My Weekend - Part 2

Have you ever noticed that when you have a three day weekend, you have to pay for that holiday?  The Friday before Memorial Day wasn't so bad but this past week has been brutal.  So busy that I just couldn't get around to posting here and finishing up part 2 of my journey home from several weeks ago. 

If you read part 1, you know that my aunt passed away rather suddenly and I had to fly to Atlanta for the funeral.  The only silver lining to a funeral is that you get to see people that you may not have seen for years - - in my case, my cousin that lives in New York.  It was a treat to spend several days catching up with her.

The funeral itself, while it brought me to tears, was truly a celebration of my aunt's life.  It was wonderful to see how many people and lives she touched - - how inspiring. 

That was on a Saturday and I was departing on Sunday morning to return home.  I had only gotten maybe four hours of sleep for the last few nights so I woke on Sunday morning feeling less than bright and cheery.  I had to connect through Dallas once again and, as always seems to be the case, my departing flight did not leave Atlanta on time.  Why is that?  Is it just me or are all flights late out of Atlanta?  My layover in Dallas was an hour so I was starting to become concerned when we finally boarded.  Hooray!

Not so fast!  We hadn't been in the air more than an hour when the captain came over the speaker to announce that since there were storms in Dallas (actually tornadoes and thunderstorms) we were having to reroute around Dallas and fly in from the west side.  Which would add approximately an hour to our trip and make it impossible for me to make my connection.  What are you going to do?  (Clearly nothing when you're just a passenger.)

I had digested this information and was thinking it was a good thing I had an early-ish flight when not long after the captain began speaking again.  Due to the rerouting we were out of fuel.  Umm, excuse me?  Surely this can't be good.  We were going to have to land at the closest airport where we could fuel up - - Abilene.   Hooray?
 
Definitely not happy campers on board.  Some began asking the flight attendants if they could get off the plane in Abilene, others bemoan this bad luck.  Surprisingly, I felt almost zen about this.  No type A personality rearing its ugly head on my shoulders. 

We land in Abilene, where it's bright and sunny.  No signs whatsoever of any kind of storms. Interesting.  No idea how far Abilene is from Dallas but clearly far enough to have its own weather.  We sit on the runway . . . for a good hour.  We were apparently the third plane in line for fuel.  Oh, and just to keep things interesting, we have also not been cleared for takeoff.  So we can fuel up but we can't go anywhere.  And better - - Abilene has two or three schools and all of them are having graduation ceremonies on this weekend.  So there are no hotel rooms or rental cars available.  Classic.

Needless to say, no one got off the plane (the drought of hotel rooms and rental cars was bad enough but I'm sure being told they couldn't get back on the plane after getting off sealed the deal.)  We were finally given clearance to take off and flew into the western side of Dallas.  Rainy, gray and packed full of people.  I have never seen so many people in the airport in my life.

I disembarked at gate C27 and ran to the first airline employee I could find.  Despite arriving nearly three hours after my connection was to have departed I was informed that my flight had not yet left and if I hurried, I may be able to make it.  Yes!  Success!

I ran as quickly as I possibly could to the Skylink (Dallas' version of a plane train) and crammed on board with quite possibly every person travelling in Texas.  The doors shut and then . . . nothing. 

Have you ever been inside a subway or train car, packed to the gills, that doesn't move?  No movement, no sound, nothing.  Me being me, I immediately start thinking what a sitting duck that car is and feel myself begin to sweat.

The PA system comes on with an announcement.  The Skylink will be delayed by several minutes due to a car becoming unattached to the train. 

Seriously.  I am not joking.  This return trip has turned into a comedy of errors. 

A few other people like me - - running late, tired and feeling claustrophobic - - attempt to pry open the doors with our hands.  No luck.   We are stuck until the errant car is reattached.  My mind fills with mental images of that runaway car.  How did it become unattached?  Speed bump?  Bored teens?  What?  And were there people on board?  Are they just standing in this car while it rolls the tracks?

After three or four minutes, there is a ding and we are moving - - finally!  The Skylink manages to deposit me, still safely attached to the train, at the A gate and I rush to A34, where my extremely delayed plane still is.   Unfortunately, however, the gate door closed sixty seconds before I arrived and if you travel enough you know that once that door closes, no one is getting through.

Sixty seconds.  If the Skylink had not been delayed, I would have made that flight.  If we had not run out of fuel (seriously!) I would have been able to eat lunch and then make that flight.

I am politely told that there is another flight back home, scheduled to depart in thirty or so minutes and if I hurry (yes, that sounds familiar) I may be able to make it.  Said flight is boarding at C29.

C29?  I just came from C27!  No!  Am I being Punk'd?  I grab my rolling bag (getting quite a workout) and run back to the Skylink to go back where I started.

Along with (it seems) thousands of other frustrated, impatient, hungry and unhappy people.

I am put on standby and told to watch the screens and stay close by.  Watching the screen, I learn that I am number eighty on the standby list.  NUMBER. EIGHTY.  No way am I getting on this flight.  To make things even more exciting, this is the last scheduled flight to leave Dallas for home. 

To make this already long post more brief, I spent several hours commiserating with others in front of C29.  I didn't leave the area - - no bathroom break, no quick food run - - out of fear that the moment I stepped away, they would call my name.  I continued to go back and check every twenty or so minutes, being very polite to the poor agents who had to deal with a lot of tempers, naming every airport I could think of within four hours' drive time of my home.  Each suggestion was met with "They are also on standby."

I emailed my office to state that I was stuck in Dallas with no idea how and when I would leave (but was being told the next day at the earliest by airport employees) and called the pet hotel that was boarding my dog to let them know I would not be returning home to pick him up that day.  I was preparing to jump on Yelp to find the closest halfway decent hotel/motel by the airport when they paged me.  Yes!  It had to be good news!

They got me on a flight just over an hour away from my home!  Yes!  I would figure out exactly how to get home from LAX once I got there but provided we took off (more flights were being grounded and cancelled than taking off), I was on my way.

I bid a fond farewell to my airport compatriots, we wished each other good luck, and I was shortly back in the friendly (although dark and threatening) skies.  I had now been awake almost twenty-four hours.

The flight to LA was unmemorable (thank God) other than the fact that I had to check my carry-on bag due to shortage of room on the plane.  We landed safely and I hurried myself to Baggage Claim, where I would wait for nearly an hour for my lone bag to show up.   The upside was that I got to spend the time with a handsome Air Force man.

So, my bag shows up and I jump on the first car rental bus to come by where I am transported to the off site location to wait in line behind six or so people to pay $140 for a rental car I would have all of ten hours.

What did I learn from this trip?  First, to always do my hair because you never know who you might meet.  Second, pack snacks.  Third, and most importantly, life is too short to sweat the small stuff.  Sure, it was a pain and I encountered difficulty after difficulty but I eventually made it home, exhausted and hungry but none the worse for wear.

Talking About Loss and My Weekend - Part 1

Loss is a part of life but when it happens to you, it's always shocking, saddening and causes a lot of soul searching.

My aunt passed away last week.  It was relatively sudden - - she had surgery five or so days beforehand and developed complications.  I thought she would pull through because my aunt was a fighter.  Hearing that she had not pulled through hurt me terribly although my tears wouldn't come until her funeral.

So I had to take Tuesday off from work to arrange for air travel, boarding for my dog and because I had nothing I felt was appropriate to wear to the viewing and to the funeral.  Does everyone have a viewing or is that a Southern thing?  I know that out here in California it's perfectly acceptable to wear slacks to a funeral but when you're old school Southern, you wear a skirt or a dress (if you're a woman, obviously, although I guess if you really want to wear a skirt or dress and you're not a woman, go for it.) 

Airfare is insane in general but try buying a ticket two days before you need to fly.  Ouch.  Even with a bereavement rate, it was still "I-need-a-loan-to-buy-a-ticket" ridiculous.  I haven't flown with a connection in almost three years (yes, I am spoiled and yes, I had an incident the last time I flew with a layover) but given that I did not want to take on a second job in order to fly nonstop, I got myself on Priceline and chose a flight that would connect in Dallas before taking me to Atlanta.  Seemed harmless enough but more on that later.

Whenever you aren't looking for a basic black/navy blue/gray skirt, they are everywhere.  I mean, everywhere.  However, when you have one morning or afternoon to find something that fits, that isn't loud, that doesn't come to your toes or graze your hooha . . . good luck.    I went to Kohls, which is always my go-to place.  They had nothing.  Sundresses but not appropriate.  Short skirts that would tell everyone not only what kind of underwear I preferred (and whether or not I actually wore underwear) but also my waxing (or nonwaxing) habits.  I bought a skirt and top out of fear - - didn't particularly like them and, of course, they weren't on sale.  I panicked that I would have to go to the mall, park a mile away, and then go through rack after rack to find something decent, at which point they would either not have my size or I would be painfully price gouged.

Enter Target.  I almost forgot about Target in my worry and fear.  There is a Target in the same shopping center and I thought I might as well pop in and see what they had, even though I figured it would be a wasted trip.  Five minutes in and I had found a basic black skirt that came right above my knees, as well as several different blouses that would be appropriate to wear.  Salvation!  No mall jaunt necessary!

Having that day off from work allowed me to pack as much as possible so I wasn't doing it last minute - - my usual routine - - and also allowed me to prepare my dog's meals for when I was away.  (My dog is as spoiled as I am and on a special diet.)

Fast forward two days and everything appears to be going smoothly.  As my layover in Dallas is only 44 minutes, I "upgrade" my back of the plane window seat to a middle seat in the first row of economy.  The first row is considered an upgrade because of extended leg room - - so important when you're short like me.  I went with the upgrade, figuring that I would get off the plane more quickly being in the first row.  The downside to this seating choice is that you are looking at a wall the entire flight.  I like to see.  I'm not flying the plane or anything but because I have control issues, I like to see what's going on.  Staring at the wall is not my cup of tea.  Additionally, because you do not have a row in front of you, you also do not have a seat to stow a bag under, nor do you have a tray table to put your drink, book, etc. on.  I was pleasantly informed on taking my seat that my handbag would have to be stowed in the overhead compartment during takeoff. 

What now?  I am the type of person who has nightmares about losing my handbag.  I cannot go anywhere with a little changepurse or tiny wallet.  I need my mobile phone.  I need my wallet.  I have my keys.  I need my lip balm.  I have three pairs of glasses - - sunglasses, reading glasses and glasses in case my contacts are out.  I have a baggie of soft peppermints when I travel, as well as multiple packs of chewing gum to keep my ears from popping.  I also have my iPad in there, with many books and several movies downloaded.  I was so flustered that I let the flight attendant take my bag, with everything inside, and put it away. 

Shortly after I take my seat, a man sits down next to me in the aisle seat.  He is busy talking into his phone.  He plops down and proceeds to push my arm from the armrest.   I give him an "excuse me?" look and put my arm back, which he ignores as he is still busy having a conversation, but he does elbow me in the side as he puts his arm back.  I mutter a "dick!" under my breath as I get a whiff of the bucketful of cologne he has doused himself in before boarding the plane.  I am not a highly sensitive person when it comes to scents but good Lord . . . I begin to feel queasy and wish that I had my peppermints and gum.

The announcement comes over the PA to turn off all mobile devices, laptops, etc. as we are preparing for takeoff.  My cologne-loving neighbor continues his conversation.  Clearly he (and his conversation) are more important than anyone else on the plane.

Not my flight but could have been.  adventureswithben.com

We take off and I am mentally telling myself that as soon as we reach cruising altitude I can get my bag and all the life savers I have in there.  I am okay with not having an armrest so long as I have my peppermints, my gum and my iPad.   I am putting myself in my mental happy place when my neighbor takes off his shoes.  Takes. Off. His. Shoes.  And not flip flops either.  Regular shoes that require socks.  Black socks as I can see them (and probably smell.)   The purpose of overloading the cologne is now evident.

This is where being a writer comes into play because the second thing I think of (the first being "ewwwwww!") is that I wish I could get my phone to take a picture of this so I could attach it to this eventual post.  Writers always imagine how to write about every situation they are in.

The rest of the flight was relatively uneventful if somewhat distasteful.  We landed in Dallas early and I easily made my connecting flight to Atlanta.  I jumped on the Marta train, as I always do when landing during the day, to head north where my brother was going to pick me up.  And here is where things got strange again.

I've never had an incident with anyone on the Marta before and I've taken it for years.  On this day I was taking it during rush hour so you would think the likelihood for a "situation" would be much slimmer.  Apparently not.

I feel sympathy for anyone who is mentally unwell but that doesn't make it any easier to be the target of their rants.  This man, after attaching himself to someone else who exited the train prior to me, sat next to me in the only other available seat and spent the next twenty-five or so minutes telling me that we are all here only to die, that people spend too much time on their cellphones and don't talk to each other any more (that part may actually have some merit.)  Of course he was yelling this in my ear once my cellphone rang and I was trying to tell my brother where I was.  Upon hanging up, the man then told me that "he doesn't love you!" and "he doesn't even like you!"  I did my best to ignore him, while keeping my sympathy in check, but it was downright difficult when he announced to the entire train that I was "only looking for someone to have sex" with me.  Ummmm, okay. 

I got sympathy eyes from most of the other passengers - - you know, they make eye contact with you and you can tell they feel sorry for you but oh-so-grateful they aren't in your seat.  When my stop mercifully came up and I stood to leave, my extremely verbal neighbor yelled "Where do you think you're going?  Get back here!" 

I was never so thrilled to exit a subway train in my life.  And very relieved he didn't follow me off.

And that, my friends, is part one of my journey home.