We Apologise for the Inconvenience

So. Erm. Wow. I've had an interesting week.

It begins last Wednesday, when I flew out to Berkeley for my cousin's wedding the following day. It was a beautiful civil ceremony with sunflowers, beautiful mountains, heartfelt vows, numerous interrelated organisms, silly songs, delicious cake, and too much wine. The following days were filled with family, alcohol, sushi, amazing food, alcohol, Napa, family, excellent friends, alcohol...and precious little else. The weather was beautiful, another cousin's purse was stolen, a dog wandered into the reception hall, the eggs at the hotel breakfast were decent for being so geometrically pleasing, my old house was empty for summer, I installed Kim's window box and held a sweet kitty...and then it was time to fly again.

I arrived at the airport at 9:45pm for an 11:45 flight. The check-in area was completely empty aside from my airline, which had a massive line. All four attendants were working frantically but it was hectic. I waited, numbly, for my chance to get my boarding card cum grocery receipt--seriously, it was ticker tape with a bar code--and just as I approached the desk with 45 minutes to spare, i was asked to stand aside so people heading to Indianapolis could move through. Passengers whizzed through as I stood, confused, and watched the clock tick by. Their flight was early, and was trying to leave early for some reason. That seemed suspect. Eventually they ran out of Indiana-bound customers and I was allowed to check in.

Uh-oh. My flight time was listed as 10:49pm, a time which had come and gone a while ago. The attendant didn't appear concerned. My confirmed time, however, and the time listed on the departure board, which read On Time, were still both 11:45. I thanked the man and hurried off to security to figure out what was going on.

The security line was long but moved quickly, and as I mooed along with the herd I studied another nearby departure board. This one had my flight listed as Delayed. The next time I looked, the flight time had been changed. 2:00A. Some innocent, optimistic part of me hoped that meant 2 minutes after, but the jaded, realistic area of my brain hung its head.

Yes, the flight was delayed until 2:00 AM. Both the 10:49 and the 11:45 had been shunted to this plane, so it was to be packed. Would-be passengers waited, cracking frustrated jokes about missed connections, until they dozed off. People shouted at the desk attendant, who got annoyed and shouted back. I curled up on the freezing floor, after deciding my connecting flight time was surely a misprint, and attempted to sleep. I failed but did get a great carpet mark on my face. When I got up again, shivering violently, I met up with the now-calm desk attendant. I asked if we would be accommodated for somehow in Milwaukee if our flights were insane. She didn't think we would. 'What if I pitch a fit to them?' I suggested. "I think that's an excellent idea. Go for it." she said, with genuine zeal.

The flight to Milwaukee, Wisconsin was uneventful, and I did manage to sleep in that dizzy, nauseated, in-flight sort of way. I always wake up from that every few minutes disoriented, in considerable pain, and still tired. A fourth-grade boy near me, who had been politely asking me questions about air travel since we checked in, had begun mimicking my actions. I'd stretch, he'd stretch. I hung my glasses off the tray table, he hung his glasses. I dozed off, and when I woke again a few minutes later he was cuddled to his mother, his sleeping eyes smooshed into her shoulder. It was cute.

We arrived four hours later, at 8:00AM, and immediately formed a quiet mob around the gate attendant's post. Surprised and very busy she asked us all to wait for our questions until she had gotten the same plane loaded with passengers for Atlanta. We did, patiently, only to find out that thirty passengers, bound for Orlando, had just missed their connection while they patiently waited. Apparently San Francisco had not mentioned that there might be problems, or indeed that the flight had been delayed at all.

I was confirmed through on a flight that would leave in exactly 10 hours, at 6pm. They didn't have any options open for an earlier flight, and they didn't have any means of putting me in a hotel during the day ("had it been night time, ma'am, of course...") but they did offer me a $10 complacency coupon which bought me exactly 1 mini-pizza, 3 breadsticks, and a medium soda at the concourse pizza hut...three hours later, when the restaurants opened.

While waiting and wandering idly I happened to espy a departure board with a listing on it for Washington, DC that left at 2:00pm. What joy! I can get to Baltimore easily from there, and will get home much earlier, I thought to myself. I hurried to the gate attendant, who agreed that that was a fine idea and printed me a brand-new boarding pass, cutting out 4 hours of waiting.

I thought.

The 2pm flight was delayed a little at the gate. Just 30 minutes, and what did I care? There was a train every hour. We boarded, enjoyed the seat belt demonstration, and settled in to watch the day pass in fast-forward as we headed east. Er...North. West? Oh certainly not South. Ah, East again...no...Damn that river looks familiar...

Yes, we flew in circles. Big, lazy circles, for over an hour while the control tower in DC held us out of their airspace. There's a big storm, ladies and gentlemen, and its just not safe. The pilot cut another big donut to show everyone on both sides the scale of the anvil-shaped clouds. But...erm...we're running out of fuel. Oh dear.

Another forty minutes found us landing without ceremony in Dayton, Ohio. Half an hour passed while crew and remote operators ummed and erred as to whether we should get off. Eventually they decided we must all de-plane, if only to use the restrooms, and handed us nifty plastic boarding passes to show we belonged. I used the free internet console down the hall and considered getting a drink. I didn't, which was just as well as we shortly re-boarded, found all of our stray passengers, clipped in, revisited the safety lecture, and shot back into the sky. It was 7:30pm.

The pilot had been offered a small window of opportunity by the meteorologists as they projected the storm would have moved a few miles away from the airport, if briefly, in about an hour and a half. We flew to a strict timetable and were able to land comfortably, even as a giant lightning storm raged a stone's throw away. It was highly cool to watch from just under the cloud level, as electricity coursed down from our elevation to make contact with the ground below. A few more minutes and I was marching toward the Metro station and eventual freedom.

Except. The first train was no problem. I had to connect in Chinatown. The connecting train conductor caught my eye as I ran toward the open doors, arms flailing, and pressed the Close button. We all shouted, helpless, as the near-empty train raced away, and settled in to wait the measly ten minutes until the next one arrived.

I arrived in Union station ten minutes too late to get a ticket for the 9:30 train to Baltimore and settled in to wait for the 10:45. A young Starbucks employee suggested I get a triple-shot mega-massive latte, and I took him on it. He was nice, and rather cute, if a bit young. I pondered my rapidly-increasing age and read a little further into Something Happened, by Joseph Heller, which I'd picked up in Berkeley a day and a half before while waiting to go to the airport.

The waiting area filled up slowly, and when time for our train to arrive arrived, we were asked to follow a pleasant train employee...not to the train, but to a smaller waiting room. He apologised, but the 8:40 train had broken down en route, and our train was being used to push it to the mechanic. It was around this time that I started laughing maniacally and the air filled with little golden stars. They wouldn't go away, but I knew they weren't real. I called my mom. She informed me that I was hallucinating from exhaustion, but I wasn't crazy. Reassured, I began to cry and said if the train broke down, I was going to walk home. She suggested that this was a bad idea, and said so in such a calm, soothing voice that I figured she was probably right.

11:15 rolled up and we all boarded, midnight rolled around and we all got off. I got a cab, shared some jokes with the friendly cabbie, was dropped off at my door, showered, and crawled into bed. It was 1:00 this, Tuesday, morning, 29 hours after I left Berkeley, 16 hours after I was supposed to be home. I missed a day of work but my coworkers were glad I made it home safely.

And I did it all without screaming.