airports

“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world,
I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport.
General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed,
but I don’t see that.

It seems to me that love is everywhere.

Often, it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy,
but it’s always there – fathers and sons,
mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends.”
~From the movie LOVE ACTUALLY (One of my holiday favorites!)

Oh, My loves, God only knows what I’d be without YOU!

Carry on and Happy Holidays!
xox

My French husband and I are leaving for Paris this week. For the Arrogance Convention. He needs a tune-up. (Kidding—not kidding.)
But seriously, we’re going with some friends to eat our way around the city. THAT is how serious we are about food.

I’m looking forward to the crepes, and the bread, and the butter, and the wine, and the croissants, and the frites, and the butter and the coffee. What I’m not looking forward to is the airport and the ten-hour flight.
Which reminded me of this post from back in 2014 when I hated it just as much.

Bon Voyage & Wish me luck fitting back into my pants when I get home. 

Carry on,
xox

In a month we’re off to Chicago. And the thought of that makes my butt clench. Tight.

It’s not the flying so much because think about it.  Just over one-hundred-years ago, getting from California to Chicago took weeks if not months of treacherous stage-coach travel through scorching deserts and over snowy mountain passes, never mind how many things were out to kill you. The odds of cholera or the possibility of an Indian arrow making your acquaintance and making you dead—were high.

Luckily, there is a different kind of coach travel these days and I concede that on some flights, especially if a baby is wailing, it can feel almost as long and harrowing.

I appreciate the miracle of flight. I really do. I actually love sitting perched in a seat, in an aluminum tube that’s hurtling through the air, watching movies while I snack on things I never eat below 35,000 feet, like bag after bag of potato chips and soda, and then arriving at some far-away destination in the same clothes I put on that very morning.

Here’s the thing that sends me into a tizzy. The before part of flying.  The check-in part. The part that makes you regret your trip before you’ve even left the ground. You know what I’m talking about. All of the degrading malarkey (god, I love that word), that every airport in the world has put us through since 911. You can almost hear the sound of your personal freedoms being sucked right out of you over the garbled gate announcements during the two hours of lining up, waiting, wheeling, shuffling, packing and unpacking, waiting, X-raying, virtually stripping; taking off your shoes, belt, jacket, watch, sunglasses, and in one particularly mortifying case—my underwire bra, only to wait in line some more.

It would be comical if it weren’t so sad.

My husband and I fly frequently enough that sometimes the gods deem us worthy and bestow upon us the words  TSA precheck at the top of our tickets which I’m happy to report allows us to sidestep some of the madness—but I see you there, hopping up and down on one naked foot, trying to get the other damn boot off  while your purse shoots through to the other side unattended, the line backs up, and your other boot falls off the conveyor belt and into another man’s bag.

I feel your pain. I am you. I will be you in a month.

Listen, we have all agreed, as a collective, to hand over our rights to privacy. Into the dumpster they went along with any expectation of expedient air travel as a trade-off to make us feel safe.

I have no choice other than to give up my personal freedoms when I fly, but I will never stop talking about how it used to be.

Here’s the thing, I’m old enough to remember when flying was glamorous. And fun. You got dressed up. The flight crew engaged in polite chit-chat, and as kids they even used to show us the cockpit. Now it’s locked up tighter than the room where Donald Trump keeps his wigs.

Airports had a buzz of excitement back in the day, not like now, where the low hum of stress meets you at the curb—that is literally where my butt clenching starts. There are airports in foreign countries, (I just saw it recently in Mexico), that have full-on military walking around with assault rifles at the ready. That does not bode well for me. It forces me to drink before I board my flight which not only exacerbates the anxiety it makes me stupid and clumsy.

I have given up my freedoms, I have. But I suppose some part of me thought this would be temporary. You know, maybe for a year or two. Now there is an entire generation that only knows air travel to be this way. This ridiculous, freedom-sucking, unorganized, cluster-fuck of a way.

But I for one will never forget that it was not always like this. That we used to check our bags and walk on planes like civilized human beings. Because if we forget that, IF we accept the way things are now as normal, then, in my opinion, fear and terror have won.

Carry on,
xox

“There’s been a fire in a radar facility causing the shutdown of O’Hare and Midway airports” the newscaster reported on the news early Friday morning.

“Raphael!” I yelled down the hall, smelling the coffee he was busy brewing to give us the morning jolt we needed, “you’ve gotta see this.”

I was soaking wet after just getting out of the shower, it was 5am and we were scheduled for a 9am flight to Chicago.

The weatherman was making a stupid joke with the helicopter reporter.
‘Get back to that O’Hare fire’ I said aloud to the TV, but they ignored me and cut to traffic.

We checked our flight status online and made sure we’d get the texts of any updates, and continued to get ready.
Since everything with United Airlines looked okay, we braved the 405 freeway and headed toward the airport. It would take us a fat hour with traffic.
Can I just take a minute to marvel with you, at the amount of traffic that’s already on the road at 6:30am?
Gridlock.

I gotta say, Carmagedddon was totally worth it – God bless the diamond lane.

We left the car in Lot C, took the shuttle to the terminal and the morning was going so smoothly at that point, I’d forgotten about the Chicago debacle.

As we entered Terminal 7, a smiling United Airlines representative met us at the door.
“Good morning, can I direct you anywhere? Where are you headed?”

“Chicago” we both said at the same time. (Jinx, he owes me a coke)

She dropped her smile, “Oh, those flights are all cancelled, you might as well go home.”

Raphael took out his phone “but I haven’t gotten any texts about that, I’ve been checking the status.”
Just then, on cue, a text came in: Delayed until ten, it said.

That was news to the rep. “The board has all flights to the Midwest cancelled…”
The three of us were now all looking at the Departure board, Cancelled had turned to Delayed – it was news to her.
“The situation is obviously very fluid” she sputtered, getting on her walkie talkie looking thing.
As we went around her, toward security, I suggested she might want to stop telling people to go home, yet, that’s what I heard her doing as we wheeled away.

Observation #1
Some people just can’t operate “off book” and highly fluid situations throw them for a loop. Even though the board had changed, no one had verbally informed her yet, so she was sticking to her story.

I wonder how many people turned around and went home when she met them at the door?

Which brings me to Observation #2.
Don’t be a lemming.
Lemmings don’t think for themselves, they will literally follow the leader off a cliff. Assess a situation, ask around, determine the best course of action – FOR YOU. When people meet you at the door and tell you to go home…
Just don’t be a lemming.

We breezed through security, (although they did pull me aside to be swiped down and frisked; as the clear security threat that I am) and went to our gate.
DELAYED – 10 am DEPARTURE.
People were milling around in various stages of discombobulation.

Observation # 3
People don’t like change. In general and especially while traveling. I’ve always found change inevitable while traveling, and some of the biggest detours have provided the best experiences.

We left all the screaming and crying and gnashing of teeth behind, and went to sit and eat a civilized breakfast since we had an additional hour to kill.

As we ate, I could see the the BREAKING NEWS ticker on CNN talking about the fire in Chicago. Over seven hundred flights had been cancelled.
We were in good spirits. The trip to Chicago was for a big party. It wasn’t the end of the world if we didn’t get there.

Right then and there we decided to take it out of United Airline’s hands and leave it up to the Universe.
We high five’d it. It felt like a relief.

We received a text as we finished our coffee, it read: your flight has been cancelled, we have re-booked you on a flight to Houston and then a transfer to Chicago. You will arrive at 10 am TOMORROW.

Yeah, no way.

The customer service line was three hundred people long. I’m not kidding.

Again, it was NOT a happy place.
Another frazzled United rep with a computer thingy was going down the line, asking people where they were headed and apparently trying to re-route them.

“Chicago? Yeah, you’re not going to get there today” she gingerly informed the couple ahead of us.
They were upset. Chicago was home, and they just wanted to get home.
“We got a text that we’ve been re-booked through Houston” my husband interjected while the rep was looking at her shoes, feeling helpless.

“Oh, well, I guess just go to the kiosk and enter your confirmation number and you should be able to check on that.”
So we did.

Observation #4

Sometimes the Universe sends angels. They can appear as a harried Airline representative – and a kiosk.

At the kiosk, after entering the thirteen letters and numbers that had confirmed our now cancelled flight, up popped our names and the Houston/Chicago re-route.
It appeared in that moment that it was going to take us over 24 hrs to get to the Windy City.

Then it appeared; down on the bottom left hand side of the screen, an unobtrusive little button: OTHER OPTIONS

I pressed it and a miracle occurred.
LAX – CHICAGO O’HARE – 11am – arrival – 4:45pm

We looked at each other; I pressed CONTINUE

PICK SEATS 
What?! There were seats on a flight that left today? In an hour and a half?

Everyone was telling us to go home, or circumnavigate the globe to end up in Chi-town.
It looked like there were about twelve seats available. Really? That didn’t seem feasible.
We picked two in the exit row (with the extra leg room for my six foot three big handsome) crossed our fingers, toes and eyes and hit CONTINUE

The kiosk did a little dance and then spit out two perfectly miraculous boarding passes – just like that.

We were literally right next to three hundred really aggravated people, in line being told they had no options.

We couldn’t believe our good fortune until we were sitting in our seats, taxiing down the runway. Then we toasted with Ginger Ale.

Observation #5
You can jump on the bad news, why me, aggravation bandwagon, take NO for an answer, and go home; OR you can give the F’d up situation to something more powerful than the airlines, not even break a sweat, and wait for the miracles to occur. We choose the latter.

I’m writing this in my seat on a very full flight (so other people obviously got the Universal memo) and I’m feeling very blessed and NOT *overclamoured.

*one of my new friends from our flight, Derek, made up this word about the mood in the airport today; we loved it so much he’s entering into the Urban Dictionary. Look for it 😉

When have you felt overclamoured and turned it around? Did you get a miracle?

Sending Chicago Love,
Xox

That evening’s Chicago sunset