This Sunday, local friend Jeremy Hill set out on a journey he had awaited with excitement since last Monday. Hill, the owner of a moderately tidy Volvo XC70, nearly exclaimed for joy when he got your string of Facebook messages, asking him how he was, what he had done over break, and if he would be willing to “swing by” the airport to “give you a lift.”

The last few days, Jeremy Hill has been kept up at night with racing, ecstatic thoughts of waking up before 8 AM, warming up the pale green station wagon that hadn’t been touched since finals week and making the 40-45 minute trek down the 101 to the San Francisco International Airport. He had joyfully anticipated circling the arrivals area like an amusement park carousel ride. “Adding that extra milage just gives me such a thrill.  It’s one of my favorite parts about when my friends take advantage of my ability to drive.”

To whet his appetite, Hill occasionally asked you for the “juicy” details: your time of arrival, the airport from which you need service, how many suitcases you checked and thus will need to cram in his half-full trunk. On the big day, Hill arose, eager to start his adventure north. It wasn’t until he arrived ready to make his first circle through the arrivals area that you sent him a text saying you had arrived at San Jose safely. What fun.

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