So, traveling isn’t my strength. I’ve learned that this week.
It’s why I need people like Travel Goddess in my life.
After getting to Roanoke airport before it even opened. Wednesday morning. Finding my way inside. And boarding my 5am flight. I was kicked off.
Not for showing my ass. Or anything like that. Relax, ma.
They kicked us all off. Because the engine wouldn’t work. Or some technical shit like that. And apparently you can’t just get a jump from the plane at the next gate.
It was probably a Delta, anyway. I know those bitches won’t help an American out.
And my connecting flight in Charlotte was scheduled for 7:30am.
(Y’all know I’m just making these times up, right. They’re just estimates. We all know I don’t retain shit like that. But you get the gist.)
I was already going to have to speed walk through the Charlotte airport. With an on time flight.
And the gate agent had no interest in speaking to any of us about our connection issues.
“You’ll just have to see how much time the pilot can make up in the air.”
I’m sorry. What now? “Make up?” What does that mean? What does it look like when a pilot “makes up time in the air?” Are we looking at g-forces here? What are the safety implications?
But no one else seemed worried. And I’m nothing if not easily comforted through peer pressure. So I let it go.
When we finally got on what I assume was a new plane. With a working engine. And not just our old plane. With a jumpstarted engine. Pilot says, “I’m gonna fly this like I stole it and land it like I own it.”
Ok, but I still have questions…
But again. No one else seemed discomforted but the idea of speeding through the air in a hijacked airplane. So I let it go.
And pilot was not lying.
He slid that bitch into the gate at Charlotte on two wheels in 30 minutes. (Or so…again, retention…)
Giving me 10 minutes to get to my gate. Two miles away.
And if I’d just been wearing my running shoes. Instead of these damn flimsy casual shoes that fly right off my feet. I would’ve made it.
No no, pilot. You did all you could. This one’s on me.
And apparently American has been checking my ultra sign up results. So they had no faith in my ability to run that two miles in 10 minutes.
So they had already booked me on a new flight anyway.
Well, if I’m gonna be stuck here in the airport. I’m gonna get comfortable.
So I sat on the floor. Against a wall. Because airport chairs do not offer the lumbar support a 46 year old who just ran two miles without a cool down and stretching needs.
Which is when the gate agent started. Passive aggressively. Piling wheelchairs up around me.
So, I just stay here then?
But no prison can hold me. So I managed to board my next flight despite my passive aggressive cage.
And as soon as we landed in Denver. My entire soul caught fire.
99 degrees, y’all?
I dressed for the mountains. The fuck is happening to your mountains, Colorado?
But once I caught up with the rest of the crew. And we made our way out to Leadville. The earth calmed the fuck down. And the views took over.
I mean, I did not take a full breath of actual oxygen for the five days we were there. But damn…
But after the last two days. Of full on exhausting, beautiful adventure. And I’m assuming the loss of quite a few brain cells. From oxygen deprivation. I am fully ready to return to the lowlands. Where the air is filled with highly moisturized oxygen.
And because I was the only dumbass in our group that flew American. They kicked me off the Enterprise bus. In the American terminal. And wished me luck. In not breaking any planes. Or getting delayed.
Haha. Yeah. That would suck.
And then not even an hour later…
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
And I might have been able to get on an earlier flight. If the entirety of the terminal hadn’t been focused on overly privileged Daren. Losing his shit on the poor airline agent.
“Sir, please stop shining your flashlight in my eyes and blinding me.”
“I will as soon as you get me a manager.”
Dude. Really. You’re going with that line?
And that’s how his walk of shame started…
So anyway. I just live here now. Not in, like, Denver.
But just here. In the Denver airport.
With the fake bird government surveillance drones.
That keep swooping me. Because dude next to me keeps throwing food at them. And I am completely unable to duck and move. In any kind of expedient manner. Because Mt. Elbert. And Leadville Heavy Half.
It’s fine, though. I’m pretty sure my body will completely dehydrate in this dry ass air before a TSA agent realizes I’m a permanent airport resident.
I cannot ever be in charge of my own travel plans again…
And. Ok. Also. I have some rules.
First, walk with the fucking flow of travel. If the entirety of the airport is walking on the right side. You, too, walk on the right side. Instead of fighting your way against the flow. Like some dumbass salmon swimming upstream to spawn. There is no spawning in the airport.
That last one may not be an actual rule.
Also, when it’s time to board the plane. Sit your dumbass down until they call your group. Stop clogging shit up. Like the salmon spawners. You’re not special. You’re just a dumbass peasant. Like the rest of us.
In addition. If you insist on stowing 15 bags in overhead compartments up and down the entirety of the aircraft. Then when we land. You’re gonna sit your greedy ass right in your seat until the rest of us have deplaned.
Además, stop talking to me.
This last rule is probably just for me. I do not give off a look that says, “hey, I’m approachable. Come talk to me.”
I’ve been told.
And generally I’ll try to argue that. I’m a really nice person. Dammit.
But when I am living in an airport. Just trying to make it home. After 32 miles and 8,000 feet of climbing in zero oxygen and no stretching because I’m a dumbass. Do NOT sit down beside me and try to make small talk.
I have given all of my socials to the three extroverts I was traveling with. Because I love them. They’ve earned my socials.
I don’t know you. You’ve earned nothing.
I will have a small aneurysm and start looking for sharp objects to stab you with.
This is our quiet time.
Look at your Facebook.
That’s why we have phones.