My Trip to Beverly Hills - the travel portion

I had to go to 90210 the other day, the actual zip code (I had always halfway believed it didn't really exist).  I was defending the deposition of an expert witness, a radiologist.  I hadn't been to the Hills before, and my boss mentioned that he just flies "right to John Wayne Airport" and that I should just take a cab - don't rent a car, "because it's just 15-20 minutes to the doctor's house from the airport."  I assumed he knew what he was talking about, so I did it.

I flew into John Wayne Airport (I am a fan of the man and his fine airport), and hopped into a cab.  After a few minutes of driving, I asked the cabby (who was wearing Armani Exchange sunglasses, I don't know why I recognized the symbol.  The funny part is they were upside down, I assume that means they are knockoffs.  I didn't know there was so much pressure to be trendy among cabbies), how long till we arrived.  I expected him to say "10-15 minutes".  I had already spent some serious time trying to find a reasonable place to eat lunch and had narrowed it down to a couple of places.  However, I needed at least an hour to do it.  

"50 minutes or so".  What?  As I was asking him if he was insane, we drove by Long Beach Airport.  "What airport is closest to Beverly Hills?"

"LAX, or maybe Burbank.  Even Long Beach Airport is closer than John Wayne."

Crap.  I got my phone out and ran the map.  Yep, I couldn't have picked an airport much farther away and still been in Orange County.   This meant that I had to change my return flight, because I had picked it based on a 15 minute trip from the deposition to the airport.  I called Southwest and switched to Burbank airport.  

The thing that shocked me about driving through Beverly Hills is that it is exactly like on TV and the stereotype you have in your mind.  The cab dropped me off and I walked up to the Doctor's house.  It was, of course, obviously very expensive.  As I walked up to the door, I passed the carport, and saw what is pictured below: 

Yeah, a Jaguar XK.  This is important, because I was 45 minutes early to the doctor's house.  He asked what I would do, and I had no idea.  He suggested I go to Starbucks, and I said - "That's a good idea, I haven't eaten."  He said "You should just take my car."

Now, I know the courtesy dance (C-c-c-c O-o-o-o U-u-u-u - you know, like the safety dance).  Someone offers, you refuse, they offer, you refuse and finally, the weakest will bends and its done.  Well, having seen what was at stake - i have never been in a Jaguar XK, I didn't feel like dancing.  

"Well, okay.  I said."  Unfortunately, the doctor then skipped the dance and gave me walking directions to downtown Beverly Hills.

I'll talk about my meals in a different post.  Let's skip to the end of the deposition.  My secretary gets a cab to come pick me up, and I hop in.  I'm off, to Bob Hope Airport.  Below is my cabbie.  take a close look at his collar.  That's some sort of tissue paper insert.  I don't know if this is its real purpose, but it seems that he doesn't want to get ring around the collar.  He changed this about half way through the trip.  

Mr. Cabbie, was very talkative.  He eagerly pointed out all the new multifamily construction.  

"See that!  That is new.  Already for sale.  See that?  That is new, just last year. See that?  That is new, more apartments."  And so on, for miles.  I, trying not to start a big conversation, tried to keep my answers short - "Yeah" "Crazy" or "That's for sure."  One time, I said, "If I had some money, I'd love to be one of those guys building apartments."  That's when my cabbie said something profound:

"Those guys aren't like you and me."  I don't know if he just meant we weren't rich, or that we weren't ambitious.  But it seemed significant.  

And

I missed my flight.  So, two more hours in the airport.  Bob Hope Airport, by the way, doesn't use jetways like most airports. See below:

I was not flying on a propeller plane, this was your standard Southwest Airlines 737, and they had us walk out and up the stairs.  I regret it now, but I was too busy watching "The Dark Night" on my phone to notice how they got the wheelchair bound 300 pound transsexual into the plane.  I'll bet it was interesting.  I do know that I was stuck behind the poor sucker who had to push that gigantic man/woman up the ramp when we landed in Vegas.  

Morals of the story:

1.  My boss is not a reliable source of travel advice.

2. If you don't want to talk to your cabbie, pretend you don't speak English - however, make sure you don't pick an eastern European language to fake - they'll probably call you on it.

3. If a persons legacy is to be judged by their airport, John Wayne kicks Bob Hope's ass.