Look at me! Look at me! Posting frequently(ish)!!
Okay. Fasten your cyber-seatbelts. This ride is going to be emotionally bumpy for me (with rage) and probably (hopefully) hilarious for you to laugh at my expense.
If you somewhat-regularly read my blog, you know I don't have the best luck with travelling. I usually get emotional wherever I'm travelling and the last few times I have had bizarre experiences always ending in, "would you like some complimentary vodka with your cranberry-apple juice?" (See post where I moved seats 6 times, not exaggerating). To add a cherry to the cake, I got the flu three days before I was set to leave. I had been popping Advil to keep my fever down and luckily by the time I was supposed to leave it had settled into a mild cold. It was more tolerable than a fever but wasn't ideal.
I got to the airport on time even though I had to trek to Terminal 4 (American Airlines is the only US carrier that flies out of T4...OMEN) and I was jittery, so I got an Egg-McMuffin (which was awesome because McDonalds in Spain doesn't tend to have breakfast) and did my makeup infront of judging Spaniards. My suitcase weighed 18 kilos when it was allowed to weigh 23 (which is about 10 lbs. under) and despite my tummy-ache/T4 blunder, things seemed to be lining up! (This is what meteorologists usually call the "calm before the storm")
I already had some reservations before I left because I was travelling to JFK in New York and only had an hour and fifty minutes for my layover. This wouldn't be too big of a deal but between security and customs I figured I might run into some problems. I vowed beforehand I would try be as forward as necessary to catch my flight. I got on the plane, trying to decide which side my seat was on, when I realized there weren't "sides"...this was a one-aisle 6-seats-to-a-row 757. These are usually the planes reserved for non-transatlantic flights. As we're sitting in the plane, waiting for everyone to board, the capitain announced that we would be leaving with a slight delay because there was trouble getting everyone in the aircraft. Most people in the back had put 2 bags above in storage and nobody else had room to put their one bag...or people where complete dipshits and put their jackets up there. Thirty minutes later, the stewardesses managed to Tetris the luggage on the plane and we were taxiing. This is when the captain announced to us that we were topped off with fuel but that if there were any problems landing in New York, we wouldn't have enough gas. For this reason, we would be taking a slight pit-stop for gas in Canada. I stayed sane through all of this because this Asian steward was giving his best effort to translate the captain's messages but was severely falling short of anything comprehendable, not to mention his long awkward pauses while somebody was undoubtedly looking up vocabulary in an iPhone app. I was surrounded by elderly Spaniards who have the mouths of experienced truckers, so I enjoyed their confused and racial comments and tried to close my eyes, thinking of how much money I could make translating for an airline instead of how our plane could probably run out of fuel at any moment and plummet us into the icy shark-infested oceans.
Another thought that came to me was that I should be thankful that I didn't have to change seats or have any mishaps that required complimentary vodka. I was going to have problems catching another flight in New York, but this was their fault, not my lack of assertiveness through security...so I felt less at fault.
I leaned my chair back, popped two sleeping pills, and passed out. About two hours later I woke up for dinner, but I was so groggy from the pills that I don't even remember what I ate. Once they took our trash I fell back asleep for about 15 minutes before I was abruptly woken again by one of the stewardesses spilling water all over my arm. Apparently Clumsy Cathy was pouring a glass of water and missed the cup by what had to be a good six inches. I was wearing my fleece jacket, my only jacket I had access to. Cathy decided it was best to clean the metal food-cart first, then tosses some napkins on me and says "Oh, that wasn't what I was aiming for." Dear Cathy, I'm enthralled you weren't trying to drench me with shitty airline water, but my arm is effing cold right now and I'm already sick so excuse me if you have left me less than satisfied with your lack of apology and good intentions. So suck it. I laid my chair back and forgot about Cathy.
Until two hours later when Cathy spilled orange juice on me. And then offered me some free vodka to go with my cranberry juice to make up for it.
I woke up much later and we were nearing our pit-stop. I knew my fate so I was not worried about time anymore. Six hours into the seven-hour-turned-eight-hour flight we land in Goose Bay, Canada. Near Happy Valley. The weather was overcast to add a certain omenous feel to the inappropriately-named city. The captain gets on the loud speaker, informing us that it shouldn't take long to get gas because we were the only plane at the airport (I was starting to feel like I was in The Hills Have Eyes...I was truly expecting angry mutants to hobble onto the plan and kill us all). Li Wang continued the Spanglish commentary and the yayas (old Spanish bitties) called him a slew of very bad words that Jeri has forbidden me to put in my blog unless I use euphemisms (which if I were to do so would be C U Next Tuesday...quite comical coming from frail octogenarians who aren't Betty White).
"Shouldn't take long" turned into an hour and by that time everyone had Googled Goose Suck, Canada and discovered that the only people who really live in the city are the people who work at the airport and their families. This made my The Hills Have Eyes theory even more tangible and I was getting a little nervous. I figured it wouldn't take long for the townies to destroy the old peeps which wouldn't leave me much time to save myself...plus we all know how worthless Cathy is so her unapologetic manner would doom us all to hell for SURE.
Hour #8, we depart Goose Bump, Canada, and head for JFK. I should mention right now that I had unintentionally and unofficially met the captain before the flight. Captain Carl (actual name) was on the same tram as me that was taking people from T4 to even further out in T4. The only reason he caught my attention was a.) he was wearing captain wings and b.) he was talking in English...and since T4 is mostly European Union flights, nobody around me seemed to speaking my language. Unfortunately for me, Carl was talking about how he was out the night before with some buddies and ended up at a gay bar. I tried to keep a poker face while this was happening but I'm pretty sure my eyes rolled back into my head halfway through his story and prayed to the baby Jesus he wasn't flying my plane.
So Captain Carl (of course) announces it's only a short 3 hour flight to JFK and we now have enough gas to land (yippee). My 7 hour flight had not-so-quickly turned into a 12 hour flight. We landed in New York City at 4 p.m. I was supposed to be landing in Indianapolis in an hour. Once we land, and I tell Jeri I'm JUST getting in New York, Captain Carl tells us that (since they knew they would be incredibly delayed before we even took off) the American Airlines attendants had been working to re-connect our missed connections so we could make it to our destinations on time. Oh and Merry Christmas. (Li Wang really nailed that one home with a "Fe-rees Navidad" that warmed the hearts of everyone it touched).
I start to power-walk off the plane (which is almost identical to a normal walking pace for anybody who doesn't have short stubby legs) and see an American Airlines agent in a neon-orange vest who is dedicated to "Express Connections"...a service that American Airlines is apparently all too comfortable with providing when they screw people over harder than Enron (p.s. this anger is all aftermath...at the time I was thankful and eager to catch my new flight and most importantly be home before Christmas Eve! [I wish, knowing what I know now, I could have somehow transcended upon myself to spit in my face or smack the back of my head to get me to wake up & for being so naive and stupid])
My Express Connection came in a fancy neon envelope that matched Mr. Express Connections' vest and was supposed to speed me through long lines such as customs and security. This definitely had an advantage because they didn't ask me any questions and I didn't have to lie about how many bottles of wine I really had smuggled in my suitcase. By the time I got through, it was 4:30ish and my flight was scheduled to leave at 6:30. I had collected all of my unused & unneeded assertive energy and decided I needed to use it at the baggage claim to get my suitcase first and "speed walk" to my flight. This resulted in me (annoyingly, I'm sure) buzzing around the baggage claim as if I was a hamster trapped on a horizontal wheel while all of the normal people stood still like patient human beings. 40 minutes later I found myself huddled with a group of Americans who were around my age. My immediate response was to be mildly embarrassed to be screaming in English with a group of tourists (and it took me awhile to realize we were in America now, so it was okay to be yelling in English...and to look American...culture shock in my own turf) but I got over it when I realized they all were ten times angrier than I was because they were ten times savvier than I am and had bigger cojones than me. Their cojones (individually) were the size of Epcot, where mine can best be described as pinheads or normally nonexistant. At first I thought they were all batshit crazy so I just nodded with everything they said and tried to interject "this is so shitty" whenever possible just to get on their side...by the way they were yelling I figured it was the best plan of action. This one kid, the only boy, was as nerdy as can be, with a lisp and bottom braces, and kept spitting about finding a manager. He huffed off a few times and was gloating about his victory raising hell, but he didn't ever seem to realize we still hadn't gotten our baggage. From what I can gather, it's illegal to speak comprehensive English if you work at the JFK airport. Everyone around the baggage claim was Jamaican or Russian (my best guess) and were more worthless than an asshole on your elbow. We did hear one of them mention to someone that they simply forgot to unload our bags, which explains why it took them two hours to do so...as absurd as it is. While standing with my new angry American friends, we all put gathered information together and realize that the reason they took such a small plane was to save money instead of weather in New York like they had first claimed. They had also rebooked almost everybody's flights through La Guardia...except mine. I didn't get off scotch free, though, my new Express Connection was to Detroit, then Indianapolis at 11 p.m. All of them were gasping and huffing about this La Guardia situation, which I didn't fully understand since I have absolutely no interest in New York, its airports, its incomprehensible employees, or its ineffectiveness. I had just come from MADRID, SPAIN, the capital of all things slow and lazy (which I am used to).............and this was eighty times worse. I did comprehend one of the girls' lividity when she said that American had put her on a connecting flight through New Jersey. She raised a bunch of hell with someone, though, and got put on a direct flight from JFK. I should have followed her lead. That's what effective people do.
I got my bags. It was 6:00. I had a half hour to get to Gate 2 from Gate 6 (it was a circle) and I figured they had already started boarding.
Did I make it? Did I miss it? Did I get put on another flight? Unfortunately this isn't a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novel, so I'll fill you in on the other half of the story soon. :)
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