Up in the Air

14 May

Have I mentioned that I HATE airports?

It’s not the flying- actually the flying is the one part I don’t detest.

What I hate are the imbecilic people who have no comprehension that the entire world doesn’t necessarily work at a snail’s pace.

Por ejemplo: I booked a flight to L.A. over a month ago. Today, I made a list, packed my bag, and printed my itinerary, complete with confirmation numbers. I was ready to leave my apartment when I decided to cover my bases one last time and check the status of my flights. When I gathered this information, I was appalled. My departing flight out of Raleigh had a little red box beside it. If you’re unfamiliar with Delta’s “color-coding” system, green means “good or <15 min behind schedule.” The colors go up by 15 minute increments, the last of which , you got it!, is red. Red means >130 minutes behind schedule. (In other words- you’re shit out of luck!) In my case, my 6:55 flight was scheduled to leave Raleigh at 9:30, which is funny, considering my departing flight from DETROIT was scheduled to leave at 9:50. Hmmm.

I called Delta (which is what the website says to do, FYI) and stayed on the phone (on hold, mainly) for 45 minutes. At the end of our conversation, the lady told me every flight on every airline was booked and she’d put me on standby for a 5:45 flight (Which she and I BOTH knew I was going to miss, because at this point it was already 5:15). I left my house in a frenzy and drove like a maniac to get to the airport at 5:55, park, and run to the counter (where I was instructed to go). I gave the clerk a synopsis of my dilemma and he told me what time my original flight was leaving and that I’d have to go to the “Special Assistance” desk for further help. Let me just say the “Special Assistance” desk is a complete joke. The lady who was assisting the special people completely ignored my existence (including my sighs of anger/exhaustion and near panic attack) while shooting the breeze with the lady she was “helping.”

Before my head exploded, a relatively important looking woman moseyed by. I called to her and told her my situation, employing the not hard to access tears that were already welling up in my eyes. She looked uninterested (where are my lesbians when I need them?!) and said someone would be here to help me soon.

Then, he marched over. If only I knew his name. He was the most beautiful gay man I’ve seen in a very long time. Other than Nate Berkus (You know, the one who works for Oprah?) Well okay, he wasn’t that beautiful, but he was workin’ that black turtleneck underneath his Valentino red airport jacket, for sure. I told him what was going on (once again- I’m getting good at this synopsis at this point.) and he simply said, “You’re fine. Hold on one second.”

After about 20 seconds of him click-clicking his perfectly manicured nails on the keyboard, he handed me 2 boarding passes for a Delta flight through Atlanta, which would have me landing in LA half an hour ahead of my original schedule.

I thanked him profusely, went through security, and did what any other self-respecting woman would have done: bought myself a grande Mocha from Starbucks & the new issues of Cosmo & Vogue.

Who knows what’s in store for the next 2 days? I can’t wait to find out. That is, if I ever wake up…

Goodnight, California.


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