Coming into Minneapolis felt like coming home for some odd reason. I recalled Frisbee in the park, supermarkets with carpeting, making love to ex-Jason in some airport hotel his company arranged him to stay in during his move – one without windows, healthy dinners and midnight visits for those high sugar Midwest donuts and things in that category for Jason that I was “afraid” to even touch, flying in his 1946 Beechcraft Bonanza over Minnesota and Wisconsin lakes, canoeing down remote streams and rivers, massages in Old Town, Alveda skin treatments and funky bands in funky neighborhoods.
Ah yes, and chats with Vivian in her St. Paul pad and long stretches of spending money in the tacky but almighty Mall of America, now a talked about post 9/11 terrorism risk.
I wasn’t even completely a third of the way there, and Hamilton needed supplemental maintenance – a new radar detector and a new CD player. Nothing a visit and a credit card to Circuit City can’t fix.
Unlike a Boston-area Circuit City, the service was fabulous, sales reps had a sense of humor and looked in your eyes when they spoke to you. There was no wait despite the fact that it was a weekend and I had four handsome guys in their early twenties run around after me – a nice welcome to Minneapolis.
I had been to the infamous Mall of America (did Jason really take me there on a date?) before, however I decided to kill a couple of hours there waiting for Paul’s flight to come in from Dallas. CampSnoopy sits inside the mall, which is a large indoor amusement park that includes 25 rides and a rollercoaster. I beelined straight for the crepe stand before the entrance reminding myself how dangerous it was for me to be wandering around America’s largest mall unsupervised.
I didn’t realize that Minneapolis had two airports, the smaller one Humphrey takes incoming flights from airline names I had never heard of, like Sun Country. When I saw Paul with his three bags and a sleeping bag, I thought of poor Hamilton and two mechanics warnings at how overloaded the car was…..and this was before I left Boston. Fortunately, that although I had two crates of CDs, one of Paul’s bags was filled with kitch 1980s tunes that kept us wired through the Plains of South Dakota.