Since we arrived in the Philadelphia area by airplane, our first experience with the local environment came as we trudged purposefully, eyes bleary from restless airplane napping and legs stiff from being crumpled into a Munchkin-sized coach seat, through the Philadelphia airport. The pet carrier holding Hobbes-the-cat was slung over Tater K's shoulder.
The traveling denizens of PHL (Tater K enjoys the challenge of memorizing the airport codes he visits, a habit Tater T finds somewhat inscrutable) seem more in a hurry, even on a Thursday evening, than those at BOI. Lots of guys in suits with their ties loosened, women teetering on high heels with a bag in each upturned elbow, so forth. As one traverses the concourse one hears more accented voices speaking English and other languages, than would greet the ear in a month in Boise, with the colors of skin to match. Ethnic diversity is a phenomenon that Tater K missed when he moved to Boise 12 years ago, so it's welcome if somewhat unfamiliar.
The beauty of BOI baggage claim's 4 carousels is that the traveler can simply stand in the general vicinity of the carousels while listening for the "bags arriving" alarm, snatch up one's luggage and bolt for transportation. Could hardly be easier.
PHL, not so much. The first challenge the traveler encounters is figuring out which set of carousels ones luggage will appear on, which is determined by which concourse ones flight docked at. Don't know about you, but we're not in the habit of paying attention to that fact, so we were left with a guessing game as we approached an apparent point of no return. We shrugged tiredly and descended the escalator that seemed likely.
Our first goal was to reunite with the our dogs Karma (yellow lab) and Bailey (German short-hair pointer), who experienced their first airplane trip not by going to the cockpit to have the pilot award plastic wings, but by being crated and shipped cross-country in the aircraft's hold. We weren't given instructions as to where we'd find them, so quickly headed for the carousel indicated on an overhead monitor only to stand with our fellow travelers awaiting checked bags. This experience is, we suspect, universal: Dozens of tired, impatient people staring expectantly at a chute, then jockeying for position as the bags drop onto the conveyor. Reminds us of nothing so much as a Pavlovian test.
Tater K collected the checked bags - four good-sized duffels and suitcases that we'll live out of until we find permanent housing and the remainder of our belongings are delivered - and heaped them onto a cart while Tater T asked the baggage claim personnel for the dogs' whereabouts. Moments later the crated dogs appeared, pulled on a cart by an able young airline employee. After a brief reunion and on-leash visit to a nearby patch of landscape bark (no grass anywhere in the vicinity) Tater K strode off and leapt aboard the bus to collect the rental car.
Arriving at the rental car center Tater K was dismayed to find himself eleventh in line for service, having made the error in judgement that our two hour flight delay (local time was approaching 8PM) would allow for post-rush hour pick-up of the rental car. If ever there was an unspoken endorsement for joining the Hertz Gold Club, this was it.
Nearly an hour later, and after having horse-traded with the counter attendant for a larger vehicle (Tater K believed the travel agency had reserved a mini-van to accommodate the dogs, cat, kennels, luggage and humans, only to find upon double-checking the email they'd reserved a midsize), Tater K rolled to the curb where Tater T and the pets awaited with the same able young airline employee who'd earlier wheeled the dogs to us. The young man had dismantled the kennels, held the leashed dogs, and otherwise had offered invaluable help to two frazzled newcomers juggling a massive pile of luggage, two anxious and restless dogs, and a cat in a bag.
Welcome to Philly.
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