Things with my grandmother back east got a little hairy a couple days ago and so it became apparent to me that I needed to fly by to my hometown to help my mom care for my grandparents. Yesterday morning, I loaded up the kids, two bags, a backpack that weighed WAY too much, a stroller, and some dumb luck. I use this phrase 'dumb luck' not in its usual way, but to say that the luck I had? was dumb, because it was non-existent.
We arrived at the airport with plenty of time. Stood in the llllloooonnnnnggg line patiently. Waited while the woman checking my bags went to get an agent and never. came. back. Finally got to security, shuffled to the "family line" where it takes twice as long (but, supposedly people aren't bitchy - uhhhh, apparently the woman behind me missed that memo). Then, two things happened that are, admittedly, insanely lucky: We went through security without a hitch AND our gate was the very! first! gate! Sadly, my friends, that is where the luck ends. . .
We got to our gate and waited. And waited. And waited. Oh, look! The plane is here. We just need to wait until they clean the plane, Treefrog, and then we'll be able to get on. What? What's that? Oh, the woman just said there is a bubble in the windshield of the plane (wtf?). It will take an hour and a half to fix. Hmmm, our connecting flight will probably not wait for us. Let's go stand in the line 40 people deep to the woman who is making all these announcements and has to keep leaving to take care of who knows what (again, wtf?). Yeah! It's our turn! We could fly half-way tonight and finish tomorrow? Um, no thank you to a hotel room tonight with kids by myself. Can I just fly out tomorrow? Yes? Okay. Same time, same place tomorrow, baby. We'll be back.
The end.
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