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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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Gunman posted online minutes before killing 3 at festival

https://apnews.com/35e45f6d09e347c4a1c51c52cf77725c

Gunman posted online minutes before killing 3 at festival (Yet again, another racist destroys a family event and ruins lives.) #EnoughIsEnough

By KATHLEEN RONAYNE and JULIE WATSON | Published July 30, 2019 | AP | Posted July 30, 2019 9:35 AM ET|

GILROY, Calif. (AP) — Before a 19-year-old gunman opened fire on a famed garlic festival in his California hometown, he urged his Instagram followers to read a 19th century book popular with white supremacists on extremist websites, but his motives for killing two children and another young man were still a mystery Monday.

Santino William Legan posted the caption about the book "Might is Right," which claims race determines behavior. It appeared with a photo of Smokey the Bear in front of a "fire danger" sign and also complained about overcrowding towns and paving open space to make room for "hordes" of Latinos and Silicon Valley whites.

In his last Instagram post Sunday, Legan sent a photo from the Gilroy Garlic Festival. Minutes later, he shot into the crowd with an AK-47 style weapon, killing a 6-year-old boy, a 13-year-old girl and a man in his mid-20s .

Under it, he wrote: "Ayyy garlic festival time" and "Come get wasted on overpriced" items. Legan's since-deleted Instagram account says he is Italian and Iranian.

The postings are among the first details that have emerged about Legan since authorities say he appeared to fire at random, sending people running and diving under tables. Police patrolling the event responded within a minute and killed Legan as he turned the weapon on them.

The gunman legally purchased the semi-automatic assault rifle this month in Nevada, where his last address is listed. He would have been barred from buying it in California, which restricts firearms purchases to people over 21. In Nevada, the age limit is 18.

Hundreds of people came out Monday night for a candlight vigil in front of City Hall in honor of those killed and injured.

"We cannot let the bastard that did this tear us down," Mayor Roland Velasco declared to cheers.

Legan grew up less than a mile from the park where the city known as the "Garlic Capital of the World" has held its three-day festival for four decades, attracting more than 100,000 people with music, food booths and cooking classes.

Authorities were looking for clues, including on social media, as to what caused the son of a prominent local family to go on a rampage. His father was a competitive runner and coach, a brother was an accomplished young boxer and his grandfather had been a supervisor in Santa Clara County.

Police said they don't know if people were targeted, but at this point, it appears he shot indiscriminately. Twelve people were injured.

Police searched Legan's vehicle and the two-story Legan family home, leaving with paper bags. Authorities also searched an apartment they believed Legan used this month in remote northern Nevada. Officials didn't say what they found.

Big Mikes Gun and Ammo, which appears to be a home-based internet gun shop in Fallon, Nevada, said on its Facebook page that Legan ordered the rifle off its website and "was acting happy and showed no reasons for concern" when the store owner met him. The post said it was "heartbroken this could ever happen."

In California, police had training in how to respond to an active shooter. While they prepared for the worst, they never expected to use those skills in Gilroy, a city of about 50,000 about 80 miles (176 kilometers) southeast of San Francisco known for the pungent smell of its prize flowering crop grown in the surrounding fields — garlic.

The city had security in place for one of the largest food fairs in the U.S. It required people to pass through metal detectors and have their bags searched. Police, paramedics and firefighters were stationed throughout the festival.

But Legan didn't go through the front entrance. He cut through a fence bordering a parking lot next to a creek, Gilroy Police Chief Scot Smithee said. Some witnesses reported a second suspect, and authorities were trying to determine if he had any help.

Police arrested a 20-year-old man who claimed involvement online, but investigators determined he was just trying to get attention.

The police chief praised officers for stopping Legan with handguns without injuring anyone else.

"It could've gotten so much worse, so fast," Smithee said.

The gunfire sent people in sunhats and flip-flops running away screaming. Some dove for cover under the decorated food booth tables. Others crawled under a concert stage, where a band had started playing its last song.

The youngest victim, Stephen Romero, described by his grandmother as a kind, happy and playful kid, had just celebrated his sixth birthday in June at Legoland in Southern California.

"My son had his whole life to live and he was only 6," his father, Alberto Romero, told San Francisco Bay Area news station KNTV after the shooting.

Also killed was 13-year-old Keyla Salazar from San Jose, seen dressed in pink, wearing a tiara of flowers and smiling as she poses with relatives in photos posted on her aunt's Facebook page.

"I have no words to describe this pain I'm feeling," Katiuska Pimentel Vargas wrote.

The oldest victim killed was Trevor Irby, 27, a biology major who graduated in 2017 from Keuka College in upstate New York.

The wounded were taken to multiple hospitals, and their conditions ranged from fair to critical, with some undergoing surgery.

Troy Towner said his sister, Wendy Towner, was at the festival for her business, the Honey Ladies, when she saw a man with a gun climb over the fence. She yelled at him: "No, you can't do that!"

The gunman shot her in the leg and her husband three times, while a young girl dragged their 3-year-old son under a table, Towner wrote on a fundraising page he set up for his sister.

Legan then approached the couple as they lay motionless on the ground and asked if they were all right. They didn't move, fearing he would finish them off, Towner wrote.

Towner said his sister underwent surgery and was expected to have long-term nerve damage, while her husband faces many surgeries.

Candice Marquez, who works for Wendy Towner and her husband, Francisco, told The Associated Press that she had stepped away to go to the bathroom and saw the gunman heading to their tent. She said her 10-year-old niece helped the toddler to safety.

"She was brave," Marquez said.

Jan Dickson, a neighbor who lives across the street from the Legan family, described them as "a nice, normal family." She said Santino Legan had not lived there for at least a year.

"How do you cope with this? They have to deal with the fact that their son did this terrible thing and that he died," Dickson said.

___

Watson reported from San Diego. Associated Press reporter Mike Balsamo in Washington, Natalie Rice in Los Angeles, Scott Sonner in Hawthorne, Nevada, Ken Ritter in Las Vegas, and Martha Mendoza in Gilroy contributed to this report.

#u.s. news #politics #trump administration #politics and government #us: news #white house #president donald trump #legal issues #national security #racism #world news #hate groups #hate crimes #criminal justice #domestic terrorism #white supermacists #gun violence #gun control

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allonsysilvertongue · 7 years

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Wiping History

“What will happen when we get to your arena?” she demanded. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it." 75 arenas and one colossal task for Effie Trinket. Hayffie. Post-MJ

Hello all, another Saturday with another brand new story! The idea for this came to mind not long after I posted the last chapter of Chasing Hope and I surprised myself by managing to write all the chapters for this story within the week. This isn't an AU and takes place post-mj.

This story is written solely in Effie's point of view, which is a rare thing coming from me, since I often alternate the two in my fics but I like the challenge of trying to get you guys to interpret Haymitch's actions/motivations without exploring his point of view :)

1. Last Living Escort

Effie realised quickly that something was amiss when she was invited – nay, summoned – to the Parliament House.

Either she was in trouble or there was something required of her. Someone of her status and her reputation would not warrant a seat at the Council meeting or have any business at the Parliament, not when she was of no importance to the ruling government.

Effie climbed the steps of the half desecrated building, taking in the sights of the large boulders that still sat at the side of the road and the blown up windows that had been boarded up. The steps and roads leading up to the building had been paved with rubbles and debris a few weeks ago. Now, most had been moved to the side for it to be taken away later. She head there would be plans to fully reconstruct the Parliament soon which would be wise since one cannot have the seat of government looking half blown away by bombs for long.

There was security checkpoints placed at the entrances. Effie placed her handbag through the machine and stepped through the metal detector, please that it did not go off. Grabbing her bag, she stood dutifully in line behind a man and waited to be registered in.

“Effie Trinket,” she gave her name to the woman behind the counter.

“No such record, I’m afraid.”

Effie sighed tiredly. “Please try Euphemia Trinket.”

After a few strokes of the keyboard and with nothing negative forthcoming, Effie assumed that the woman had found her name in the records.

“Purpose of your visit?”

“I was told to be present at two in the afternoon today for a meeting. I was not told why.”

“Do you have any documentary evidence to state your required attendance for this … meeting?”

“I’m afraid I do not have such a thing. It was by way of phone call,” Effie tried to explain as patiently as she could. “Plutarch Heavensbee called me.”

The person she was before the war would have surely kicked up a fuss and demanded that she be let in but it was different now and she was tired. If she were turned away, she would even gladly do so. As curious as she was about the reason the Council wanted her attendance, she was not that particularly interested to answer to anyone or about anything today.

She had given her cooperation and her statements – copious amount of details – as part of her bargain. Both Plutarch and Haymitch had fought for her but there were still crimes she needed to answer to. She was probably, by now, partly responsible for the numerous arrest of politicians and Games officials under Snow’s regime.

Effie was sure these people had cursed her name and wished death upon her but Haymitch had convinced her to do it and she had listened, like she always had all these time. She was just an escort, a small fish in the big ocean. They wanted the big players and with Finnick gone, she was the next best person with secrets in her bags, secrets that not even Plutarch as Head Gamemaker knew. People tend to talk to those they deemed inferior after all, those of lesser position, and it made her wonder how often she had let her tongue loose in front of an avox.

The newly elected government was wiping out every connection there was to the Games. They were ensuring that nothing and no one from that era would make it to the next without facing some form of justice so the fact that she was still free was something of a miracle to her.

Haymitch… Haymitch had made sure she walked free.

Peeta had vouched for her.

Katniss had done the same too during a rare phone call that Effie heard Haymitch had made her answer from District Twelve.

Johanna and Annie, as well.

She had the backing of several victors which lend incredible weight to her case and had it not been for them…

Effie was exhausted. All she wanted to do right now was to head home and curl in her bed. She wanted nothing more to do with this Council, even if President Paylor had always treated her with a modicum of respect. She wanted to be able to think of the next plan now that most of President Snow’s people had been imprisoned and she could probably stop looking over her shoulders for them.

She didn’t think it would be that easy, of course, but she could at least try.

“Effie!”

At the sound of her name, she turned and barely braced herself before he pulled her into hug. While she and Plutarch had never been what one would consider friends before, he had certainly been quite present in her life lately. He kissed her cheeks as was customary and she in turn, offered him a smile.

“She will be coming with me,” Plutarch informed the woman with a jovial wave of his hand. “My apologies – I was supposed to be here waiting for your arrival but the meeting ran past the time. You know how it is with meetings…”

“Only too well,” she said cordially. “Now, what is this all about, Plutarch? Is there a reason I am being called here? I have given your people everything I have and correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought those people of interest had all been arrested last – “

“Oh, no, no. Nothing to do with that at all. This is quite… It is a different matter altogether.”

The Council’s meeting room was elegant in its simplicity. Looking at it, one could almost forget that the building itself has a gaping hole on the right west wing from where a bomb had detonated. There were about twenty seats, twelve of which were designated for the each of the appointed officials from each district representing their people.

At that moment, there was only President Paylor together with Cressida and Pollux in attendance. It was not a Council meeting then, Effie deduced quickly.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Effie asked Cressida once she had taken a seat.

“I don’t. Do you?”

She shook her head.

Once the pleasantries were taken out of the way, President Paylor delved straight into the heart of the matter for which Effie was grateful.

“My government will be setting up a committee and we would like you to be a part of it.”

Effie took it to mean that she was being ordered to be a part of it. Perhaps it was all the years of experience working under President Snow but she really could not imagine refusing the president.

Still, she glanced at Plutarch’s direction but he sat there, flipping through the pages of his notebook contemplatively.

“The committee will be responsible for the arenas,” Paylor went on. “Each of those arenas as we all know was preserved, each one of them from the very first.”

“Yes,” Effie affirmed.

This was common knowledge.

Those arenas were tourist attraction spots. Capitol children and teenagers loved them – the re-enactments, the pretend play they could have…. There were numerous supposedly ‘romantic’ Capitol proposals that had happened in the very cave where Katniss and Peeta had hid in during the 74th Games.

“Titus Clemens is talking,” Plutarch informed, speaking for the very first time since they stepped into the room.

Effie shifted her gaze towards him.

Clemens was Head of the Capitol Tourism Board. Each year after the Games, the arena would be handed to him for his team to clean up, have any additional elements they deemed fit to attract tourists added, and re-decorate certain spots where tributes had died before it was open to the public.

Effie recalled her nephew telling her after his visit to one of the arenas that the same brick the victor of that year had used to bludgeon the other to death had been placed at the exact spot, dry crusted blood and all. There was a human dummy, similar to those in the Training Centre, and for a fee, visitors could re-enact the scene by purchasing a brick and bludgeoning said dummy repeatedly in the skull. Finnick, if she remembered, had been thoroughly disgusted when he learnt about it from one of his clients.

“He is willing to work with us,” Plutarch added.

“Work with us…? And what will he be willing to do exactly?” Effie asked.

She wanted to know what this ‘committee’ was being set up to do and why the arenas were suddenly brought up.

“To destroy it all, of course,” President Paylor said. “His team are well-adverse with the maintenance of the arena and he is willing to give up names of his crew members to assist us with taking the arena apart. It will be unwise to go in blind so his cooperation will be beneficial.”

“Mutually beneficial, I supposed,” Cressida chimed in. “He wouldn’t talk if there wasn’t something in it for him. I know Titus - the arenas are his pride and joy. Sometimes he acted as if he had a hand in designing it in the first place.”

“That arrangement is classified,” President Paylor interjected. “There are arenas that have been out of commissioned and shut off from public – old arenas, mostly from the first twenty years of the Games. Do you know where these arenas are located, Miss Trinket?”

“I have no knowledge,” Effie answered.

The earliest arena she had ever visited was from the 35th games and even that went out of style by the time she turned ten.

“No matter,” Plutarch closed his notebook together, “Titus knows where they are. The tourism board kept records of each location of the arena. We should be able to retrieve it.”

“That is all well and good but what does this have to do with me?”

“Here is where it gets interesting,” Plutarch took it upon himself to explain. “You should be the face of it. You are the last living escort, the last public person connected with the Games.”

“As are you,” she couldn’t help but point out.

“Yes, yes,” the man nodded with a placating smile. “However, my appointment as Secretary of Communications is quite demanding.”

It was clear that he thought she had nothing better to do with her time, unlike him.

“Which is why, Effie, I am delegating the job to you. I have the utmost faith that you will see to the completion of this to the best of your ability. Besides….”

Here, she assumed, would be the icing on the cake.

“The symbolism of it… Just consider it for a second – the Escort destroying the arenas. It is too good a chance to pass up to just any other person, yes? It would certainly do your reputation some good, Effie.”

Next to her, Pollux was silently shaking his head at just how cringe-worthy it all sounded.

“They know I am with the Mockingjay. Everyone knows,” she argued. “I was imprisoned for it.”

“Of course, of course,” Plutarch pacified. The mention of her time in Capitol’s prison had always made him uncomfortable and Effie would like to think that his conscious was eating away at him for strongly suggesting to Haymitch that she would have no place in District Thirteen which of course, led to Haymitch firmly believing that she would be safer here in the Capitol instead of being a target to President Coin for having nothing to offer. “It wouldn’t hurt to firmly seal that position and show them that you are really on their side.”

“I have nothing to prove and certainly not to any of these people,” Effie retorted.

“No, not to prove to anyone,” Cressida laid a hand on her arm, speaking to her gently. “Let Plutarch think that way, let him have the symbolism he wants from appointing you but wouldn’t you like to personally see all of these arenas destroyed for them, for the people that have been made a victim from it? You can do this on their behalf, Effie.”

Effie fell silent. Cressida’s words had a ring of truth in it. She could do this for her victors except….

“They’re still alive… The few that still are… “Effie lifted her head then looking at President Paylor and Plutarch in turn. “I cannot in good conscience take this liberty away from them so the remaining living victors should have a say in this too. If they want to take apart the arena, they should do it. Not me. I imagine Johanna Mason would jump at the chance to destroy the arena that destroyed her life. That is my condition if you want me to oversee this … project.”

“That is a fair request,” President Paylor acquiesced.

“I quite agree,” Plutarch added. “You will reach out to the victors, won’t you?”

“Do you have anyone else in mind to be the one to reach out to them?” Effie raised an eyebrow. “I thought so. Oh, another condition – I will not have any contact with Titus Clemens.”

At this point, it was self-preservation. She thought it was best to stay away from anyone who used to work for President Snow, even if they were now cooperating with President Paylor.

Outside of the Parliament, as she waited for the construction crane to back out of the road, Effie lit up a cigarette.

“Victor’s Village is banned from any sort of filming. So, we need to work something out, see how we want to play this,” Cressida said, coming down the steps next to her.

“We will, but for now, I would like to go home.”

So... what do you make of it from the first chapter? I hope you like the premise of it and I'd be thrilled to read your thoughts.

#hayffie #effie trinket #plutarch heavensbee #cressida #post mj #wiping history

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theslayover · 5 years

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A typical day at MIA

After a hectic 48 hours back in Miami to visit a sick relative, I have a 6:21 p.m. flight back to San Francisco. At 4pm my mother- who is stressed from work and having her mother-in-law in the hospital for a myriad of symptoms that could only make sense in an episode of House- decides the dishes in the sink need to be cleaned. And the counter cleaned. And the magazines arranged. I help where I can but try not to push the woman, whose (and I preface this with my mom is the best mom ever) fuse is so short when she’s stressed it’s almost mythical.

We finally leave around 4:25pm. The normally 20 minute journey is now between 30 and 40 minutes, apparently because they’ve closed one highway, there’s going to be a basketball game, and because Miami cannot go a day without at least 57 accidents. I wouldn’t generally care but in the back of my mind I’m slightly concerned as my roll-aboard is full of precious cargo: malanga and calabaza that I need for my abuela’s famous caldo recipe and that I cannot get in San Francisco. I can’t imagine I’m violating some random agricultural rule but #Florida.

Using a combination of Waze, Google maps, my mother’s incorrect intuition and prayers we finally make it to the airport after 5:00pm and my flight boards at 5:40pm. On top of it all, I really wanted to get a cup of coffee before the flight. This sounds like a 1st world problem, however:

1) I had a lot of work to do and needed to make the most of the 6-hour flight.

2) Airplane coffee tastes like a young coffee who had all his hopes and dreams in front of him until his parents died and he ended up in the foster system, bounced around house to house cared for by people who only saw him as a paycheck, and then eventually turned to a life of gang violence and drugs.

I try not to be too stressed, reminding myself that I have both CLEAR and TSA pre-check.

I run to the security checkpoint and wiz through with CLEAR. No problem. Then the associate informs me that pre-check is closed. It’s 5 goddam pm. The airport is mobbed, why? I’m handed a blue card that allows me to keep my shoes on through security but for the most part I’m stuck in the long, regular security line with throngs of people, all whom from their behavior I can only assume have never flown before. I feel rage surge inside me and think how Miami is a 3rd world country when it comes to logistics. But no, Lauren. You meditated today. You practice A Course in Miracles. How can you judge this way? I breathe deeply and repeat today’s mantra and tell myself it’ll be ok.

The gentleman next to go through the metal detector steps through. BEEP BEEP BEEP goes the machine. He forgot to take off his belt. For fuck’s sake. He strips it and steps through and BEEP BEEP BEEP I hear again. His wallet. Blessed be. He steps through once more and BEEP BEEP BEEP. The security guard lets him through. Wait what. A mixture of relief and alarm rush over me at once. Please tell me what they missed wasn’t a concealed weapon in his boxers. It’s 5:20pm.

The next gentleman goes through and BEEP BEEP BEEP. My metaphysical ears bleed.

I finally make it past all the First Time Flying Club’s members and a Portuguese family of 4 who have every iPad and child electronic imaginable, set my bags on the x-ray, tear out my laptop- one of the cons of Diet Pre-check- and I go through the metal detector. I set the fucking thing off. Thanks Cartier Love bracelet. I tell the confused TSA associate the bracelet is literally screwed onto my wrist (I feel so stupid saying this aloud...this is why women make less) and make my way to the higher security machine. I make it through without a hitch and run to the conveyor with my bags in time to see the man running the X-Ray pull my roll-aboard to the side for a bag check. Of course. It’s just before 5:30pm and I stand in silent horror as the man who is to perform bag searches decides to pick up every bin off of the conveyors before conducting the search. But I know better than to rush him, as then he’ll also decide to go back to school and get a medical degree before helping me.

He finally decides it’s time to actually make sure my bag doesn’t have a bomb in it. I walk over to the examination area and anxiously wait as he open my suitcase. He unzips the side area inside my Away bag and he pulls out a bag of coffee. Oh. That’s what set off the alarm. Of course. But as he’s pulling it out he sees the calabaza. I explain to him in Spanish “It’s calabaza and I need it for my grandmother’s caldo recipe,” have laughing half pleaing (please God not the calabaza). He seems pretty un-phased. He goes to search the other side of my bag, saying the machine saw something else solid. “Pan?” (bread) he asks. But then he finds the malanga. “You’re taking all of Miami back with you!” he says. “It’s for my grandmother’s recipe, I can’t find this in San Francisco, Mexicans don’t really cook with malanga!” I exclaim. He places the malanga back in my suitcase, looks at me seriously and says “I bet Mexicans have never seen a malanga.” I didn’t have time to contemplate the strange cultural burn. I thanked him profusely and dashed to my next stop. 5:35pm.

I get to the Starbucks line, which is blessedly short. Three people head of my and about 5 minutes till boarding. The next person approaches the register and places an order, and the cashier gives them the total. The person looks at the cashier, seemingly surprised that they have to pay and only then starts to rifle through their bags looking for a wallet.

It’s always been pet peeve for my father and I when a person will stand in and go through an entire line and only after ordering do they start to look for money. I can’t stand wasting people’s time and you think at an airport this would be less common but this is MIA, and it’s clearly everyone’s first time flying.

I make it to the gate just at the start of pre-boarding (because nothing is on time in Miami), at about 5:45. I walk onto the plane panting, coffee and bags in hand. I think of all those photos of celebrities and influencers who travel through airports looking so adorable. Do they actually look like that, or do they take stock photos at various airports and just load them when they go on a trip?

The pilot’s voice on the PA interrupts my #lifehack idea: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are already to take off here but we’ve just been alerted that someone must have removed one of the covers of the floor emergency exit signs, and the bulb has also been destroyed. We are contacting Maintenance now and will be back to you shortly with a fix update. As you know with the latest airline incidents (thank Boeing) we are all being extra cautious.”

I’m overtaken by mixture of laughter and disbelief; thoughts raced through my head:

“Of course after all that, we ‘d be delayed anyway.”

“This has got to be the craziest reason for a delay I’ve experienced”

“I’m pretty sure if we are going down, my inability to find one of the 40 emergency exit signs will not save us.”

“This might be the first time I could understand anything the pilot said over the PA.”

Passengers start to deplane, anxious to get on a different flight in hopes of making connections or at least to yell at gate agents, who will undoubtedly out IDGAF them 10:1.

After texting and sharing a few laughs with family and friends via text, I decide I might as well start working so I can get most of it out of the way before I get too tired. I reach for my backpack to take out my laptop- and realize I’ve left it at security.

Being a veteran of pre-check I NEVER take my laptop out of my bag anymore. With the scare of getting my roll-aboard searched, I forgot to replace it after it came out of the X-Ray. I run to the front of the plane and tell the flight attendants I don’t want to cancel this flight but only need to grab my laptop. Thankfully since people were deplaning anyway, I was able to get off.

I raced down the terminal, the sound of my flip flops drawing stares and snickers as they watched a small woman in a maxi dress race across a terminal. Of course my gate was the farthest. I got to security gasping for air. Through my lungs loudly fighting for life, I explained to the TSA agents my plight. They had my laptop and let it go before I managed to log into it, I suppose they figured no one would purposely steal a 12 pound, soiled HP.

I raced back down the terminal and gasping even more loudly, got back onto the plane. My seatmate saw me and gave me a silent “yay!” as I walked down the aisle. I plopped myself ever so gracelessly onto the seat, breathing (panting) a sigh of relief. The pilot’s voice comes back over the PA: “ladies and gentlemen, I really apologize but we don’t know how long it’s going to be, so we are going to go ahead and deplane.” Motherfuck.

The rest of the evening consisted of other fun things like finding out that all the other United planes at the airport were some other type of Boeing, and our plane had a slightly different size of emergency exit cover, finally bumming one off an American Airlines plane (the one good thing that airline has ever done for me), and then taking off 2 and 1/2 hours later.

This sounds like a crazy, stressful day and it kind of was. But in situations like these I’ve found that when you find yourself stressing and adamant that something has to work a certain way, and your actions become reactive, anxious and impatient, that’s when things really go wrong. Being worked up has made me forget things (like my laptop), gotten me into fender benders, arguments and in the end, nowhere. Even in times when I’ve gotten what I wanted after seemingly swimming against the universe’s current, it’s never been as good as I thought.

When you think of it, if the plane hadn’t been delayed, I would’ve realized the laptop was missing when we are already in the air. There was no WiFi on that flight (ah United), so I would’ve been fit to be tied for SIX HOURS not being able to work on the presentation for the next day, not being able to tell anyone, wondering if it was stolen etc. My mom’s and my drive to the airport was stressful navigating and we didn’t really get to enjoy our last moments together.

So if my crazy/ funny story can help you take a step back before your brain Hulk’s out, my job here is done. And when you feel ready to see how enlightened you are, make sure you fly out of Miami.

#slayover #consultinglife #miami #unitedairlines #travel

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