I’m back in Los Angeles…at least for the next 72 hours. My ‘to do’ list keeps growing and the hours keep ticking by. One major ‘to do’ would be packing - there’s still a lot left. I’m not sure how many people or how many times I’ve heard “Just let the movers do it! They’ll pack your stuff!”. But alas, that won’t be happening. Not only because I’m a control freak, but also because I’m a stubborn arse who doesn’t like giving people the opportunity to say “I told you so.” Even if I’m puttering to the plane on Thursday half awake and bleary eyed, I will have everything done. As Harley as my witness.

For my return on Sunday, I was supposed to be going through DFW - the price difference between a direct vs. 1 stop flight was approximately $300. Argh. That’s fine, I can deal with layovers that don’t involve carting around angry kitties.

As I got to the front counter at YYZ, I let the agent know that the kiosk wasn’t letting me check in because it thinks I still have my pet, when I don’t - she stayed. He looked at me like I was deranged and said…

American Airlines Agent (AAA): “What did you do with your pet?”

Me: “Oh,” I replied, trying to figure out how I could sum up the last 3 weeks into as few words as possible. “She’s with my husband - we’re moving back here. I have to go deal with movers.”

AAA: “Ah…”

Good. Mission accomplished.

Type, type, type, type, type….<pause>…type, type, type.

AAA: “Do you want to go on a direct flight?”

Me: “Um….yeah! Of course! If one is available.”

Type, type, type…<pause>…type, type….<pause>…type, type, type.

AAA: “Hang on. I lie. You don’t lie.”

Me: “Wha…?”

Taps agent to his left on the shoulder.

AAA: “Could you approve this? She needs to get to LA directly - it’s an emergency, she’s running late.”

Yes. My American Airlines Ticket Agent went all stealth opps on me and got me on the direct flight. AMAZING.

I love traveling.