I've walked back to the A terminal after breaking the seal in T (and again in A, even though you can't technically break it twice). I've stationed myself in the neighboring terminal so I can sit in front of the Cinnabon in case the drunk munchies strike (and even if they don't, I still want one!). I spent my remaining time in T talking to the bartender and Afghanistan man about international drinking ages. I spent $11 before tip on the margarita (that's almost a pitcher at La Ha... highway robbery!) and didn't realize until after I left that I added wrong. Now she's gonna think I'm an idiot. Or a drunk.
I realized while I was walking over that I've flown in and out of ATL as many, if not more, times than I've flown out of Charleston. I think that's odd. I'm a big hater of the ATL bathroom sinks too. They squirt out enough water to wash a third of one hand and then stop so you have to wave your soapy, partially wet hand around like an idiot until it will squirt again. They need to recalibrate those things.
I'm going to either read or watch TV on my iPod until I get the Cinnabon craving (yum!).
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