Random thoughts in an airport

I like to give people their due when they come up with a brilliant idea that is so simple that they should make a ton of money.  Today, I salute the guy/gal who thought up of personal luggage for kids.  You know the little backpack/slash carryon luggage with the rollers.  Someone thought about making them a little smaller and putting kids favorites on them such a Barbie or Disney stuff.  Genius.  Pure Genius.  You see these little people in airports proudly pulling these things behind them just like their moms and dads.  If a parent tries to do it for them, they throw a fit.  It is their luggage and damnit, they are going to drag it behind them!

I admit it.  When I left the office in downtown Minneapolis and went to my car in the parking gargage, I got lost.  I couldn't remember where my car was.  I thought I was on the 6th floor.  I remember looking at the area I was in and seeing a 6.  Problem was, I got into the elevator and the levels were lettered, not numbered.  Shit.  Hmm...a,b,c,d,e,f.  I must be on level F.  No.  That isn't right.  I go back to the elevator.  Long wait.  So I start walking around the parking structure.  Kinda Seinfeldian (hey, that might be a new word!).  Thankfully, I didn't have any fish or have the need to pee.

As I ate lunch, I was paging through the USA Today.  In there was a story about teens having plastic surgery.  Most of them are having the boobs done.  One comment that I thought was equally hilarious and stupid was a girl justifying having her jugs jacked by saying "My aunt had it done and my mother had it done; breast augmentation runs in our family".  HUH?  No, baldness runs in the family.  Heart problems run in the family.  Boob jobs do not run in the family.

I can tell that the long walk through the Minny airport is a lot easier after you have a couple of beers.