On Thursday evening, I left for a hacker conference in Las Vegas. This was to be a last hurrah for me. Given that my interest in internet security had waned, I was there not so much for the talks, but to say a final farewell to the friends I had made over the years.
The social aspect was good. There was a convention-within-a-convention named Queercon. That translated into mixers and a pool party with good music and scantily clad men. I got to meet lots of interesting folk all throughout, who worked in the higher echelons of Sony and Google.
Everyone was amicable and I quickly made friends. At one point, I was given a gaydar. Really. This was a device distributed to the queer attendees that lit up when others like it were nearby. It then gave you credit for that interaction, which translated to more diodes lighting up to form a circle. It encouraged people to mingle.
Meanwhile, the associated pool party represented the first time I was visibly my gender fucked self in public. It took all my courage to take off my shirt, but it was so worth it. A feeling of pure liberation.
The Bad
This trip will also be remembered for how anxiety inducing it was.
That started from the flight out to Vegas. My first leg got delayed by an hour, meaning I’d land two minutes before the boarding of the second half. Only this was Chicago O’Hare, which is huge, and the second leg left from a separate terminal. I really didn’t want to be stuck at the airport overnight, which is what would have happened if I missed this flight.
So when my plane landed in Chicago, I ran like hell. I still don’t know how, but I made it. I got on the plane OK, landed in Vegas, and got to my hotel. After an hour in line waiting to check in, I finally made it to my room. It was 2AM early Friday.
I woke up the following morning and headed to the conference. Within minutes of arriving, work started to text me about a systems issue they were having. Being a long walk away from my hotel room and the laptop it contained, I couldn’t do anything about it except diagnose it over text. I was told to work on it after I got back at night, but it was stressful nonetheless. That interaction with work exhausted all my funds with my cellphone carrier and put a weight on my mind that really impinged my capacity to enjoy this first day of my vacation.
But really, that was small fish. Because on the morning of the next day, I lost my wallet. Or it was stolen. Still not sure what happened, though I know precisely where and when it occured.
Can’t say Lost and Found and security were much help here. Lost and Found was closed until the day after I left town. Security and everyone else I encountered staff wise were entirely apathetic.
That wallet had my room key, my debit/credit cards, cash, my drivers license, my health card, my bus pass among others. I had no access to funds except about five bucks in change, this in a town where a cup of coffee was $4.
After getting over the initial anxiety, I resolved that this didn’t have to be a big deal. I could still attend the conference all the same. I wasn’t going to use my ID in Vegas as I still had my passport. It was only my lack of funds that were a problem for food and as an emergency taxi ride if my airport shuttle didn’t show up.
I really only had to last until the evening of the next day, and then I’d be on a plane ride home anyways. Not bad. I could do this.
I used my passport to get another room key. Then once in my room I filled up my phone with money, before putting a hold on my credit card.
Getting the phone number for my credit card company was an anxiety inducing in its own right. My hotel’s Internet was very unreliable; it would cut out every thirty seconds for minutes at a time. I couldn’t use Google. I ended up remembering that I had called the credit card company to warn them of my travel plans, so the number was still in my phone’s history. Problem solved.
I checked the last transactions with the bank while on the phone, and it had not been used fraudulently. Awesome. I called my dad and got him to give me a lift home from the airport given that I no longer had my bus pass. Okay, I was now sorted to get back home.
My priority then came to ingest enough calories. My friends bought me lunch, which was a huge BBQ bacon cheese burger that must have been at least 2,000 calories. That lasted me the rest of the Saturday.
On Sunday, I stocked up on apples that were being given for free at a booth promoting some university at the conference. I also bought a $1.99 footlong hot dog. And someone gave me a free beer. And I drank the water in my hotel room in copious amounts. I ended up spending $3 on food that day. Not bad.
I enjoyed the remainder of the conference, and then it came time to go home. It was night. All my shuttle had to do now was to show up. I had called it the day before to schedule a pick up. I was really uncomfortable with not having cash as a backup in case it didn’t show up, but that was paranoid, right?
Apparently not. My shuttle never showed up. The one scheduled before it did, but they wouldn’t let me on early. I had to wait they told me. I wasn’t alone – there was another lady with me. Thirty minutes after the shuttle was supposed show up, we called up its company. We were told it had already come by, which was entirely untrue.
I started to panic. A shuttle from a different company then came. I got the lady to agree to pay my fare to the airport. By this point, it was an hour after the scheduled pick up. Meanwhile, another bus showed up – from “our” shuttle company. It wasn’t to pick up though, but to drop off.
Nevertheless, the driver heard our plight and generously drove us to the airport, even though it really wasn’t his job to do so.
I arrived at the terminal way later than scheduled, but I was still good. Almost home. While in security, I started chatting up with this Canadian R&D architect that worked in New York. He had also gone to the conference.
We kept talking at the gate. Then it was time to board. I was finally on my way home. After all of this, it was soon going to be over.
But the plane never left. First, it was announced that there was a mechanical issue. Finally, it was said that this couldn’t be fixed and we had to get off.
I nearly broke down. I had no money for a cab ride, no money for a room for the night, no nothing. I had no money for food if this got delayed to the next day.
I sat down with the other Canadian and shot the shit at the gate. He bought me water and some snacks for us. Another plane was called in for us. By 3AM we were on another flight. Before getting on, he lent me a $50 bill.
Things started to turn around.
This delay meant I had missed my connection. That said, I was able to get on another flight, which would only make me seven hours behind schedule. Good news, all told.
I landed in Newark and bought my first real meal in two days with the money I was passed.
It’s hard to express how wonderful it tasted.
When the announcement came stating that my plane for the final leg home was “broken” and that they weren’t sure if they could get another one in, I was okay. Oh yes, you read that right: both planes on both legs of my journey had endured mechanical failures. But I had $40 left for food, and I could hold out comfortably.
In the end, they did find a replacement plane, and I ended up home only eight hours after initially planned. My dad picked me up and brought me home to my best friend, who had made a wonderful comfort dinner. Both gave me nice hugs.
The Good
People were really nice to me.
From the lady who would have paid my shuttle fare, to the shuttle driver who took us to the airport, to my best friend who put extra money on my phone and was always there for me, to my dad’s moral support and pick up once home, to the friend who bought my meal that day, to another friend I made at the con who would have been there had I been unable to make the shuttle, to the awesome expat.
Most of these people were strangers before this weekend, but without them, this would have been so much worse. I am so thankful for their help.
I’m grateful it wasn’t worse: I still had my passport. Had that gone too, resolving matters would have been far more complicated.
I’m also thankful to George, who was a good companion at Newark. Not much of a talker, but a good people watcher.
