Everyone Has An Airport Story…

…and much like everyone else’s story, mine involves an outrageous flight delay, an impossible rebooking, a few crazy passengers, an unexpected weather phenomenon, some type of language barrier, and a crying baby.

   Over the weekend many of us were impacted by the wondrous return of winter in one way or another.  And before I even left the city for my great adventure to the Big Apple, I was ready to return to a chance of snowflake bliss, but even the heads up from the National Weather Service couldn’t have gotten me prepared for the experience that lay ahead.   

   The breakdown actually started on Saturday night when the airline I was flying decided to start canceling their Sunday morning departures.  To their credit, most airlines have a way to notify their passengers of potential delays and cancellations and I would think that this service, when utilized, would be quite beneficial.  It’s just that someone forgot to tap me on the shoulder and let me know there would be no plane leaving the airport at 11:16 a.m. when I was originally scheduled to go.  My flight had been canceled. Not only that, but the flight that I was rebooked on for 8:30 that morning  would actually be leaving without me because I was never notified about the original change in the first place.

   So upon arriving at the airport at 9:00am on Sunday and being greeted at the ticket counter with a look of horror my day began.  The only flight with seats available didn’t leave until 6:30 that night.  So, ok… I could read a biography, start my own set of memoirs, learn Japanese, or catch up with every friend I had in North America using my free weekend minutes. A nine hour wait is not so bad, right?

  That cheery attitude got me until about 12:35 that afternoon and at that point, I was fit to be tied.  Not only was every flight headed to Atlanta being cancelled because of the Sunday snowfall, but all the people on those cancelled flights were now being rebooked and going to be riding with me on my “used to be” empty row seat.  I could throw my cozy, stretch my legs out, leisurely ride-back-to-town plane ride out the window!

   Everyone was pissed!  And everyone had a heart wrenching story that would have made a great CBS mini-series on why they had to be in front of everyone else on the stand by list in the event a few of us might be squeezed in a little early.   Have you ever noticed that airplane passengers can be some very angry people when inconvenienced? And for the record, I’m not just pointing the finger. I can be one myself.

   The silver lining in all of this is that the nine-plus hours that I spent in Terminal B allowed me to meet two very interesting women from Atlanta.  One was a school teacher and the other was a mom.  They were both delightful and truly helped to pass the time.  Although not originally scheduled to fly together, because of all the mix ups and delays our paths crossed and I think we were all actually on the same plane getting home.

   The language barrier was between the man serving pizza at the NY airport. He couldn’t understand that I wanted “more sauce.” I guess they’re not big on sauce at the LaGuardia Sbarros.  And the baby crying didn’t actually happen on this return flight from New York. It happened on my trip up to New York, but technically it was all the same adventure so I could still leave it in.

  What a weekend.  The good news is that I made it home safe and sound….it was just 10 and a half hours later than I had planned.