I will never set foot on a plane again!
Not even for a million dollars.
Not even if it meant I would not get rescued from an island I was stranded on.
Not even if it meant that I would not get to go to Johnny Depp’s house to be his new lover.
Well, maybe for that.
Yeah, I’d probably get on a plane for that.
This past weekend, I went to Vegas to see some friends, hang out with some kick ass bloggers and to attended Bloggy Bootcamp.
A couple days before the trip, I got this really weird feeling. I just couldn’t put my finger. It wasn’t like dooms day thoughts just like a dark cloud over my trip.
I distracted myself, like any woman with a credit card would and went shopping. I found myself a shirt that would make Elvis jealous.
On the morning that I was to leave, my weird feeling was strong as ever. It was like a stink that I couldn’t shake.
So I did was any red blooded American would do… I convinced myself it was nothing and slipped into the comfortable state of denial.
The first leg on my trip, there would be a total of three… I did not read the fine print when purchasing my ticket so my plane had two lay overs, went fine. We took off, flew in the air for like three minutes and then landed again in Chicago.
It was in Chicago were things began to fall apart.
Of course where my current flight landed and my next flight took off was the equivalent of three states away and of course, I had to be there in like 5 minutes or miss the flight.
Since teleportation is not available yet and I had no duct tape to tape my boobs to my chest so that they would not smack me in the face as I ran, I did the only thing I could. I flagged down one of those cart drivers and told him to step on it and that I’d give him five points for every person he’d hit if they didn’t move and ten if he’d just run them over.
I ended up making it to my flight just in time.
This flight was longer but I had my book and my tunes so I was good. I only managed to sing out loud, annoying those around a few times which way better than all the time, just ask my husband if you don’t believe me.
We touched down in Phoenix just in time for the Vice Presidential debate, which I promptly ignored, and went in search for food. The plan was to get food, shove it down my throat and then re-board to end up in Vegas.
The loud speaker crackled, “Sorry folks, we have just been informed of a delay.”
First it was 30 minutes, then an hour, then 3 hours. Apparently, there was a storm like no other right in the flight path between Phoenix and Vegas. It had taken residence like a bad zit and it was not going any where.
Whatever, fine. I texted my friends, cursed them out for already being in Vegas having fun without me and settled on watching videos on my phone. I found a Louis CK stand up bit and it was quite funny. I laughed out loud to the point of crying. People around me began to look at me like “who let her out of the loony bin?”
Finally, it was just safe enough to fly and we all boarded the plane.
If you have ever flown to Vegas, most people are super excited to get out there. They are loud, obnoxious and are probably way past the pre-party stage. Normally, I have no issue with this.
But I was now on hour 13 of either being in an airplane or airport. I was hungry, tired and so confused as to the time is was since am an east coaster heading west that I wished for Xanax to be pumped through the plane so everyone would be quiet.
Finally, we landed and my friend picked me up. I found my bed and in the morning transformed from a raging ‘I have been traveling too long I will eat your face’ bitch to my normal happy self.
The rest of my days in Vegas were fabulous. I came, I saw, I shopped and I drank top self booze for $2.
Then before I knew it, it was time to head home.
I arrived at the airport, checked in and got on my first flight without any issues.
The plane again, landed in Phoenix, I got off, grabbed myself a chili dog for lunch and prepared myself to sit for the next three hours packed tighter than sardines in a can.
And just like before, about ten minutes before boarding time, the loud speaker crackled, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are sorry to inform you that our flight has been delayed.”
There was a collective “oh man” from the group around me but what could you do but wait.
After about an hour, the wait was over and we boarded the plane. People got on, stayed on and the plane taxied out to the runway.
Suddenly, I heard the the most dreaded sound of my whole trip, “ding dong“. That was the sound that happened right before a change was made.
“This is the captain speaking, we just got word that we are delayed another 50 minutes. We are not going go back to the gate but will sit here on the runway and bake in the hot Arizona sun.”
Just as everyone’s deodorant on the plane had given up and I thought I was going to puke because the man next to me had BO that smelled like diarrhea, which at this point could have been me for all knew since did have that chili dog, the plane began to move and we were on our way.
The flight itself was fine, no turbulence, the cabin did cool down and I again had my book and tunes. It was about 4.5 hours into my 3 hour flight that I realized that we were going to Chicago via Mexico and I was going to miss my connection.
And when we landed, sure enough. I not only missed the plane but they had cancelled it all together but were nice enough to scheduled me on a flight for the next day at 1pm.
I looked at the ticket agent as she told me this, laughed out loud, “Thanks but no, thanks. I am only 3 hours from home, my underwear is wet and not in a good way and I have been on a plane almost 2 hours longer than I was supposed to. I will drive home.”
And that I did.
Only to get stuck in a traffic jam for an hour and almost get pulled over because I forgot that I am not Mario Andretti in a Grand Prix.