The Airport

I can't even tell you the last time I flew into LAX. It has got to be 2003 when I flew to Madrid. Ever since then, I have flown into/from either Orange County or Long Beach airport. I vaguely remember picking up Mike at San Diego once. Nevertheless, it is now 5:38 am and I am starving. I have no idea when breakfast will be served, even though Cathay Pacific has kindly provided me with a copy of today's menu. Breakfast will include: fresh seasonal fruit, yogurt, omelet with wild mushroom sauce, pork sausage, potatoes and tomato ragout, and a banana muffin.

Back to LAX. It's my first time traveling through the Tom Bradley International Terminal. First impression: you don't have to fly to Asia to experience it, just go the TB Int'l Terminal. People stop speaking English, Caucasians become the minority, and occasionally you hear the loudspeaker say something in English. Best of all, you get experience all sorts of lines. First, there's the line to get a ticket, separated by flight number. There, I received a nice, little Cathay Pacific sticker—branding me as a passenger to Hong Kong on flight CX883. After checking in, I jumped into the line to drop off my luggage. That line commenced outside and there were approximately 40 people in front of me. Eventually, the line moved inside where I stood for another 10 minutes or so. Once I dropped off my luggage, I proceeded to get into the line that was before security. This was a short line, but it led to another line of people who were actually in line at the security checkpoint. Having passed the TSA (Transportation Safety—not Security—Agency) checkpoint, I had about 20 minutes left before jumping into the final line, which let me on the plane. To top it off, there was this guy that was yelling at the Cathay Pacific people. He claimed to have a ticket/reservation and that Orbitz had somehow messed up. I never did learn if he made it on the plane.