Mindy flies into a bar

FAT>SEA>ORD>IND>LAX>SEA>FAT
If you’ve been reading this blog any length of time, you know that Dean and I aren’t what you might call big drinkers. Some weeks, just finding a bar is a big effort, so it was kind of a relief when I remembered that by hanging out in airport terminals for two days (somehow, it took three planes each way to get me from Fresno to Indianapolis and back) finding a bar to write about would be easy.

I was mostly right. Bars were certainly easy to find.

I left from Fresno on a Tuesday evening, and  John Muir Tavern at FAT was busy. So busy that there weren’t any seats at the bar. I get whiny about carrying luggage around, and I’d just eaten, so the idea of elbowing my way through the people getting drinks was less than appealing. And if I sat at one of the tables, I wouldn’t be able to talk to anybody -- which is our usual motivation for going to a bar.

I took some photos, found myself a seat in the gate area, and waited for my flight to be announced. I’d have plenty of opportunities to go to a bar in Seattle or Chicago, I told myself.

In Seattle, I noticed several likely looking places, and I had a couple hours to wait...but my carryon bags were just so heavy. Besides, I’d have plenty of time to go to a bar in Chicago.

Yeah, no. Our flight had to wait just outside the gate area because (who knew?) airports shut down if there’s lightning in the area. So we sat through a nice thunderstorm, and my flight to Indianapolis left before I could get to the gate in another terminal. I noted several bars as I raced past, but didn’t dare stop.

The nice agent got me on the next flight to Indianapolis, but it was about to start boarding in a third terminal, a lovely new one about half a mile away. At least that’s what it felt like as I hurried past the first gate, past several more bars, and through a couple long tunnels. By the time I reached the correct gate, it was time to board.

Never mind, I thought. I’ll be in three more airports before I get back to Fresno.

After a good visit with family and friends, I got to Indianapolis International Airport before sunrise, with plenty of time for my early morning flight. Plenty of people were in Champps, the bar just past the security checkpoint, and I particularly noticed one man who’d gone through security at the same time I had. I wondered if he was getting breakfast or a drink.

I didn’t get an answer to that question fifteen minutes or so later when he rushed up to the gate to find his flight had just left. They announced a gate change for my flight, so I didn’t hear what happened after he wailed, “But it’s a soccer team!”

I feared missing my flight -- and it was barely 6:00 am -- so I decided I’d wait until I got to LAX, my next stop. Our flight made good time, and we arrived at the Los Angeles airport shortly after 9:00 am. The gate for my next flight was nearby, there were at least three bars in the immediate vicinity, and I had plenty of time. My carryons weren’t nearly as heavy as they’d been. No more excuses. I went into Osteria to see what they had to offer.

The bar had several seats available. I tried to act casual as I took pictures of the people around me. The couple on my right had laptops open and seemed to be discussing plans over bloody Marys; the person on my left had a beer and breakfast. I ordered a Caprese panini with potato chips...and water.

After inspecting the menu, I’d decided to order my drink on the plane. Drinks there wouldn’t cost much more than Dean and I usually paid at a regular bar, and maybe I could ask the person sitting next to me our usual questions. Maybe I could even keep the tiny liquor bottle as a souvenir.

The robot outside another bar tempted me a little, but the place was a brewpub, and (as we’ve mentioned before) I don’t like beer. On to the next flight (up and over Fresno -- it was confusing).

The part of SeaTac around my gate didn’t seem to have many bars nearby, so I was glad to think of ordering a drink on the plane home. I’d changed my seat from my usual back row, window seat to a window seat in the front of the plane, not noticing that any plane that let me sit up front for the same price as a seat in the back might not be big enough to offer drinks. Once onboard, I stowed my bags in the upper bins -- with my wallet inside.

When the flight attendant came around to take drink orders, I ordered, then realized my money wasn’t just out of reach. Bless her heart, the flight attendant said she’d have to charge me for one of the little liquor bottles, but she could give me wine for free.

It took almost 40 hours and about 5,000 miles, but I got my drink.