I have a going theory that sometime in our evolutionary past, flightless or mostly grounded birds like ostriches, penguins and roadrunners must've had to collectively gather and cooperate for flight. I suspect they had to squish into one nest, which later required an full inspection of all their feathers and carry-on eggs, as well as a coordinating mountaintop leader to keep all the nests flying and landing in some sort of synchronous pattern. In the end, the pure joy of soaring freely in the blue sky was lost, causing so many feathers to be ruffled that these flight weary birds just said, "Hang it all, I'm staying on the ground and either running or swimming to get where I need to go
Nothing against the personnel who pilot, plan and serve on airlines. They did a great job. In fact, I admire them. They remind me a bit of the proud parents and coaching staff of a 5-5, first-not-losing-season soccer team that just got paired up with the defending state champion 10-0 team in the first round of the finals. They put on a brave face, but they know we have all collectively gathered to watch a painful annihilation.
"Would you like a beverage, while we wait for clearance to take off?"
Go team!
The real irony in our travel plan was that Shane (my tech-savvy colleague who is 34 and looks like a 27 year old stud) and I changed our 4:30 direct flight from Atlanta to South Bend to a 5:40 flight with the Cincinnati Connection so that we wouldn't have to leave our conference earlier than would be deemed good manners. Had we said "Bye folks, we're blasting out of here in the Cherry Red Camero that the ticket counter gal upgraded Shane for just $30 a day more," we would likely have missed the weather cell that shut down Cincy.
Captain Kirk would've blasted out of there in the Camero. We should've followed his lead.
"Captain, there is a 4.1% chance our plan will work. If we don't get back ..."
"SPOCK! It's going to work."
I actually like sardines. I don't eat them often, but they are a nice salty snack. I have a feeling that they are a sort of cosmic foreshadowing of our destiny. If you think about it, cars are going to have to get smaller. City buses and subways are already crowded and smell a bit like sardine cans left too long open on the counter. Planes are just flying sardine cans. Every time I get off of one, I feel a bit like God's hand just peeled back the can, pulled me out, stretched me and set me free. What do I do? Join the submarine fleet, work in a cubicle, and travel on airplanes made for "Big People, Little World," the new TLC series about Amazon Princess Warriors who live in condos and test drive Ford Fiestas for a living. I think God sometimes just shakes His head when he looks at me.
I like what the guy sitting next to me said after our second attempt to move from the tarmac to the runway,
"Isn't this what they call purgatory, that place between heaven and hell?"
I said, "Yes, but in this case it's between the terminal and the sky."
Something did work out. A family of five or six were scattered throughout the plane. Two small children were seated next to me and their mother landed a spot in the middle of two guys in the row in front of me. I'm a father and I knew this was Satan trying to score bonus points on this flight-game he was playing. I told her, "Wouldn't you rather we traded seats, so you can be with your kids?"
"Really??? You'd do that??" She said, with sincere amazement.
Pictures of kids poking and "Mom?" and fussing and "MOM!" and whistling and "Hush!" and fidgeting and "MOM?!" and bickering and "Settle Down!" flashed through my head.
"Yeah, I'd be happy to. I think it would be best for all of us."
I think the two guys I sat between knew it was a wise move at the time. If they didn't then, they did after we spent 3 hours on the tarmac and 90 minutes in flight, arriving WELL past the kids bedtime and pushing their very patient and loving mother to her saintly limit.
Satan lost his bonus points on that round. He made up for it later when Shane and I finally did make the Cincinnati connection.
The staff in Cincy directed us to the baggage counter because "The ticket counters are closed after 9:00."
Hmmm...
Got there and stood in line for about 10 minutes with an assortment of other refugees and lost bag ladies ... I mean people whose luggage was missing. Got to the counter and spoke with a young lady. I explained our situation to her.
"They sent you here because the ticket counter is closed after 9:00."
(I'm glad she passed Obvious 101 in school.) "Yes, they did."
"Can you wait until tomorrow to go to South Bend?"
"Do we have an option?"
"What would you like to do?"
"I'd like to get to South Bend as soon as possible."
Another person steps in: "You need to go to the ticket counter, they have it staffed because they know about all the delays."
15 minutes wasted in line and in an inane conversation. Satan scores 10 points.
We do make it to the ticket counter. It is FULLY staffed. Must've been 15 attendants working the line of a hundred or more of us from various airplanes that were delayed by the storm. One lanky blonde missed her connection to Amsterdam, another guy missed his to Heathrow. Shane and I got a wizened woman of nearly 60 who had a voice that spoke of days when in-flight smoking was the norm. If you've ever seen Monster's Inc., you might remember Roz, the woman who handled the paperwork. Our lady had a voice like Roz. After about 20 minutes, she got us free rooms at the Holiday Inn, guaranteed flights at 8:25 PM the next evening with stand-by options for 11:15 AM. God bless Roz.
Satan lost another 10 points there.
Shane liked the fact the the gal handing out the refugee toiletry kit "with a t-shirt that you can sleep in" was a lovely young blonde with a friendly smile ... at least for Shane. We both got bags, though. So, the rest of the evening, we knew who the Delta refugees were ... anyone with a bag in their hand. He made the comment that the t-shirt should have "Sky Travel Refugee" on the back. I liked that!
We tried hard to get a car rental. We went all the way to the rental lot and stood in another long line. When we finally got to the front, they said, "We're booked. We're only renting cars to people with reservations."
Half hour shot for a 10 second shut-down. Satan scored 15 on that one. (He got bonus points when we later discovered a rental car courtesy phone in the airport, although we'd been directed to the shuttle. We could've been rejected much more efficiently, that way.)
We took the shuttle back to the airport. I called the Holiday Inn from a hotel courtesy phone. The gal was very polite and said to wait outside door number 4, because the shuttle runs continuously. I don't see a "number 4," but I'm tired as it's now past midnight and think perhaps she said outside the door. We wait as various shuttles come and go, including one to the Hilton. Two other Delta/Avis refugees stand with us under the thundering, but still dry skies.
After 15 minutes, I go back and call again. I get the same reply and tell her I don't see a door number 4.
"Where are you at?"
"Using your courtesy phone."
"Did you fly Delta?"
"Yes."
"Then there should be a door number 4. Just wait outside that."
"There is no door number four."
"Hmmm ... I don't know where you are, then. What do you see?"
"A couple of baggage claim areas."
"OH! Then just go outside door number 4 and wait across the street. The shuttle runs continuously."
Satan scores another 10.
Fortunately, an attendant does hear our conversation and informs us the Holiday Inn gal assumed we were in the next terminal. Guess Holiday Inn shuttles don't visit all baggage claim areas. So, Shane and I head for the other terminal, skulking along a shortcut the attendant offered. Not sure what happened to the other two guys. I wouldn't be surprised if Satan got a bonus round with them. They said Delta set them up with a hotel named "Micro something or another." Yikes! I don't know what THAT was, but any motel with "Micro" in their name can't be good.
In the end, we did finally get to the hotel. Shane got dinner from the vending machine. I wisely got an airport variety Chicago Style hotdog circa 5:30. Well ... maybe not the wisest digestive choice of dinner ... but I wasn't starving.
There were many other odds and ends and adventures we had, but I'll stop here. Suffice it to say that I'm thankful for the many blessings I had in this weird adventure, but it only reinforced why I don't want to fly, anymore.
"Scotty, beam me up!"
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