Atlanta farewell

I'm up fairly early - before 8 AM. I've a few things to be getting on with. Like printing out my negative Covid test certificate. That has priority. I don't want to be refused boarding.

I go downstairs and ask at reception if they can print it for me. I'm directed to the Fed Ex office inside the hotel. There they have the possibility to print from a memory stick. For which I'm charged $1.62. Not that I'm complaining. That document could be priceless.

After carrying it carefully back upstairs, I have a think about breakfast. $20 an American breakfast costs. Do I really want one? I hum and haw for a while. Then say to myself, fuck it. My last day, after all. They're slightly more generous with the bacon, giving me three slices.

I notice that, as with the other places I had breakfast, a tip of 18% or 20% is added automatically. Then they leave space for another tip, the cheeky bastards. 20% is plenty, they can fuck off if they expect any more. If you're not careful the tip will come to more than the food.

I need to pack. But not before polishing off the remainder of my hotel whisky. I wouldn't want to let it go to waste. Or lug it back home.

Checking out at 11:00, I jump in a taxi. I'm going to be very early. My flight doesn't leave until 16:45. The checkin desks are deserted. I find myself a seat and watch some of that Beatles documentary. Part one mostly seems to consist of them bickering. In a very unproductive way.

At around 13:00, I notice some activity behind the desks and head on over. The staff are just setting up and I'm first in the queue. Lucky me. I show the agent my Covid test result. But a female colleague says that isn't needed any more. Instead, I'm handed a weird quarantine form to fill in. Did I just waste my time (and money) getting that Covid test?*

Once airside, I go straight to the lounge to fill myself with food and booze. What are lounges for, if not that? As I chomp and sip, I crack on with part two of that Beatles documentary. They seem to have stopped arguing and are actually starting to knock some songs into shape. About fucking time.

I time arriving at the gate perfectly again, just when my group is given the green light to board.

It's pretty empty again. I move to where I can have three seats to stretch out across. Which I do, after eating some of the not very appetising food and knocking back a few red wines. In the meantime, I work my way to the end of part three of the Beatles doc. Disappointingly short, is my opinion. Could have done with being an hour or two longer.

I manage to get 3 hours or so of fairly reasonable sleep. Then fire up the laptop and watch some comedy stuff until touchdown. It's not been too painful a flight. The Bourbon in the lounge helped.

Recognising my bag this time, I'm soon rolling into a taxi and onto the road home. I unlock my front door before 7:00. Everyone is still in bed.

 

* No, I didn't.