An Adventure in Flying

I've mentioned before that I don't always have the best luck with travel. This last few days have assumed the title of Suckiest Travel Experience. Obviously, there is a story associated with it all. Shall we begin? Keep in mind that my original flight plan was to go from seattle to chicago, chicago to DC, then DC to Jacksonville. I was taking my brother's brand new scuba gear in my checked baggage. So here we go:

Friday morning Nick and I drove from where we live to Seattle, where his parents live. The trip was about 6 or 7 hours. The drive wasn't bad, and the next couple days were enjoyable. His family took me out to the nicest dinner I've ever had. Nick and I went to the Pike Place Market. I met some of Nick's friends. Then Monday morning rolls around. The first leg of my flight is scheduled to leave at 11:30, but I have to get up at 7. Nick doesn't drive, and the only way I could get there was for his mom to take me on her way to work. Okay, fine. Early morning. I'll live. A conversation about gun control ensues. I manage not to be offensive. (Yes, I shoot things. I occasionally even enjoy it. And I am dating your son.) I got through security okay. I only had to move checkpoints once (about a half mile down the terminal). When I got to my gate (waaaaay too early) it said it would be delayed until 11:47. I'm nervous at this point, but hey, whatever.

At 11:43, the sign changes to say "Delayed until 12:05". Um. Okay. The flight was originally expected to get into O'Hare at 5:15. Now they're expecting it to get in at 6:20. My flight from Chicago to DC leaves at 5:57. I see a small problem in the math here. A problem that vaguely makes me want to give someone a good smack to the back of the head. Just hard enough to make a tiny thump noise, not hard enough so that you could tell it was hollow. I got onto the plane and immediately fell asleep for a while. I woke up and had a coughing fit because my throat was dry. Then I read for the rest of the flight. We landed at 5:26. I ran off the plane, but to no avail. My next flight had already left. And so began my adventure.

My plane had landed in B terminal of O'hare. You may not know this, but there are no airline representatives anywhere in the B terminal of this airport. I found a bank of computers and switched my boarding passes to the next flight out to jacksonville. I would leave at 9 the next morning an have two more stops. Goody. Suddenly, as my passes were printing, it occurred to me that I was stuck in Chicago. Alone. Over night. (PS- I am scared of a lot of big cities). A group of women were milling near these electronic service terminals. Mustering the closest thing to courage I could get, I asked if they knew where a United representative could be found. Maybe they had been successful? My throat was feeling a bit tight at this point. I'd already had a long day and had a headache. To my relief, she told me that there was usually a counter in C terminal. The women headed off. Feeling like a particularly pathetic stalker, I followed them onto the conveyor-belt-esque walkway.

When we arrived in C terminal, I was in luck. I went up the escalator, and like a light shining from heaven, there was a service desk. I was behind only one person. One of the reps at the counter said something to the woman she was helping about Jacksonville. As she left, I went up. Just the person I wanted to see. My luck was turning around! But there was no way to get around the tomorrow morning flight. I got a free hotel room and meal vouchers.

As I walked away, I called my brother to tell him what was going on. He mentioned that the NASA shuttle launch he had so wanted to show me was near dawn that next day. If I took that flight, I would miss it. As I talked on the phone, airport security nearly hit me with a golf cart. Mack asked me to decide if I wanted to try and do another flight. He'd look up options and give me a call. I was in the tunnel between C terminal and the route to the hotel. I sat down in a corner and started crying. I would like to pause at this point and justify myself. I usually handle stress decently. Not great. But passably. I had simply had enough though. I didn't want to talk to anyone else. I didn't want to go anywhere. I couldn't think, and felt claustrophobic. I did a good job of not looking like I was crying, and no one stopped anyway. Thankfully.

Mack called back and told me my options. United should be able to switch me to another of their flights. If I wanted to fly into Orlando, there was a flight leaving in a couple of hours. He asked if I wanted to try for it. I did, but I was in no condition to talk to people. I wasn't crying anymore, but I was sure that if someone was harsh, I'd lose it. Or nice, for that matter. So I asked if he would talk to her. Mercifully, he agreed. Returning to the counter, I went to the same woman. In the pathetic state I was in, all I could manage was a: "my brother" and thrusting the phone at her. I set my tickets on the counter. And Mack worked his miracles. Before I knew it, I had a ticket straight to Orlando, that night. She handed the phone up. I said goodbye to mack. And promptly started crying again. I was pretty certain I couldn't feel more pathetic until she let me keep the vouchers because I "look like I could use them". She also recommended a pizza place in one of the terminals. I got $15 in free food vouchers for pity. Sad, yes, but it was also delicious. I hadn't eaten since early that morning, and it was 7 something at this point. Could be part of the crying. (I don't do well with no food).

A quizno's sub and a slice of genuine chicago cheesecake later, I felt much better. I also had my flight figured out. It would get easy now! I thought....

Getting onto the plane, there were very few of us. It was a later night flight, 9:30 or so, meant to transport those who got abandoned. Apparently, there was some sort of situation in Omaha. We settled in, relishing the one person per row comfort. And we sat there. Maybe there were more people coming? We sat there some more. The flight attendant came on and announced "We're having some minor mechanical problems. They didn't give a time frame, but I figure that means it'll be really quick. We'll be on our way in no time". The following half an hour we sat on the plane left plenty of time to chat with some of the other passengers. One guy had his bag taken by the chicago police and then returned to him when he sat down. His story made me feel a bit better. I remember telling him that I didn't care how long the repairs took, because I was finally on a plane, and that meant I'd go SOMEWHERE.

The speaker turned on again. "This plane needs to be pulled for repairs. We're going to transfer you to another plane at gate B27. Sorry". I tipped my head back and laughed. Not just giggled or chuckled. I full on laughed, tears coming out of the corners of my eyes. The type of laugh that makes people wonder if you should be wearing a nice white coat that lets you hug yourself.

So we all left the plane, dutifully exiting another complication. We walked over to the gate, and sat down. After ten minutes, they told us the plane was running a bit late taxiing over. After twenty, the plane arrived. After 40, they postponed the flight another half hour. It was past eleven before we got on the plane. We arrived in Orlando at 2:30am. I wanted to kiss the ground. I managed to refrain, mainly because it looked kinda icky.

I got off the plane and went to baggage claim. My bag was not there. The woman told me that they were unloading some more, and I should wait. My bag was still not there. I filed a missing bag form. She told me most are returned within 24 hours. Not to worry.

My brother and his girlfriend and I drove out and saw the shuttle launch. It was amazing. If you want to see pictures, go to HERE. Afterward, we drove back to Jacksonville, and got there at about 8am. I had officially been awake with the exception of 15 minutes on my first flight for 25 hours. I went to bed, and slept for 3. Then got up, and got lunch. But back to the baggage story. No word Tuesday morning on my bag. That afternoon, they call to say that it will be there by the evening. Sure enough, at about 7, a man shows up. With the wrong bag. But! He knows where it is! It was merely a labeling issue, and it will be fixed soon. After he drives to Georgia to deliver some more bags. Around 5 am, the bag arrives. He calls my brothers cell phone, and when I wake up wednesday morning I am finally reunited with my stuff.

And finally, my travel experience ends. That is, until I fly back on Saturday. I'm sure it'll go smoothly, right? After all, what could go wrong? (answer: see above, and add terrorists).