So we flew into Atlanta. The worlds busiest airport. REALLY. That's what they told us, anyway. We touched down and walked through the umbilical to the airport and it was very big and very long. AND so much better than I remember it. The last time I was there was in... oh... 2003? 2004? and it was not so human oriented, or perhaps it was, but I was a whole nuther person back then.
Now adays, there's color everywhere, places to eat, to buy, to sleep, to smoke. Yes! To Sleep! You can rent a room right there IN THE AIRPORT to take a snooze in for 30.00 for the first hour. They didn't tell us what the other hours cost.
I think that is so cool! Heck, give me a tiny little cubical, like they had in the 5th Element, and I'll be fine and dandy. Just don't charge me 30.00 for it. Airports definitely have a need for these things, though. Having slept in more than one airport, I will vouch there are plenty of travelers who need a bit of sleep and wouldn't mind paying for it.
So, Shannon and I took the short walk from our terminal in Concourse C and found the escalator that lead down to the lower levels, the magic sidewalks and the trains to hell. The magic sidewalks are those moving sidewalks that you walk on while they move. Okay, so I'm easily impressed. The trains from hell is because the air that is being moved through the tunnel as the train moves from station to station howls like a legion of the damned. Another cool and a bit disturbing thing.
Last time I was there, I don't remember the train. I do remember the moving walkways. I don't remember the escalators. Maybe I do. But I thought they were in Cincinnati. Oh well. I got to ride a train, even if it was from terminal C to Terminal T - the last stop. That is terminal T as in Terminal, as in Terminal Terminal.
Terminal T leads to the Baggage Claim, the MARTA (mass transit, which I won't get to ride until next time we go to Atlanta), food and ground access. Taxis and such. And telephones to call Hotels and shuttles.
While we were there in the Baggage area, and since we were there in the Baggage area, I figured I'd let my natural paranoia have a run and used an automated "Where is my baggage?" Kiosk to see where our baggage was.
One, the one that was registered to Shannon - showed to be sitting in the Atlanta terminal waiting to take the flight to Punta Cana. The other bag, the one that had all of our clothes in it - showed to have been scanned in Tulsa - twice, but didn't go anywhere else.
We nabbed a woman named Marlene who worked in the Baggage area and asked her about the bag that did NOT show to have made it to Atlanta and she assured us, ASSURED us, that the bag was just sitting in the international area, waiting to be put on a plane.
Yeah. She lied to us. She had no earthly idea where our bag was and she had no earthly idea what the message on the Baggage Kiosk meant, and she wasn't going to own up to that. We didn't know that she was a bold faced liar at the time.
So, safe and secure in the Knowledge that our bags were safely tucked away, we went in search of a hotel. There was a bank of phones against the wall, just next to the MARTA station. And as much as I wanted to ride the train, *sigh*, finding a place for the night takes precedence, I guess.
I looked over the offerings and saw one that said 49.99! Pick us! Free shuttle! Faster than you could say "Pokemon, I choose you!" I dialed up the Super 8, checked that they had rooms available and had them send the shuttle for the two of us. Coolios and quick, we stepped out into the Atlanta heat and headed to Section 32 of the Waitoutsideintheheatfortheshuttle spot to wait on our pick up.
Okay. It's midnight, and I know I didn't write much. I'll see if I can write more tomorrow.