Traveling back to Venezuela after the funeral last week will likely remain an all-time suckiest travel day ever.
First, some perspective: I had just been home for a funeral for a week (so thus I was very sad) and this occurred shortly after a big breakup (so also, depressed). I was going on a week of digestive issues, sore throat, and cold (which makes me extremely crabby) and I just had to say goodbye to my family, my support system, for the next three months (so add lonely and longing to the list).
Resistance seemed futile. This was going to be a bad day. Still, my hopeful side dug deep. I've been reading some
Thich Nhat Hanh and
Prem Chodron and I decided that how I was feeling was just a state of mind. If I was aware of it, I could try to look and the bright side and change it.
So when I got to my seat on my first connection and found the seat to be broken, I tried to roll with the punches; "Well, at least I get to recline and relax," I thought. That was until the flight attendant came by. "Ma'am, your seat needs to be in the upright position for takeoff." "Yes, I know," I tried to explain, but it was too late. She was long gone down the aisle. Two seconds later, a second flight attendant comes by, "Excuse me miss. Please put your seat in the upright position." "I know!" I say, but again she does not hear me. In the end I have to sit leaning forward for the 30 minutes it takes to get to cruising altitude. My back hurts and I'm crabby.
Connection number two isn't any better. I'm in "zone 4" which means I get to board absolutely last. By the time I get on plane, the overhead space has been taken and there's nowhere to put my stuff. The flight attendant finds a spot in like row 30. Great, now I'm guaranteed to also be the last one off the plane.
I'm seated in row 18, in the middle. When I get there I see the lady sitting next to the window has assumed that she has the two seats to herself. Now, I'm not judging here, but she is a very large women. She was probably very hopeful that I wasn't coming to my seat because she had spread herself out between the two. When she sees me coming, she flushes red and tries to rearrange herself in the window seat. But as she pulls down the arm rest, it gets stuck. Now she is super embarassed. She continues to try to wriggle herself in, mortified at the attention it has drawn. In the end, she gets the arm rest down, but is literally spilling over above and below it. I feel terrible and guilty and I can tell she just is so, so embarrassed. I spend the whole flight with my arms crossed, leaning away and trying to give her some room. It was so incredibly awkward and felt like the longest flight ever.
I was excited to land in Atlanta, but unfortunately that was destined to be a miserable experience as well. In about the first 10 minutes, one of the tires on my carry-on luggage stops rolling. Yeah, awesome. I get to drag that thing all over the airport. My flight is also delayed. 3 hours. I want to get a nice meal, but chili's has a line all the way down the stairs and the other restaurant has about 50 smokers in it, making it completely unbearable. A soggy deli sandwich it is. I make my way to my gate.
Somewhere along the line there is a gate change. I get up and start dragging my broken luggage to the opposite end of the terminal. I was lost in thought about something and I didn't notice there was one
of those airport golf cart things trying to get around me. It didn't
beep or anything and I didn't know the guy was talking to me because I
wasn't paying attention. Well finally he got my attention when he
started yelling at me and publicly berating me. Something like,
"Hello! Lady! Are you dense! You're seriously not going to move?"
and then when I did finally notice and move out of the way, he zoomed by
almost hitting me and saying, "Jesus, wake up. Incredible..." I just
couldn't handle it. I just started crying. And then I got mad. I
decided I was going to give him a piece of my mind if I caught up.
It happened he was going to my gate and I saw him turn around and
start heading back. In the end I didn't confront him with anger like I
wanted to. Instead I smiled and pretended to get in his way again as a
joke. He laughed instead of yelled at me that time, so it helped to
break the tension. Still I couldn't shake that crappy feeling.
Then I land in Caracas at like 1am and tired. The lady at
customs was a real piece of work and laughed at me when I said I spoke a little Spanish. Then my luggage never came. I sat there and sat there and
nothing. I didn't see any delta people and didn't know what to do.
Finally some airport guy directed me to a side room and there was my
luggage in a million pieces. The zipper had broken and they had sort of
tried to tape it together, but it was a mess (thanks, TSA). I couldn't
understand what the lady was asking me to do and I just wanted to cry again.
Finally they brought me some crappy clear tape and I taped it together
the best I could and dragged it out of the airport.
Of course then I was too late for the last shuttle to the hotel. I
tried to call the hotel, but for some reason it didn't work. Again I'm
in tears and getting ready to flag down a really expensive taxi, when I
see the hotel shuttle pulling up! It seemed like a miracle. They never come that late. I happily start dragging my
luggage over and flagging the guy down. He stops, but he won't let me
on. I don't understand. Then I see a group of pilots and flight
attendants walking up. He's trying to tell me this shuttle is only for
them. But it's a HUGE shuttle. There is plenty of room. 'No', he
says... I'm in traffic now and need to drag my broken luggage back to
the curb. Now the tears are really welling up.
One of the pilots sees me and tries to tell me something. He
disappears into the shuttle and then reemerges, flagging me in. I guess
he told the driver to let me on. Thank God. Although my seat is
broken (again!) and it keeps falling back on the guy behind me and I have to sit
in an awkward position to get it to stay.
Still though, once I finally get to the hotel, the flight crew is in
line ahead of me and I get literally skipped by two asian dudes. It
takes forever to check in. And then I need tape to fix up my luggage
and that takes even more time to find. I'm lucky when I finally hit the
sheets at 2:30am, crying my way into my 3 hours of sleep before I have to
catch my morning flight.
When I finally get home and unpack, I assume a lot of my stuff is going to be missing. Surprisingly, it's not. Everything made it, fully intact except for one item; my old Birkenstock sandals. I don't know why anyone would want to steal those, but I'm bummed because they are the most comfortable sandals ever!
I should be happier I think. For all my little catastrophes, there
was always something to save me. And I did make it back in one piece. No real permanent damage. Although I hope I never have to relive that day again...
