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1.4.01
New Year's 2001: The Final Chapter
So when I was coming back to Florida from Ohio Monday evening, I took a cab to the airport with my friend Gretchen. We had different airlines, so we split up once we arrived at that fine, fine Columbus airport.

I checked my bags with Skycab, and was never solicited so aggressively for a tip in my life, but whatever. I wouldn't have tipped the dude out of principle, but I was afraid he'd "lose" my luggage.

I get all checked in. Gretchen meets me in the Delta area.

We're innocently sitting around, chatting. 10 minutes before my flight, we mosey back over to the gate area.

The lightup sign says that my flight to Cincinnati was delayed until 7. My connection in Cincinnati to Ft. Lauderdale is at 7:20. I'm not going to make it.

The huge line isn't moving. G and I try to call Delta by dialing their busy 1-800 number into 2 payphones over and over. Can't get through.

(Thank God Gretchen was there. I am not a frequent flyer. I get lost easily, especially when everything looks the same. Airports are not the best place for me. Without G, I may have panicked.)

There wasn't anything to do but stand in line. By some amazing stroke of luck, the woman in line behind me

a) gets thro to Delta on her cell phone and

b) is kind enough to see if there was a later flight to Miami I could take. Bless her heart. I was booked, and thank God, because...

I never in my life expected the airline employees to be so stupid. Like I said, I'm a little naive when it comes to travel. But I thought there would be SOME kind of protocol. I thought once I reached the man behind the desk, he'd ask for my boarding passes and we'd go from there - He'd present me with possible options and then we would discuss which best fit my predicament.

Nope.

I step up to the desk, and he is basically like, "Whassup."

Blank stare.

Hence, it's a good thing I'm able to say, "I reached Delta over the phone and I have a reservation on a 9:10 flight to Miami. I just need you to confirm the reservation and give me my boarding pass."

That's what he does. Gretchen is gone... she left to catch her flight after the nice pretty lady with the miracle cell phone hooked me up.

I call Dad and Neal.

Neal: "OK, cool, that's fine. I'll pick you up in Miami."

Me: "Great. Thank you so much."

Neal: "Hey, did they re-route your luggage?"

Me: "Uhhh..."

So I butt in line and ask the guy if I need an updated luggage claim tag.

Delta Dumbass: "No, you're fine."

Me: "Are you sure? Because my luggage claim tag still says 'Ft. Lauderdale.'"

D.D.: "Uh... yeah. Really? Oh. Well, where are you going?"

Me: "Myyy-aaaam-eeee."

D.D.: "Uhhhh..."

Female Delta Employee I Wish I'd Gotten In The First Place: "Yes. YES. She needs a new claim tag, or her luggage will go to Ft. Lauderdale. Yes."

(I can tell by the way she kept repeating herself she's worked side-by-side with D.D. for a while now, and we exchange knowing looks.)

Can you believe that?

(Frequent travelers across the globe nod and roll their eyes at my silliness. Monitors steam up as readers all say out loud, "Been there, sista.") I know "Caveat Emptor" and all that, but my luggage didn't even occur to him. Didn't even cross his mind. I mean, he took my pass that said FT. LAUDERDALE and created one that said MIAMI. He was just going to let me fly to Miami and let my bags fly to Ft. Lauderdale, without even thinking for a moment that he knew perfectly well my luggage and I would soon be pen pals, and maybe I would appreciate that information. I'd like to think my pleather pants distracted him, but I think he was just struggling along in the real world with all the rest of us thinking people. Poor Delta Dumbass. So alone. So cold and alone.

So I take the 7:00 flight to Cinci. Once there, I am informed my flight to Miami will be delayed another 1/2 hour, fuck-you-very-much.

In the waiting room, I notice my boarding pass for the first time.

Jamie's Brain: "Hey, look at that! 13A! I'm always on the back of flights, and I'm finally going to be kinda close to the front. Cool. I never have overhead carry-on, so no waiting to see Neal. I'll just jet to the front o' the line as soon as the seatbelt light blinks out, and I'm outta the plane. Rock on."

Jamie's Brain, as she boards the plane: "Wow, this plane is small. Row 11... Row 12... huh. There is no row 13. Oh, wait, there it is. It's so far in the back of the plane and sort of tucked behind the bathroom that I couldn't see it at first. Well, isn't that just fucking cool. They could have just strapped me to the tail and been done with it. Crap."

Now, since I dozed off for 47 seconds on the first flight, I find I can not sleep on the second one. I'm wired and looking forward to getting back to the land of ocean and palm trees. I finish my book with about 10 minutes left in the flight. Patience may be a virtue, but it isn't one of mine. Let's just say I don't wait well.

I slowly chew my leftover ice cubes, one by one, relishing that nummy frozen H2O. I kick the seat in front of me until I warrant a couple of dirty looks. I check out the teeny bathroom about 9 times. I smell the hand soap. I walk all the way to the front of the plane and back again, for no reason. And finally... finally... we land.

And then proceed to taxi longer than I ever had in my life. I was shaking, I wanted off of that plane so badly. 4 different times, I was this close to standing up and screeching, "As much as I enjoy riding the plane around and around the airport with a bunch of strangers, I! WANT! OFF!"

So I finally get off, with visions of Neal waiting for me at the gate. He wasn't.

I pout until I realize non-passengers aren't allowed in the gate area. Heh.

And he's right past the security part. We engage in a lot of ooey-gooey PDA, and then head home for some more PDA (private displays of affection).

I got 3 hours of sleep before work the next day, but I was finally back on the island.

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