I was already blue. Vacay was over and I was sitting firmly on two of the H.A.L.T. 's, ( hungry, angry, lonely, tired).
And I discovered something tonight. It's the reason I'm blogging from a hotel room I can't afford in Chicago instead of my own abode.
Gate changes.
Apparently, a plane can change gates at will. It can change gates a couple of times. You can be sitting for three hours for your flight that has already had one change . . .
And it change again.
And somehow, you, (well I), never get a memo, a tap on the shoulder, a head's up, a muffled loudspeaker announcement, advising of this added change.
I had a weird feeling. Something was amiss. I grabbed my boarding pass and felt the blood rush from my head to my tiptoes.
My flight should have been airborne 25 minutes ago!
Surely some mistake. I was sitting right there in front of the attendants.
But the attendant confirmed my flight was gone. I would need to reschedule.
The sheer exquisiteness of my panic, horror, frustration, anger, bewilderment . . . I was a big pile of pitiful.
I picked up on external cues from other passengers. Getting rude and angry would do me zero favors. So I lost it. . . Internally.
Four attendants, one rebooking, three phone calls, two Priceline bids, and one wrong shuttle bus later, I find myself here, in a hotel I can't really afford, starving.
Did I mention I'm still dressed in San Francisco layers in Chicago's 80-90 degree heat? My outfit alone SCREAMS "I'm a clueless tourist. Please take advantage of me."
Did I also mention the earliest flight is tomorrow afternoon?
And it's a two hour flight.
And I'm supposed to be at work. . .
. . . at 8:30am.
I'm going to eat and hit the sack and pray tomorrow proves to be more favorable.
I had a glorious time in San Francisco. I have volumes of blog entries to share.
And of course, not every ounce of this day was haenus. I was even able to complete another diva . . .THREE divas over vacation. The inspirations were abundant.
I just had to whine. I now have the presence of mind to realize without the crappy days, the divalicious days wouldn't be nearly as special. . .
. . . Damn it!!!
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