After spending three days on the beach, I actually have a slight tan. The Hawaiian sun reached me below an umbrella, a big hat and 45 SPF sunscreen. It’s a good start and I didn’t burn. I had joked about my San Francisco fog tan. Irish genetics gave me white skin which freckles.
We flew back to Oahu from the Big Island on a Hawaiian Airlines Boeing 717. It’s not a small plane, but not really a large one either and we shared it with 50 sunburned and tired-looking United States Marines.
I joked about our flight not needing any Air Marshals.
We sat in front of the emergency exit row with Marines sitting behind us. I heard the flight attendant instructing them on emergency procedures.
Flight Attendant: “You guys okay with assessing the situation for danger, deciding to open the door and helping passengers out?”
My guess is they’re perfectly trained for that scenario.
That’s my little black bag on the conveyor belt at our baggage claim. My bag was easy to find. It looked like none of the others. How often does that happen?
Anyone else remember the Tom Lehrer song, “Send The Marines”?