Tuesday: Return home.

As told through a series of food related images.

Last night we'd planned to do "fancy dinner," but downgraded that to "let's just have nachos, because nachos are delicious."  That left pre-left-overs, which became fancy lunch.

These tomatoes were not quite as good as hoped.  Julie thought they had an odd texture, and I thought they were a bit more bitter than they should have been.

 Followed by the main:

Beans and potatoes partially cooked yesterday.  The pork loin was cooked in a brilliant "450, hot pan, season loin, splash of oil, 10 minutes, flip, 10-15 minutes more, rest 10 minutes" recipe that Julie found somewhere.

Followed by some mall shopping (pictures tomorrow), and another game of Pandemic (which we lost due to an outbreak chain reaction).  At this point I had reached the "pre-flight nervous" stage, and so we headed for the BART station I could take to the airport without having to switch trains.  This worked well, and is probably the best solution for rush-hour timed flights.

I had a TSA pre-check mark on my boarding pass, which is a wonderful thing.  Remember how flying used to be, back before everyone collectively lost their minds?  Pre-check makes things work like that again.  Dump your luggage on the belt, take off your coat maybe, and then walk through the metal detector and pick up your shit.  No belt fuckery, no shoe fuckery, no useless piece of shit backscatter fuckery.  Just "I'm going on a flight, but it's cool, I'm not a criminal," stuff like it should be.

Then I had to walk to a different area of the terminal, which made me worry with "we will soon have food and art in this part of the airport" signs.  This was unnecessary worry, as the SFO airport deli has a location right next to the gate I was flying out of.  So I got a hot pastrami and swiss on rye.

I later got a cold pastrami and swiss on rye for the plane, but never ate it.  I guess that's lunch tomorrow.

Final story before the day-blog deadline:  While boarding, I heard some commotion behind me.  A couple was arguing, because she'd gotten through without any trouble, but he'd been stopped because he had tried to scan her boarding pass.  Throughout the entire trip down the jet bridge, he kept harassing her with statements like, "why did you scan my ticket?  That's my ticket, and you should have scanned yours instead."  This ignores the main point that they were both on the damn jet bridge, and so the gate agent had clearly sorted out the problem.  This continued into the plane itself, where they were stopped in the aisle next to where I was sitting.  "Look, I'm right, and you're wrong, face it baby."  He then made the tragic mistake of looking to me for support of his side.  Looking to me, the person who silently wished death on his entire family if it would just make the jet bridge quiet.

"Nobody fucking cares."

"Yeah, see," picked up the wife to the surprise of Jimmy Jackass, "nobody cares who scanned what."

Because no one does.  You're on the plane.  Find your seat and shut the fuck up.