One time on a business trip sometime before 2003, I had a layover in Atlanta, which is pretty typical. I was still a smoker back then (I quit about 5-6 years ago) and airports were restricting smokers more and more. Atlanta was no different, of course, but they did not provide smoking areas in every terminal to my knowledge.
My plane landed in terminal C and I started walking toward the people mover near the front of the terminal. About halfway through, I stopped to ask a janitor where the nearest smoking section was. He replied, pointing toward an escalator, "B9".
I said, "Uh, pardon?"
"Terminal B, gate 9. B-9. That a-way."
I thanked him, turned, and smirked a little: How serendipitous was it to hear that the smoking section was B9.
Now, every time I go for my annual physical, having grown up with lots and lots of cancer in my family (mom, siblings, grandparents, and aunts...), I think, "B9."
My dermatologist confirmed for me this morning that the things he removed a month ago were all benign. And, again, I thought, "Yup. B9!" It might sound silly, but I think that it's a signal to the universe that I want to hear, "benign," for everything I get checked. Makes me happy.
Citizen of the World
... enjoying this great world