Ike’s in downtown Minneapolis has been one of my favorite pre-Twins games destinations. Pricy but fantastic burgers. A California buddy who accompanied me there once declared it the best burger he’d consumed in his 40-plus years on Planet Earth. A middle-boy baseball tilt this evening forced my wife to deposit me early at MSP, which meant I had time to indulge in an burger at airport Ike’s. After clearing security, I figured there was time to see how its slab of beef compared to the downtown version.
Traveling solo, I sauntered up to the one remaining spot at the bar and pulled up a chair. Now, I wore comfortable clothes for my flight this evening: shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. So perhaps, I shouldn’t be offended when the bartender at airport Ike’s asked for an ID. I’m 40 years old, so it’s a compliment, right? Nonetheless, I don’t drink and told the rotund barkeep that I just wanted water and a burger. His reply at my nonalcoholic request? “I don’t care. You still need an ID to be in here.” (Keep in mind, I’ve just cleared security at an international airport and odds are pretty good that I have an ID.) Then he plodded away as I fumbled for my wallet. 90 seconds later, watching the bartender ignore me and realizing that another business might appreciate my money more, I got up and walked out.
Suduku puzzles in the in-flight magazines usually occupy a sizable chunk of my time aboard aircraft. Tragically, because it’s mid-June, the inflight mags are old, and everyone has worked the puzzles. So I succumbed to people-watching. A herd of 70-somethings was particularly fascinating on this flight to Indianapolis. They scurried around, up and down repeatedly in the row ahead of me, which is particularly irritating as they bumped the seats. Several of them traded locations with another group of proto-geriatrics four rows back. If teenagers behaved this way, the flight attendants would contact Homeland Security and divert the flight to Gitmo. And of course, these seniors would be the first folks to bleat about children speaking in any tones above a dull whisper.
Did I mentioned the hour wait on MSP tarmac before we took flight?
Had a nice conversation with the gal next to me when we landed in Indianapolis, at least until I told her I was from Eden Prairie to which she responded that my ‘burb is too “hoity-toity” for her. Really, ma’am, and your town is too stinkin’ redneck for me, but I’m too polite to say that aloud.
Then there was the hour wait for the shuttle bus, a clueless driver who drove 10 under the speed limit, and the hotel staff who couldn’t answer yes to a single question.
All in all, a great day to be the Intense Traveler. Tomorrow will improve I’m sure.
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