Introducing road rage – in the air

I have been lucky with flights in my 4 years of having a “traveling” corporate career. The only other time I have ever missed a flight was completely my fault. Even then, if it hadn’t been for a merciless 20 year old supervisor, I could have easily made my flight. But I definitely was 5 minutes late to check in at the tiny TLH airport that takes 10 minutes to navigate, security and all… so I accepted my responsibility in it. I did tell the supervisor that if she were 10 years older she would have had mercy on me. What comes around goes around sweetie. She will regret me one day. ;)

But this morning was another story. So here I sit doing blog therapy instead of throwing the hissy fit I have bottled up inside. I arrive an hour and a half before my 8:50 am flight. Usually ample time to navigate with carry on bags. I go to the first kiosk to pick up my boarding pass, which usually eliminates standing in line, and it keeps telling me it cannot find my reservation. I ask an attendant and she asks me for a confirmation #. I can only find an itinerary #. So she asks me to go stand in the first class line. It is three stretchy bands long. I stand in line & start scrolling through my blackberry email looking for the confirmation #. I get ½ way through the line when I find it! Gleeful I get out of line & head back to the kiosk with my hope running high. Still nada. I ask another attendant and she tries to do what I just did with the same result. She asks me to go stand in the first class line, which is now 4 stretchy bands long. The lady at the entry to the first class line barks at each person who passes, “Are you first class??” I did not say what I was thinking. 40 minutes later I am at the desk. Even with my itinerary # & confirmation # Delta does not have my boarding pass in the system. She prints me a ticket anyway & I explain to her that at this point I need to reschedule the whole trip because I will never make it through the Detroit security line & to my flight in 45 minutes. She insists I can - 3 times - as I was insistent that I couldn’t, and she sends me off, much disgruntled, to stand in the security line.

Let me preface this next section with this: I am happy to be safe. Safety can be obtained with courtesy, however.

So I stand in line for 30 minutes. During my stay at the TSA Inn, I visit with a sweet little elderly couple who are headed to San Francisco. They suggest I explain my plight to the TSA officer and ask if I could get in the first class line to speed my progress. I won’t even tell you how that went… but I will confess that a near road rage venom was induced into my blood. I knew better. Mercy & courtesy has no place with airport staff anymore. I should have kept my head low & stood in line with the other cattle, awaiting my turn to be prodded. The poor little couple who had suggested it were shocked at his attitude and demeanor toward me. They clearly do not fly often. I told them that customer service is dead in the airlines today. The little man said “Evidently so.”

And then I felt it. The special warm sensation that announces the untimely arrival of our monthly visitor. If only once, just once, a man could experience this joy, while trapped in a line 30 minutes long, they would never again complain about our moodiness & cranky dispositions. No wonder I was having murderous thoughts, even if I was containing my actions. Hormones stink.

Luckily, I am a pro at getting through security quickly, knowing exactly what & where to disrobe & how & in what order to shuffle things into separate little bins as needed. Jewelry, 3 oz liquids in a plastic ziplock & pocket book in one bin. Laptop in one. Shoes lying flat in another. Shoes must now be in a bin alone. That is a recent change. I learned long ago to wear no belt and don flip flops. Just makes airport life easier. By the time I breeze through the metal detector it is 8:40. My gate is not too far. I RUN in a last futile flight of desperate desire to NOT be in the airport all day, only to be dashed at the gate. A closed door at the gate is never a good sign. I stood staring at the door thinking some retail therapy might feel REALLY good right now if it involved really expensive high heels. And someone elses money. Not even that thought could soothe me. The attendant at the gate was a dead pan figure. That was probably a good thing. He had just been given the honorary position of therapist to Alicia New. Hormones raging, I unloaded to him thoroughly. Not at him, but to him. Well, everything except the “special” visitor part. He smiled and told me he could help me in a minute. I made a much needed trip to the restroom, picked up a Mountain Dew & when I returned he was ready to assist. The next flight is 10:20 am. I am on stand-by. He said the trick would be getting me on that flight. Oh joy. I may blog again at 10:25 if I don’t make it.