A Comedy of Errors…

So, yesterday was my travel day to Denver. I had an early flight scheduled out of ManchAngeles and was supposed to be in Denver by noon, local time.
It would have been great if it worked out that way…
I was going to wake up at 4:30 or 4:45 to make my 6:45 flight. I wanted to buffer in enough time to catch the shuttle bus from the long-term parking lot at the Manchester airport and take it to the terminal.
I opened my eyes at about 5:00am and noticed my clock was blinking. The power had gone out at some point and I was now about half an hour off my schedule. I bolted out of bed and headed for the shower as fast as I could. I was already packed and my bags were in the car…I just had to shower and get dressed.
I left the house, boarding pass in hand, at about 5:35. I pulled out of my driveway and headed to the airport. I got to the end of the road where the Walgreen’s is and the road was closed. There were cops, barricades and even a utility truck there. Why? Well, a car had struck the utility pole at that intersection (which is what caused the power outage, I imagine). I cut through the Walgreen’s parking lot to avoid the closure and continued on my way to the airport.
When I got to Manchester-Boston Regional Airport, it was about 5:50am. I decided to park in a different long-term lot–the one closest to the terminal. I found a spot right near a shuttle bus stop, got my luggage out of the car and began to wait.
…and I waited…
…and waited…
…and looked at my watch. It was now a little past 6:00am. My flight was taking off at 6:45 and there was no shuttle bus in site. They’re supposed to come through every five minutes and I’d been waiting at least ten. At point, I did the only thing I could…I walked to the terminal.
By the time I made it into the terminal it was 6:15. I had to check one bag, so I proceeded to the Southwest Airlines counter and, wouldn’t you know it, the Southwest line was the longest line in the airport. Figures. I made it through, got my bag checked, and the very nice lady behind the counter told me that my plane was taking off from Gate 14.
Gate 14…awesome…right next door to the TSA security screening line, so I wouldn’t have far to go. These were the thoughts going through my head as I came to the top of the escalator to go through security.
Then I noticed the two longest lines I’ve ever seen at the Manchester Airport. I looked at my watch again and it was now 6:30am. I had fifteen minutes.
I tried to get cut into the line due to my plane leaving in 15 minutes but the security agents weren’t buying it. I went to the back of the line and made my way through. Luckily, the line kept moving pretty quickly. Within about ten minutes, I made it to the x-ray machines and the metal detectors. I was the next person to go through…or so I thought.
That was when the TSA agents wheeled in an elderly couple, both in wheelchairs, to cut me in line for special screening. Now, I have absolutely no problem with this, but I was starting to get a little antsy because I’m cutting it FAR too close. The elderly couple gets through and then…two airline pilots cut me in line saying “Excuse me…we have to make our plane.”
I was like, “You’re not the only one, pal…and I’m a paying customer.” (I then prayed he wasn’t MY pilot.) In the space of ten minutes, four people cut me in line. Clearly you have to either be old or a pilot to jump the line…but I digress…
So, I make it through security with no issues. I put my shoes back on and re-pack my laptop and make a quick jog next door to Gate 14. The only person left at the gate is the ticket agent. I run up and say, “This is flight (insert flight number here), right?” To which he says, “Yep…you’re the last one! Have a good flight.”
I run down the jetway and get on the plane. The bird is about half-full so I get a row all to myself just behind the emergency exit. I dug out my DVD player, some “CSI: Miami” episodes and my neck pillow.
I snoozed off for the “safety briefing” the flight attendants gave. I woke up when, already in the air, the pilot spoke.
“Good morning from the flight deck and welcome aboard Southwest Airlines flight number (blah blah blah). We’ll be passing over western Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York City and New Jersey and eventually Philadelphia. We should get you into Philly just about on time. We’ll be crusing at about 40,000 feet so sit back and enjoy the flight.”
Philly?? PHILLY?!?!??!
I’M ON THE WRONG DAMNED PLANE!!
…and I was already in the air, so there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I was beside myself. Somehow, both Southwest and I managed to get me on the wrong plane. Instead of going to Chicago Midway–where I was supposed to go–I was now on my way to Philadelphia!
I wanted to ask the flight attendant. She was a very nice young lady with a cherubic face and was…shall we say…voluptuous. Just a great attitude and smile. Anyway…I wanted to ask her, but then I didn’t want to be the “idiot who got on the wrong plane.” I figured that there were two outcomes:
1. Maybe the pilot said “Philly” by accident and we were really going to Midway.
2. Why bother embarassing myself…I could just get off the plane in Philly and go to the nearest ticket counter and appeal to the Gods of Travel.
I beat myself up over the whole thing for the entire flight. I couldn’t even fire up my DVD player because I was horrified at my potential stupidity. We started our descent for landing and I became hopeful that I’d see the Chicago skyline.
…and that’s when I saw Lincoln Financial Field. You know, the home of the NFL’s Philadelphia Eagles. God, I hate the Eagles.
The plane landed and my little cherubic flight attendant came across the PA saying that anyone staying through to Chicago Midway should stay seated. Chicago Midway?? Maybe I am on the right plane after all. Now I’ve got a 50/50 shot! Hot damn!
So, Flight Attendant Girl comes back to my seat and says, “Is everything OK? You looked like you wanted to ask me something but chickened out.” I had wanted to ask her for her number, but more importantly, I wanted to ask if I was on the right plane. I told her of the latter.
She assured me that I was on the right plane and that she would have known because they do a head count. I felt better about this and then she proceeded to joke with me and give me crap the rest of the flight.
(No, I didn’t get her number…but it wasn’t for lack of trying.)
I get into Chicago Midway, get something to eat and walk to my new gate where I am met with the news that my flight to Denver is being delayed. Why delayed, you ask?
Snow was falling in the Denver area at the rate of two inches per hour. The agent at the gate said they had their own little mini-blizzard going on. Yeah…that’s great. I did the only thing any reasonable man would do at 10:00am Chicago time when he found out he had a two hour flight delay.
I went and found the nearest bar. Hey, it’s always noon somewhere.
Three potent potables later, I went back to the gate. We were now 1.5 hours into our 2 hour delay. The agent got on the PA and told us that it would be another hour and apologized for the inconvenience. I finally broke out my laptop and looked up the weather for Denver…
…and that’s when they started boarding the plane. Five minutes after they told us it would be another hour. Only weathermen have job security like this, I swear.
After all of that, I finally got here to Denver about three hours late. Not bad considering the series of errors that got me there.
When I arrived, there was indeed snow on the ground. It wasn’t a blizzard, but it was enough to snarl traffic. Leaving the airport, I saw the “State Farm Insurance Safety Patrol” van skidded off the side of the road in the snow needing a tow. At least my trip was better than that.
The best part is that all this snow will be gone tomorrow when it’s supposed to be in the 70′s and sunny.
Figures.
William Smith
ConservativeBlogger.com