Soooo…. I just got back from a quick trip to the homeland to visit the kinfolks. We had a wonderful few days of margaritas, fabric and first birthday parties.
And then I tried to come home to Buffalo…
I left at o’dark thirty in the midst of a downpour and threatening floods. I had to take it slow a few times, but ye’ olde trusty rental made it just fine. I even had time to enjoy a bit of latte and email at the airport before hopping on my first uneventful and uncrowded flight to DC. On top of all that, the good karma points were flowing as I bound off a pair of socks that have been my travel companion for the entire job search process. (I’ll post pics tomorrow. Let’s just say there’s a little bit of stress knit into every stitch.)
I get to DC and have time for a tasty slice of ricotta white pizza and another shot of Starbucks while passing the hours of my layover. Dulles was crowded and our flight was oversold. While the announcements and calls for volunteers to give up their seats made my fellow flyers groan, they made my mind start a’whirling. There’s a good chance I’ll be needing a flight to San Fran next winter and wouldn’t a free ticket be awfully helpful? The gate agents assured me I could catch a later flight and still be in town by 9 or 10 at the latest. Hey, if a girl’s got more sock yarn and free needles, what’s a few hours in an airport? I jumped at the chance and went to the customer service station to be rebooked.
And then…
I luck out and get the one agent who isn’t so sure how to run her own computer system, making me a little nervous when she keeps canceling me out of flights and writing down a list of other people she’s also kicking out of flights by mistake. (By the way, Mr. Fox and Ms. George, I’m really sorry if you’re still stranded without a ticket out of Dulles!) Finally, despite telling me that I’m flying through Rochester, she hands me a pack of tickets through Philly and tells me to run so I can make it to the next terminal. I barely have time to even notice that my last flight wasn’t supposed to get in until after midnight, but again, girl with sock yarn and needles… just another few hours to waste. I take out running and make the line for boarding with only minutes to spare. Ah, a slightly crowded but short flight and one step closer to home.
And then…
Upon arrival in Philly, I see that there are several Buffalo flights leaving earlier than my 11 departure so I take the time to wander through various terminals, hoping someone can get me home. Instead of a new boarding pass, I get news that all those flights are also oversold and they can’t even guarantee that I’ll be able to get on the flight I’m booked on. I nervously wander to my correct gate and try to combat the anxiety that comes from watching gate agents struggle with a jet bridge that won’t work, passengers that are missing connections from across the country and complaints about the most disgusting ladies restroom anyone has ever seen. (Really, it was truly gross. I get that airports are busy places and the cleaning crews are overworked and underpaid but this was a whole new level of nasty. Made me regret all that Starbucks every time I had to tinkle!)
And then…
My knitting elbow kicks in and I can’t bear to work on the socks another stitch. Truly tragic!
But, eventually the hours tick by and we start to board.
And then…
People start to come back into the gate, not out into the plane. Never a good sign.
And then…
The main gate agent grabs the microphone and offers a large sigh. Again, not a good sign. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to be honest with you.” Uh, a really not good sign.
“The plane has been filled with too much fuel. At this point, we can either empty the fuel or take off passengers to meet weight requirements. We’ll give you information when we have it.” A really really not good sign.
And then…
Another sigh into the microphone and, “Ladies and gentlemen, you might want to get comfortable. The truck to remove the fuel is going to take awhile, probably over an hour. Go to the bar and I’ll come get you when we’re ready to board again.” When the gate agent tells you to go start drinking, it’s really really really not a good sign.
And then…
After another twenty minutes, the biggest sigh yet, “I hate to even say this, but we can’t find the truck.” Audible groans from the peanut gallery. “But maybe this is a good thing because we’ve located another truck that can take the fuel off faster and as soon as we can get it here from another terminal, we’ll be able to start the process. But in the meantime, I’m stressed out and need a smoke. Anyone care to join me outside?” When the person in charge throws up her hands, commissions a beeping cart and hauls passengers outside to get a smoke, it’s really really really really not a good sign.
And then…
We finally get the call to restart the boarding process. Woohoo! The drunk smokers which have recently returned start a raucous celebration and we all breathe a sigh of relief and gather up our bags. They hurry us onto the plane and we start to feel like the end is in sight.
And then…
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Thank you for your patience this evening. I’m sorry, but we’re going to need a little more patience from you as we now have to take care of the paperwork. I expect this to take another 15-30 minutes.”
He runs off the airplane, leaving us with one of the ditziest flight attendants I’ve ever met. Ms. Brilliant decides that the best way to deal with a plane full of angry people stuck in the middle of the night is to pass around the bag of pretzels while she tells stories of how the crew decided to pass the hours of waiting. Seems our flight attendant realized that she could fit into one of the overhead bins and this would make a perfect place to hide to scare the pilot while he was running in and out of the plane. Nothing instills a sense of confidence in your flight crew like the reenactment of your flight attendant and pilot climbing into a luggage bin.
Although it does instill a sense of copycat-itis. Our friendly drunks decided that if a tiny little flight attendant can fit into a luggage bin, so can then… despite being beefy guys who can only marginally stand up on their own.
And then…
The pilot returns… with news that the paperwork is stalled in Indianapolis and he has absolutely no idea when we’ll get it and be cleared for take-off. Yeah, in case it wasn’t clear… a really really really really really not good sign.
And then…
We took off. Well, after another 45 minutes of waiting, but there was eventually a lift-off. I arrived in Buffalo around 3 a.m. and surprisingly, my luggage had been transferred through two different airlines and was waiting for me to drag it home on my way to dragging my tired body into bed.
Ah, my travel joys.
I get a whole week and a half before I have to get on another plane. And that’s cause for another big sigh…
1 comment:
oh my...
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