Sound rude? Believe me, it was.
Yesterday, I flew from Knoxville, TN to Houston, TX on my way to Sacramento, CA. Did I get to Sacramento? Yeah, this afternoon! The airplane coming out of Knoxville was an hour and a half late because of a mechanical error during refueling. The gate attendant told us this, the pilot told us this when we finally got on the plane, and the flight attendant told us this when most of us missed our connecting flights. Including yours truly. We were told to see the ticket counter in Houston and they would get us on other flights to our destinations and put us up in a hotel for the night.
Two and a half hours of standing in line resulted in me getting booked on another flight for this morning and being informed that there had been no mechanical error — no, no, the weather had kept us sitting on the runway for an hour and a half. And weather is not their problem so I get no hotel room. Huh, that’s funny. I don’t recall sitting on the runway at all, but rather in the terminal. And weather? Not a drop of rain anywhere and not a wiggle of turbulence the whole flight.
When I protested, as did the entire line of people who were also on my airplane, I was given an 800 number to call and told they could help me. 45 minutes of my life was wasted on that call. I honestly thought a riot could ensue right there in the airport with all of the angry passengers. Now, not only was I exhausted, I was scared.
I met a girl, Amy, who was also trying to get to Sacramento and we bonded over shared delays. One call home to tell them to expect me the following day and my good, and extremely indignant, friend Tonya insisted on buying me and Amy a hotel room for the night (or what was left of it). Did I mention I love Tonya? Well, I do.
A half hour later a shuttle van pulls up to the terminal to take us to the hotel. Once inside the driver not only eyeballs the two of us lecherously (eeww), but he proceeds to blast unintelligible rap music. But we arrived and got a good 5 hour nap before checking out again. We bummed complimentary toiletries from the hotel because after refusing us a hotel room, Continental held our bags hostage for transfer onto our morning flight. *&^$%^$!!! One more ride in the ghetto hoopty mo-van and we make it safely back to the airport. Only to be selected for thorough security inspection. Yes, I really look suspicious.
“Maybe I can nap on the plane,” I thought.
Then the plane was delayed for a half an hour. Of course. When the plane finally showed up, I was in the very last row next to the toilets. Figures. I got seated next to an unaccompanied 9-year-old named Courtney who didn’t shut up the entire time and was obviously an unashamed attention hussy. I almost expected it at this point. She was afraid to fly, needed to get up exactly 15 times during the flight (I counted), was scared she’d be trapped in the toilet so I had to stand and hold the door closed so she wouldn’t have to lock it, she wanted a pillow, a blanket, more soda, some milk. And they wonder why I don’t want to breed. She finally fell asleep on my arm and I was so grateful for the silence I didn’t even mind that I couldn’t feel my arm from the bicep down. On the way out of the plane the flight attendants thanked me profusely for looking after Courtney. Apparently, a few thought she was actually with me because we both have blonde curly hair. Still, at this point I almost expected to find out my baggage had safely landed in Singapore instead of Sacramento, but that, at least, went well. I’m home now. Gotta run.
Here are some visuals of how this trip went down:
This is me when I arrived in Sacramento after dealing with 2 days of no sleep, little food, crabby holiday travelers, demanding children, and recycled airplane air.
