywhereist-Fishkin household. Let’s recap:

  • Air France is operated by primates. And not even smart primates, like the ones on T.V. that smoke and can re-enact scenes from movies. No. Dumb primates.
  • Our landlord is a misleading jerk.
  • Apartments in Seattle are impossible to find and the stress is causing us to go all Mr. Hyde on one other. Rand said something to me that resulted in guilt so severe, tweeps were apologizing on his behalf. And in retaliation, I cut the crotches out of his boxers (he doesn’t know about that yet – SURPRISE, babe! HAPPY SUCKDAY!)

Sigh. Yes, things were not going well. Last night, Rand told me that he was pretty sure someone had put a hex on him. He told me this over the phone. He should have told me this in person, but, alas, he could not. Because he was stuck in Phoenix. And that gets us to the title of this post.

Lately, there has been a lot of craptacular stuff going on lately, and amidst all of that, I got to thinking about how Alaska Airlines was one of the few things that had not let us down recently (I mean, besides keeping us waiting for hours in San Diego a while back).

And then before I could blink, ALASKA WENT AND LET US DOWN. Rather, it let several thousand people down. And kept them there. Apparently Alaska’s computer system (which they use for their flight plans) failed yesterday morning. So no flight plans. And then, no flights (they canceled 140 of them). Rand was in the air during this time, flying from NOLA to Phoenix, where he would catch a connection to Seattle. And because he was in the air, he ended up being last in line to get rebooked.


Dear Seattle Center;

Okay, I admit it: I’m officially worried about you. This post was going to be another Dick Move!, but when I started to consider things a little more, I switched gears from “blinded by rage” to “concerned about your well-being.”

Seriously, we need to talk.

Have you completely given up?

Because it’s starting to feel like it. When I visited back in the spring with Desiree, I had hoped that the things I witnessed (cranky personnel, jacked-up prices, and a general air of pure hate for mankind) were simply a phase you were going through. I mean, you have gone through phases. Remember this? Or the time you thought you should go back to your original color? Sigh. But we got through that together, didn’t we?

I figured, the next time I see Seattle Center, it will be cheerful and upbeat and back to its old tricks. But that wasn’t the case.

I once again had out-of-town visitors (including Katie and my poor, easily-corrupted cousin) and since none of them had ever visited the Space Needle, it seemed like an obvious excursion. Why? Because people LOVE you, Space Needle. And for some reason, you think that it gives you license to suck.


My friend Desiree came in to town from Florida a few weeks ago, and among the many activities we packed into the few short days she was here, we planned a trip to the Seattle Space Needle. Our friend Jamie was also with us, and since she has an annual pass to the Space Needle, she was able to get us reduced tickets (and you know whether it’s the amount of fat in milk or ticket prices, I love things that are reduced). When she purchased her annual pass, she was also told that one of the perks of being a pass-holder is that you get 25% off at the Space Needle gift store. Again, discounts = awesome.

We had a lovely time at the top of the Space Needle with Desiree. If you’re visiting Seattle, I strongly suggest you go …

I am starting to perfect the one-handed self-portrait.

I am starting to perfect the one-handed self-portrait.

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A few of you might remember my experience at Stew Leonard’s a while back: one of the employees freaked out when I tried to take a photo of the inside of their store, which I felt merited a Dick Move! post. Apparently photos are not allowed inside of their stores.

Which, I’m sure, is why there are roughly 500 photos of the inside of Stew Leonard’s on Flickr.

This put me in a rather foul mood – besides which, I wasn’t really clear on whether or not I could take photos inside of the store. So I sent a complaint email to the company via their website. Shockingly, they replied. And then I replied back. And they replied again.

I was going to include the entire exchange in this post, but it bored even me, and I’m an active participant in the whole thing. I consequently figured it would put the rest of you in a mild coma. And I don’t want to be responsible for that. Instead, I’ve decided to divide the whole thing into six brief chapters.

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