The Slog Continues

And now, stage Two Point Five, cooling my heels at JFK. Am actually cooling my heels in the JFK American Airlines lounge, because (apparently) my International Business Class Transityness gets me in here, even though the woman at the flight check-in desk was unaware. (Said woman at check-in desk, "It's membership only. Hmm. Well, it says 'club' in here on your reservation, so take a shot.") I am grateful for this, as I've got at least another hour here, and would rather do it in the comfort of soft seats, free munchies, clean toilets, and free internet.

Actually, especially the free munchies. Once I saw the menu on Iberia (special chef-designed Mediterranean cuisine) I actually wished I'd eaten FOUR breakfasts, rather than the two-and-a-half I'd had. My choices for lunch were pig's knuckles, a fish I'd never heard of, and steamed veggies. I was actually considering the steamed veggies (shocking, I know), but managed to toss back a couple of pieces of mystery fish, once I'd shaved off the skin (ewww). Everything was all nicely presented, but the appetizer of asparagus wrapped in prosciutto is still, y'know, asparagus and prosciutto. (I wondered idly what the Hassidic Jews sitting behind me were eating, as they'd clearly ordered the Kosher option, and would therefore have avoided all this ham.)

The flight was over eight hours, of which I managed to sleep for about three. Maybe four. And, actually, maybe sleep. Hard to define what that was, exactly, as my subconscious was clearly engaged in wandering aimlessly if not actually dreaming (this time: I was outside a theatre in Los Angeles, late for a production of Phantom of the Opera, and stopped instead to help three random couples take wedding photographs outside the theatre -- somehow, this was accomplished by holding up fabric swaths for background in my teeth), yet, simultaneously, I seemed always aware that I was on a plane and that it would take only the slightest act of will to wake up. Weird (on both counts), but I'll take credit for a nap.

Once I got to JFK, Immigration Guy sent me to Customs Guy as I had some food with me (but nothing Agriculture Guy would care about). Customs Guy asked how I was doing and I said (with a smile), "I'm peachy!" He was pleasantly surprised; apparently, most people are annoyed when sent over to him. I told him I was probably a bit punchy from the journey. But, honestly, I had about two hours before my connecting flight; it isn't like he was keeping me from anything, and dude was just doing his job. I hate to be all "you get more flies with sugar" about things, but, really, interactions with law enforcement do tend to go smoother if you don't start them out being all negative.