No one has ever said that traveling is easy. At least, I have not heard anyone tell me that.
My original flight to Madrid was through New York, but due to a too short layover I had to fly to Chicago instead. Wellllllll then I get to St. Louis to fly to Chicago and that flight was consistently being delayed.
As I waited (very) patiently I watched the departure time become later and later. I discovered 3 other people on the very same flight as me and they all seemed very calm about the delays. So I sat there…patiently…and watched the other people flip out on the poor service guy who was obviously was responsible for there being bad weather and delays in Chicago. Poor guy.
I was supposed to have a 2 hour layover in Chicago and then off to Madrid. The first delay was 40 minutes, which then turned into a little over an hour, then to 1 hour and 50 minutes. There goes my layover!
Before it could even get to the near 2 hour delay I was at the desk asking what my options were. The nice (very stressed out) man told me I had nothing to worry about and that I would make my flight in Chicago. Sorry chump. That wasn’t good enough for me. I’m a Jacober. We don’t wing it (flight pun slightly intended).
My other option, plan B, was to catch a flight from Chicago to London then off to Madrid. That flight would leave an hour after my original flight. Awesome! I sat back down and twiddled my thumbs and continued to watch the poor service man get tortured by angry people.
The 3rd delay happened, which forced me to change my flight to London because 6 minutes was not enough to get off one plane and sprint to another. Up I went and I waited in line. While waiting I met 2 adorable, blonde, British lawyers that were going to be on the London flight. Perfect!
We wait. And wait. And wait. Poof. There goes the London option.
I’m standing to talk with the single service man working while watching two old men try to cut their way through the very large line that was progressively growing larger. Time is running out and I’m really not going to make the London flight now.
I’m texting my family to keep them updated on my shenanigans. My mom took it the hardest. Nearly turned her to have a drink. My sister Jess was thinking logistically because she has become the traveler out of the family. My sister Stephanie was the most calm, asking small questions, saying her ooh’s and aah’s when necessary, and also putting me on a search for a girl from the Bad Girl’s Club.
That was my panel while standing in line trying to figure out how I’m going to make it out of the United States. Knowing that I had to be on that flight for London, I call the 1-800 number for American. They put me on hold and then tell me they’re going to call me back. Great. Who’s going to win? The automated voice on the phone or the single service man?
They tied! Got a call while the man was trying to “get my coupon code” (your guess is as good as mine). The phone told me to talk to the man because I checked a suitcase. Great. So I wait.
As I wait the fly gets pushed back once more….and then it gets pushed forward. My British friends are now speaking fluent British with the f bombs here and there and saying things like, “We’re going to have to leg it.” There are the Brits I knew I loved!
I continue to wait and the service guy realizes I’m not making it to London, but he found a flight out of Miami to Madrid that is overnight. The ticket is sold to the highest bidder!
Here I am. On a flight to Miami for a 2 hour layover then off to Madrid. I’m surrounded by a large gypsy family (I’m guessing this purely based on my TLC knowledge of gypsy shows) and many tired looking people. I want to watch Hyde Park on Hudson, but alas I can not because there are probably better screen qualities in 3rd world countries, and I would rather not listen to a high pitched buzz that is overpowering the dialogue through my ear phones.
Am I complaining? Not really. How can I be? I’m only on my flight to Miami. The game has just begun.