All week prior to our trip we were looking at the weather forecast. "Windy" was a word that kept cropping up for Friday. This is not a word that you want bandied about in relation to Chicago in any case, because (as anyone who has spent any time there can tell you) the wind there can be pretty brutal. I have been taken off my feet by it more than once, and have also worn a skirt around my shoulders once while crossing the river at Lake Street. But when you are traveling by airplane, the word invokes a response in me that is akin to that of food poisoning (Two exits- no waiting!).
We got up on time for once, and I packed the car while the b.h. was walking the dogs in the woods so that they wouldn't panic when they saw the suitcases. We even left when we were supposed to, which almost never happens, and the drive was gorgeous (the trees are really starting to change) and uneventful, despite Boston's infuriating lack of signage. One wrong turn didn't really affect our timeliness, and we arrived at the long-term parking with plenty of time to spare. When we got to the lot, we found it under construction. A man in a reflective yellow vest came out and asked how long we were planning to park there.
"Ninety dollars," he responded when I told him we would be returning on Wednesday. "You have to pay in advance."
This was news to us, as was the fact that he would take our credit card and run it in a van that was parked about twenty yards from the entrance. Despite the fact that he looked like he had just stepped off the set of The Sopranos, we didn't really feel that we had much choice so we handed it over. He returned a moment later with a receipt for me to sign and a small card.
"You're in the purple lot. Keep this so you remember when you get back."
I smiled and thanked him and put the card in my wallet. I ignored the sinking feeling I had while we wheeled our suitcases to the airport shuttle.