So we finally made it to the airport, big sigh of relief right?!?We rushed into the terminal like loons with all of our bags trailing behind us and we hear the words that all travelers, especially those with connecting flights dread, “Your flight has been delayed.” Our original flight had a layover of about an hour and a half so perhaps we’ll still be able to make it…Nope, the delay is two hours. Yay, this just keeps getting better and better! I’m a little surprised that my mother didn’t have a heart attack or just breakdown crying right there in the middle of the airport. She managed to hold it together…mostly. She did keep repeating, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do if we miss the boat. At least your brother will make it to the ship. I’m sure he’ll have a great vacation.” (Oh, by the way, it was while waiting in line that I figured out where my cellphone was. It was in my purse…in my suitcase…cause I’m a genius! There is a somewhat rational explanation for this whole thing, but why ruin a good dumb moment story with logic.)
We get our bags checked and our tickets changed to a new connecting flight that is schedule to arrive in Vancouver at 2:55 p.m.. That’s perfect because the last round up for the boat is 4 p.m.. Except that the airport is roughly 45 minutes to an hour away from the airport…We are banking on the 2:55 flight arriving on time, there being NO ONE in line at customs, and a line of 20 taxis just waiting for us to pick one. We are not winning Charlie Sheen.
About this time we begin to board and the entire gate is casting wary, sideway glances at the family that has just joined the jolly band of unhappy travelers at our gate. The family is pushing a limo style stroller carrying two basinets each one filled to the brim with a bouncing, squeaking, squawking little boy, and tightly gripped by a little girl dragging a kid-sized suitcase. The boys are probably a year and a half and the little girl is maybe four years old. Thank heavens for small favors as none of the children are actually crying at this point, but the two little boys are taking turns testing exactly how loudly they can grunt and screech. Loud, very, very loud!
When it’s finally our turn to check in my mom, dad, and I are all directed over to the side to speak with some higher up. My visceral response to this is for every muscle in my body to clench in preparation of either receiving terrible news or being chastised for some unknown indiscretion. Either way it’s a bit like being called to the principal’s office, not that I ever actually experienced being called to the principal’s office because I was an angel growing up, but…Ok, now that you’ve picked yourself up off the floor and quit laughing quit so hard you peed a little…We were pulled over to the side and told that the family with the stretch stroller had bought their plane tickets too late to get seats together, so our seats were being changed. Whew, fine whatever, boo on them for not planning ahead, but I don’t want to sit next to an unaccompanied baby for the entire flight so that is just fine by me. But we didn’t totally think this through because mom has been moved a few rows up and dad and I are directly across the aisle from babies who have continued their acoustic testing. Luckily for me I left the land of the conscious right around take off, and despite briefly swimming to the surface awareness a few times during the trip, I managed to miss most of the squealing.
Despite our flight from Dallas having left a bit behind its already delayed schedule, we made up most of that time in the air and arrived in Seattle just a few minutes late. Our brief layover in the airport was uneventful, though we did eat at another famous chef’s airport restaurant, Wolfgang Puck’s Express!
I do have to say that this experience really reminded me that airports and airplanes are like giant fart boxes! I know, you were hoping for something profound, but seriously, FART BOXES!!!