Flying the Red Eye: What NOT to Wear

Tonight I begin the first leg of my thrifty getaway to San Juan, engineered by my friend Barb and made possible by the free airline "Buddy Pass" she gave me.

It's 10:55 pm, and as I wait in the stand-by line at San Francisco International, I can see that my black yoga pants and t-shirt are way too tame for this experience.  What's right?  Looks like it's Sherpa Boots, long vests made of llama hide, some platform heels to die for, a fair-aisle patterned toboggan complete with top pompom and ear-flaps.  Best of all?  A walking firecracker red sweatshirt that extends from chin to knee.  It's emblazoned with a life-size, full body white skeleton--fibula, tibia, clavicle, everything is there.

During the four-hour flight to Atlanta I sleep briefly in an upright fetal twist, made possible only by years of yoga practice and a state of extreme exhaustion.  It's six am in Atlanta when we arrive;  The Skeleton follows me off the plane.  Neither of us seems bothered by the fact that it's really 3 am in San Francisco. 

Barb is waiting at the gate with a cup of coffee.  We can't get to San Juan on the flight from Atlanta as we planned.  Instead, armed with bags of Hershey's Kisses, she visits her colleagues at the gate and finds a route to San Juan through Orlando.  We manage to get the last couple of standby seats on the plane.  As an added bonus, we've shaken "The Skeleton" completely off our track.

At the arrivals gate of the San Juan Airport I'm making plans to hand-wash my black yoga pants and t-shirt as soon as we get to the hotel.  No one is wearing sherpa boots or flap-hats at baggage claim.  As we calculate the options for ground transportation, it looks like last night's scramble for flights, the  contorted sleeping positions, and parade of costumes was just a nightmare, something brought on by wine and pretzels.  But wait.  Can it be?  What's that over by the taxi stand??