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Monday, March 04, 2024

This is not the column I planned on writing this week. If everything had gone like it was supposed to, I'd be recapping my adventures at Bonnaroo. I had my ticket paid for me. My car was just about packed. And then I was reminded that this was the weekend my dad and I were supposed to visit my grandmother. Goodbye, Bonnaroo. Hello, Mishawaka, Indiana.

The worst part about air travel? It's not the 10 minute delays turning into 3 hours (this happened). It's not airplanes that cattle would feel undignified flying in. It isn't even the fact that the food sucks (since they don't even serve food anymore). But rather, there are other people on the plane - lots of them. And they're all stupid. One fine gentleman held up the boarding process because he was confused on how to walk into the jetway (hint: stand in front of it.). He tried swiping his boarding pass into a security keycode panel and broke something. Now, readers, if I asked you to describe what this man looks like, with only this (completely true) anecdote as background, you'd be right. Fat, bald and wearing a red-shirt. Guess who was seated directly next to him on the flight? I spent 10 minutes adjusting my armrest before I realized it was one of his fatflaps. Also, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. But you already knew that, didn't you?

After three hours fearing I was about to be mistaken by this man for a pack of peanuts, I was finally set free. After checking for bite marks (I did fall asleep for ten minutes), we rented a car to drive to Mishawaka. How obscure is Mishawaka? Google Maps doesn't know where my grandmother's house is.

I spent most of the weekend teaching my grandmother the technological wonders of cut, copy and paste. Then, we explored the mysterious world of replacing printer-ink cartridges. After I sorted out her address book, I fell down a set of stairs while carrying a box of family keepsakes. That was the most fun I had all weekend - and explaining to my grandmother that three servings of peach cobbler is quite enough.

So, I didn't go to Bonnaroo this weekend, and I couldn't even spend time with someone less than twice my age. But at least I know that I'm ahead of my brother and sister on my grandmother's will. That box of smashed Johnson family heirlooms will be mine soon enough.

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