Saturday, November 6, 2010

That's not how I thought the day would go

When I checked into the hotel last Thursday morning, Jack hadn't arrived yet.

"Checking in today," the hotel worker bee read from his computer screen "and checking out Monday?"

"Yes... wait. Monday?" I repeated, confused. "We should be checking out Sunday."

"Well, it looks like you've paid on Expedia through Monday," he replied.

"Oh no," I said, "I'll bet he accidentally paid for an extra day." That's something I've certainly done before several times. There was nothing we could do about it now.

When Jack got there a few hours later, I informed him of his mistake.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "We're not leaving until Monday."

"What? I thought we were leaving on Sunday," I replied.

"Nope, I told you about it while you were talking to Ellyn on Skype a few weeks ago," he said.

That explains why I don't remember. I guess I should listen more when he talks.

I e-mailed work and let them know that I was skipping out on work yet another day (Owen called me sneaky). Jack didn't have that luxury, since the taekwondo school was open on Monday and he had to be there to teach classes, but we enjoyed our long weekend at Universal Studios and the Disney parks. I missed no opportunity to rub it in Jack's face that I was going to get home on Monday afternoon and have the day to nap and relax while he would have to go straight to work.

And then karma said "OH NO YOU DI'NT" With a z-snap and everything.

So we had to be outside the hotel at 5 a.m. for the airport shuttle, which means we were up at 4. We arrived at the airport to very long bag-check and security lines, but it didn't matter, because we had all kinds of time before our 8:30 flight.

So we sat. And I played with my new iPhone (oh yeah, by the way, I joined the cult. GAAAAG). And an hour later, we got on the plane.

And that's when they told us that there was a mechanical problem. So we sat there for 30 minutes. And then an hour. And then two. And then, finally, they let us get off the plane and try to find new flights.

And we did!

Though New York City!

And while I am not the foremost expert on geography, I am quite confident that the fastest way to Dallas from Orlando is not through New York City.

Exhibit A:





YES, it is my own artwork, and NO, I do not sign autographs.

But we were in pretty good spirits, even after the 5 hour wait and the next 12 hours of travel that had been promised us. Our waiter at the airport Outback Steakhouse was like "Wow! You two have such a great attitude about your ridiculous flight delay!" and we were all "Whatevs! We are awesome flexible people! At least we get to go home tonight now please bring some more barbecue sauce for our delicious chicken fingers nom nom nom!"

When we finally arrived at JFK airport 4 hours later, I realized that Metalia was not, in fact, overreacting about the barefoot in a New York City airport experience. I really, really thought she was when I read that blog entry. And now, I really, really don't.

That airport was ROUGH. Plus? New York City = bedbugs! ACK! Activate crazy-Mandy mechanism. (Suitcases didn't come inside for a few days, and when they did, they went into the bathtub to be steam-cleaned at a later date and carefully moderated for signs of tiny evil eggs hatching until then. All the clothing we were wearing got washed in hot water immediately upon returning home. Jack met with his lawyer to start drawing up certain papers.)

And of course, the flight home was delayed again in New York. So we were stuck there, in the crowded, dirty, smelly hellhole that is JFK airport. WITH A PIGEON IN THERE WITH US I KID YOU NOT IT WAS FLYING AROUND AND NOBODY WAS EVEN SURPRISED. For 20 minutes. Then 30. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. And with every flight delay announcement, Jack simply burst into wild maniacal laughter like a crazy person. I would have joined him, but I was pretty much completely numb all over except for a giant throbbing headache.

THAT AIRPORT BROKE US. That's what it took, Outback steakhouse waiter. JFK airport for six hours is what it took.

When we finally boarded the plane that was supposed to take us back to Dallas, I fully expected it to break down before we took off. Or crash after we took off. Or just disappear like the plane in LOST. And then I would get pregnant on the island and The Others would steal my baby. Was this Oceanic flight 815? THAT'S FINE. WE'LL BUILD A HUT WHEN WE GET TO THE ISLAND I JUST WANT TO GO TO BED.

But shockingly, it didn't do any of those things. It landed in Dallas 3 hours later, and we dragged ourselves to baggage claim, fully expecting that by now Sawyer had gone through our bags and removed and stored all the stuff he could use as leverage later on the island.

But they were there too! As was our car. And I didn't even leave my keys somewhere else this time.

Progress.

But even with the ability to get into our car, we still got home at one in the morning. Which meant that we had been traveling for 21 straight hours (it only takes 18 hours to drive from Orlando to Dallas, by the way).

I don't think we'll be traveling again for a while. Especially on Delta Airlines.
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