Oh Philadelphia International Airport... I thought you might have improved since many years ago when everything was under construction and the only thing to eat looked like barf in a boule. Today I learned I was wrong. Perhaps, I thought, waiting for an hour because the bad signage led my ride to wait in the wrong terminal was a charming fluke. No, it wasn't. There are huge lines everywhere, and no line management. Ten different options for where to check in, and all of them slightly different in who is allowed to do what. Two separate lines (first class and other) to go through security. "I guess the first class passengers paid more taxes," grumbled a man behind me, as we stood waiting, blocking the escalators and being yelled at for cooperating.
I did find the best deal in the airport though: at Philadelphia's bends and twists, a pretzel wagon near gate B8, you can get two (2) stale pretzels for $1.25. Mmmmm.
But otherwise the trip was fantastic. I ate well: 2 cheese steaks (good, but not superior to what you can get at Leo's), most of a half gallon of chocolate marshmallow ice cream, many meat products and several varieties of chicken. The company was unbeatable. And I walked more than most people will walk in a year.
I have yet to visit the garden. I wonder if asking my roommates to water the plants also implied they should pick whatever was ripe. I bet they didn't make the leap. Shudder.
Still nearly one third fat,
Lauren K
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