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"Hell is other people" - Sartre

The bad.

Technically, I should have had one day free for doing things like the San Diego Wild Animal Park, or Sea World, or even contemplating bussing/training it up to Los Angeles to surprise my grandma at her convalescent hospital.

However, the night before that was so stressful, it was all I could do to drag myself to the Seaport Village and walk around a bit.

To cut a long story short and at the same time gloss over incriminating details:
  • My seat partner was less than ideal

  • I had to get work done on the flight

  • My experience as a retail worker sure came in handy

  • I think the people across the aisle from me felt sorry for me

  • After I made it to the hotel, I had even more work to do before I could finally sleep

  • It was past midnight when I finally ate room service dinner

So that was Tuesday. Wednesday, the waiter at one of the Seaport Village restaurants called me "Sir," the Greenpeace people tried to appeal to me by talking about China, and one of the vendors asked me as I walked away, "You speak Japanese? Konnichiwa!" And then when I went to Ralph's to try to avoid the inevitable $30-$40 meals and expensive alcohol, the disapproving cashier asked me, "Are you really over 21?" AFTER she had already seen my ID.

Oh, and I'd forgotten to bring my jacket, so even the awesome San Diego weather wasn't as enjoyable as it should have been.

Maybe in that last case only, hell was my own forgetfulness.