I got stuck in Atlanta and almost lost my mind
Trying to fly out of a southern city during a snow storm is a lot like watching a Tim Burton movie – you begin the adventure with a smile, but quickly feel nauseated and end up hoping for a quick demise so that the suffering might finally, compassionately end.
Friday, February 12, 2010
2pm
Arrive at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport with colleagues. Optimistic when attendant suggests earlier flight.
2:13pm
Get to gate. Look out windows and see two things – a New England blizzard and one rather large baggage carrier’s ass. Can’t decide which is worse.
3pm
Boarding time delayed. Someone says, “Snowstorms in Georgia. Ain’t it pretty?” Fight urge to commit horrific violence with hardcover copy of Eat, Pray, Love.
3:30pm
Trying to will away snowstorm. Get calls from people who a) watch Weather Channel and always seem to call with advice three hours too late or b) seem concerned about my safety but really want to gloat on their way to happy hour.
4:15pm
Announcement: “After boarding, we will have to wait in line because there are only two de-icing pads. We will be in line for hours. Make sure you get food now and also, keep any medications handy.” Watch five people overdose, but they’ve stopped complaining so no one alerts authorities. Three are teenagers.
4:48pm
Co-worker Ryan* loses driver’s license somewhere near Delta counter. His flight canceled, Ryan now stuck at airport with no ID. Sets up residence near Gate C4. Heads to bar wondering if company will expense an entire bottle of 13 year-old scotch.
5:30pm
Plane arrives. Boarding delayed. Join others at bar and order three rounds of cocktails. Finally understand what Irish relatives have been talking about all these years.
6:30pm
Keep checking gate. No progress. Continue drinking. Belligerent traveler wonders why there are only two de-icing pads. Annoyed ticket-taker screams, “This isn’t Newark.” Moods getting worse all around. Friends back home text concern while out enjoying Friday night with family and friends. Hate everyone.
7:02pm
Gate official announces boarding and advises everyone to close out tabs.
7:28pm
Waiting with crowd. So happy. Buzzed is best way to get through anything. Probably even Tim Burton movies.
7:40pm
Still waiting. Flight officials just fucking with our emotions now.
7:49pm
Calling out rows and zones! So excited. Get out boarding pass to see Zone and realize I’m on Standby. Crushing disappointment. Hit *myself* with Eat, Pray, Love.
8:06pm
Have to pee. Cannot get up and leave in case they call me. Obsessing about Movie of the Week during childhood where ice skating champion takes early flight and dies in horrific plane crash. Maybe four cocktails not such a great idea.
8:32pm
Finally board plane. Window seat. Crowded flight. Tell attendants I have medical problem which requires aisle seat. No one cares. Offer to pay extra for first class. Attendant snorts and gives seat to Airline Employee instead. World definitely hates me back.
9pm
Urine coming out my eyes. Finally make Center and Aisle seats stand and run to front of airplane. Attendant sends me back as ready to take off. Could cry. Groped again, crawling over angry passengers to get back to seat. Plan lawsuit. Will win millions. Will buy own plane and sit in first class near bathroom for every flight.
9:20pm
Not taking off. Cruel trick. Pull into de-icing line. Pilot announces: “Some of you have bladders the size of thimbles and are in need of potty break. If you get up and we can’t move and lose our place in line, staff not responsible for ensuing riot.” Hold bladder and begin nervous leg bouncing. Watching other planes get hosed-down not helping.
9:41pm
Pull into de-icing pad. Climb over passengers to get to potty. Set AirTran record for longest time in bathroom alone. Should still sue.
10:01pm
Finally take off. Put head against window. Fall asleep and dream of a time when air travel won’t cause irritable bowel syndrome.
11:20pm
Land in Tampa without incident. Enter catatonic stupor which lasts all weekend.
Saturday
Blame anti-social behavior on post-traumatic stress syndrome. Not making any sense.
Sunday
Wake up and smile for first time in over six days. Realize crushed soul is still lingering somewhere around Concourse C in Atlanta, along with the remnants of the worst veggie sandwich this side of the Mason-Dixon Line and Ryan. Sigh. But at least I’m home.
2 Comments
Leave a Reply
Disproportionately blessed...
Catherine Durkin Robinson
-
Snapshots
Learning Curves
Olivia’s Kiss
Ether Books
Find my short stories and columns on your iPhone, iPod, and iPad. Click here to download the app for free:
Circle Me Now
Socially Inappropriate
JOIN ME ON FACEBOOK AND TWITTER
Oh, Katie, I feel your pain. I was in Dallas last Thursday for the “Snowstorm of the Century” as they called it. Dallas/Ft.Worth airport also only has 2 de-icing pads. I think my experience was worse than yours – they actually boarded us and we waited 5 hours on the plane to get de-iced. Full plane, middle seat….what could be more fun???? They never told us how long it would take like your airline did. After sitting there, looking out the window at the snow coming down, it was really strange when we landed in Tampa and there was no snow out the window!
Kathy in Clearwater
I too can empathize. We suffered from the Delta curse which started in Boston, followed us to Orlando (trying to get to New Orleans for Mardi Gras) and into Atlanta, the hub of Delta and gates of airline hell. After 4 previous cancellations and reschedules we figured we should double check our gate for the last leg of the flight from Atlanta to NOLA. The sassy customer service staff in Terminal A informed us our flight was canceled despite the flight boards saying our plane was ‘now boarding’.
Canceled? Why? “Due to weather” Weather? What weather – it was dark outside – is that weather? “Well, it might snow” Quick check of Blackberry, all reports were clear. When questioned further, our gracious and well-trained Delta reps referred us to Jesus. Okay, fly me home to Boston, I’m past done. Can’t do that, that’s over 100 miles away. We were stuck in Atlanta for the night HOWEVER, our bags somehow made that flight that was canceled!
It never snowed, but all flights until after 12 the next day were canceled, just in case of weather. Mardi Gras lasted 36 hours for us instead of the full week we’d planned on and saved up for.
I wish it ended there.
Coming home, stopping in Atlanta again it was if they had remembered our passing thru a few days prior – Delta, not content with the first 5 times, screwed us for another 4 by flight and gates changes while actually in the airport.
DELTA = Doesn’t Ever Leave The Airport or is it just Atlanta?