To save $200, I booked this flight to Missouri by way of SFO rather than Oakland or Sacramento. Either of those would have been closer to the California Delta Loop on which I live. But. . . the flight itself, booked two months ago, would have cost $200 more out of Oakland, and about $250 more from Sacramento.
I felt so confident in my decision. My purpose in travel is to make two appearances as Guardian Ad Litem, and I can’t ask for reimbursement for the expenses of this trip. I figured that I’d rise early, park at the BART station, and commute to the airport.
Then I took the BART while my son was visiting and started getting nervous. Could I really get to SFO with a small carry-on bag and my pocketbook, down the escalator, through the train doors, the hour to the airport, up the escalator, and over whatever concourse I would have to traverse at that end? And could I really leave my car for five days in the handicapped space at the Pittsburgh BART? I had smugly covered the need for a laptop by leaving one in Kansas City, but did I know where the power cord was? I did not. Confident that the person at whose home I had left everything could find it, at least that part could be deftly addressed, leaving me a bit lighter for not having to lug the computer.
Many machinations later, consultation with a friend in Oakland, and a lot of heartache, here’s where we stand:
Cord located in KC? No. Laptop has to be toted to Missouri.
Parking possible long-term at the BART station? Deemed not safe.
Corinne capable of BARTing alone for the first time all the way to SFO? Uh, no. Ill-advised, I’m told. Let’s do a few more rounds with a companion, I’m cautioned.
So. . .
Hotel room at SFO: $110.
Long-term parking at said hotel for five days: $60.
Rolling bag to tote a few personal items and laptop, since computer bag doesn’t roll and rolling suitcases are, you guessed it, in Kansas City having not made the cut in the last minute packing: $40.
Dinner at hotel in SF: As yet to be determined, let’s estimate $20.
Annnnnnddd, subtracting that from the savings —- I’m thirty bucks in the hole, though truth be told, I’d had to have paid to park at Oakland or Sacramento, so I can probably call it a wash.
Along the way, the navigator got me lost and I saw an extra forty miles of California scenery, which I must admit to having enjoyed immensely. Called the Green belt, my lost-as-heck route took me past miles of gentle hills with glorious windmills, just the type of landscape that I most enjoy seeing when I’m lost, and somewhat dismayed, and needing to find a soft place for my emotions to land.
It’s the eighteenth day of the forty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining. Greetings to you all from the BW Grosvenor SFO hotel, where it’s tea time.