And back again
After a long day of travel, I'm finally home again. Boy, am I wiped out. On the way back, I purposely didn't worry about "looking nice," which spared me some of the more convoluted troubles of my trip out (entertaining though they may have been). Boy, is it (relatively) easy to fly standby the first week of December! Planes taking off half-empty all over the place; it's a standby's dream.
My only real concern was how I was going to get home from the airport without calling an overpriced taxi. My usual kind RDU chauffeur,
mstutts, was unavailable, as was my second-string, Bobby (of East Campus Grill on Markham, for those of you who recall visiting it after the Pride parade). So I started putting out other feelers, leaving messages for my friends Rebecca and
curtimack the day before I was to leave.
The last night with my darling Paul is always bittersweet, as anyone in a long-distance relationship can attest. We had a lovely dinner out (diet? what diet?), and went to see "No Country for Old Men," which was a pretty stunning flick. But every hug and hand-holding is a little tighter, every kiss a little more tender, every sweet nothing a little more poignant, when you know you'll be apart very soon.
I made sure to put on eye makeup before we left for the airport the next morning, so I'd work a little harder to keep from crying (shallow, I know, but it worked). I was getting all geared up for the goodbye hug as he pulled up to the terminal curb, behind another pickup truck where a slender blonde was dropping off her boyfriend, when Paul saw her and said, "Hey, that's Jana! Hey Jana! You wanna meet my friend Jana? She's a big fan of one of the bands I play in!" I took a deep breath and said, "Sure!" in my fake-cheeriest voice. I watched her hug her boyfriend and close the tailgate on her pickup as he wheeled his luggage toward the door, and then I got out and looked around for Paul. He was around back, getting my suitcase out. "Don't you want to say hi to your friend?" I asked, but he had clearly thought better of it. "Eh, I see her all the time, no big deal," he shrugged. Good man.
I won't go into the details of waiting through my extra-special security treatment (for which I am "selected" every time I fly on Paul's employee companion pass). The energetic 20-something TSA guy who was handling the bin with my laptop did get a raised eyebrow when he plopped it down on the floor like a stack of papers. He saw my look and said, "Oh, sorry, that wasn't cool." Mm-hmm.
The flight to Chicago was uneventful (and by this time I had talked to
curtimack and we had arranged an airport pickup and a nice dinner in thanks). During the flight, they announced gate connections, and I made a mental note that I'd need to take that handy shuttle from concourse C, where we were landing, to concourse F, where my next flight would be. Which I promptly did upon landing ... before I read the departure board to discover that my RDU flight was now back on concourse C. Sheesh, back on the shuttle. (Did I mention it was snowy and cold in Chicago?) But I was there in plenty of time, and ready to get home. However, after I settled into my comfy first-class seat on the flight that should have taken me home to NC, the pilot made a startling announcement ... the engine would not START. Well, that's just not good. From experience I knew this would mean hours. (I was right.)
We were "de-planed." We were told that they'd found a new plane for us, conveniently located on concourse F (hellooo, shuttle!). A planeload full of people rushed to gate F3, only to discover that our flight had now been cancelled, and they were re-booking us all on other flights. I called
curtimack and let him off airport duty (thanks anyway babydoll!), knowing that if I was lucky enough not to have to stay in Chicago overnight, I'd certainly be very late arriving home. Another call to Rebecca, who had been unavailable at 7pm (my original arrival time) but would most likely be free later.
A lone beleaguered airline agent worked her way through re-booking a crowd of disgruntled passengers, of which I was one of the last. Now, as a standby, I knew I'd be at the very bottom of the re-booked list, so I was relieved to hear that there were plenty of seats available, and even got cheeky enough to ask her if she could find a seat with no one beside me. What a peach ... she did it. Of course, the new flight was - guess where? - back on concourse C. Shuttle ride number 4! A savvy passenger ahead of me in line had requested food vouchers for himself and all his fellow hungry travelers who were being delayed about 4 hours, so when I made it back to gate C1 I actually got to relax and eat a meal before boarding a working aircraft. (I also patted myself on the back for bypassing the McD's in favor of a "Chili's To Go" salad.)
No first-class seat for me this time around, but a pair of coach seats to myself was pretty nice. I crocheted until all the yarn was gone, and mused about what fun Paul and I would have when he visited in January for my birthday. Rebecca came through with an airport pickup (although
mstutts insists he would have driven home from Greensboro early if I'd needed it - that's my buddy!), and I was home before midnight, exhausted but at least able to sleep in my own bed.
My only real concern was how I was going to get home from the airport without calling an overpriced taxi. My usual kind RDU chauffeur,
mstutts, was unavailable, as was my second-string, Bobby (of East Campus Grill on Markham, for those of you who recall visiting it after the Pride parade). So I started putting out other feelers, leaving messages for my friends Rebecca and
curtimack the day before I was to leave.
The last night with my darling Paul is always bittersweet, as anyone in a long-distance relationship can attest. We had a lovely dinner out (diet? what diet?), and went to see "No Country for Old Men," which was a pretty stunning flick. But every hug and hand-holding is a little tighter, every kiss a little more tender, every sweet nothing a little more poignant, when you know you'll be apart very soon.
I made sure to put on eye makeup before we left for the airport the next morning, so I'd work a little harder to keep from crying (shallow, I know, but it worked). I was getting all geared up for the goodbye hug as he pulled up to the terminal curb, behind another pickup truck where a slender blonde was dropping off her boyfriend, when Paul saw her and said, "Hey, that's Jana! Hey Jana! You wanna meet my friend Jana? She's a big fan of one of the bands I play in!" I took a deep breath and said, "Sure!" in my fake-cheeriest voice. I watched her hug her boyfriend and close the tailgate on her pickup as he wheeled his luggage toward the door, and then I got out and looked around for Paul. He was around back, getting my suitcase out. "Don't you want to say hi to your friend?" I asked, but he had clearly thought better of it. "Eh, I see her all the time, no big deal," he shrugged. Good man.
I won't go into the details of waiting through my extra-special security treatment (for which I am "selected" every time I fly on Paul's employee companion pass). The energetic 20-something TSA guy who was handling the bin with my laptop did get a raised eyebrow when he plopped it down on the floor like a stack of papers. He saw my look and said, "Oh, sorry, that wasn't cool." Mm-hmm.
The flight to Chicago was uneventful (and by this time I had talked to
curtimack and we had arranged an airport pickup and a nice dinner in thanks). During the flight, they announced gate connections, and I made a mental note that I'd need to take that handy shuttle from concourse C, where we were landing, to concourse F, where my next flight would be. Which I promptly did upon landing ... before I read the departure board to discover that my RDU flight was now back on concourse C. Sheesh, back on the shuttle. (Did I mention it was snowy and cold in Chicago?) But I was there in plenty of time, and ready to get home. However, after I settled into my comfy first-class seat on the flight that should have taken me home to NC, the pilot made a startling announcement ... the engine would not START. Well, that's just not good. From experience I knew this would mean hours. (I was right.)
We were "de-planed." We were told that they'd found a new plane for us, conveniently located on concourse F (hellooo, shuttle!). A planeload full of people rushed to gate F3, only to discover that our flight had now been cancelled, and they were re-booking us all on other flights. I called
curtimack and let him off airport duty (thanks anyway babydoll!), knowing that if I was lucky enough not to have to stay in Chicago overnight, I'd certainly be very late arriving home. Another call to Rebecca, who had been unavailable at 7pm (my original arrival time) but would most likely be free later.
A lone beleaguered airline agent worked her way through re-booking a crowd of disgruntled passengers, of which I was one of the last. Now, as a standby, I knew I'd be at the very bottom of the re-booked list, so I was relieved to hear that there were plenty of seats available, and even got cheeky enough to ask her if she could find a seat with no one beside me. What a peach ... she did it. Of course, the new flight was - guess where? - back on concourse C. Shuttle ride number 4! A savvy passenger ahead of me in line had requested food vouchers for himself and all his fellow hungry travelers who were being delayed about 4 hours, so when I made it back to gate C1 I actually got to relax and eat a meal before boarding a working aircraft. (I also patted myself on the back for bypassing the McD's in favor of a "Chili's To Go" salad.)
No first-class seat for me this time around, but a pair of coach seats to myself was pretty nice. I crocheted until all the yarn was gone, and mused about what fun Paul and I would have when he visited in January for my birthday. Rebecca came through with an airport pickup (although
mstutts insists he would have driven home from Greensboro early if I'd needed it - that's my buddy!), and I was home before midnight, exhausted but at least able to sleep in my own bed.