What Now

SATURDAY March 17th: Huntsville and Charlotte Airports.

Before I begin, I would just like to say, U.S. Airlines sucks.
I wish that I could write "U.S. Airlines Sucks" in every known language so that anyone around the world who looked up that airline would find this page and read about my adventure so they could run screaming in the other direction.

The most accepted definition of Murphy's Law is "If it can go wrong, it will go wrong." Kudos to this Murphy guy for hitting that nail on the head.

It was obvious early on that something was going to go wrong. I should have realized that my traveling experience wasn't going to go well when they all but gave me a cavity search at the security gate. You think I'm kidding, don't you?

Steve dropped me off in the line into the security area. We said our goodbyes and I proceeded to remove the 1 quart plastic bag with the few toiletries that I packed in my carry on (none over 3 ounces, of course) from my bag, remove my shoes, remove my jacket and placed everything into the plastic bin so that it could be x-rayed. As I walked through the metal detector, I set it off. The security lady made me take off both my belt and my watch, which enabled me to get through the detector without setting it off again. As I got to the end of the conveyor belt though, I realized that none of my stuff had come through yet. So there I was, standing there holding my pants up, shoeless, and feeling slightly vulnerable. I stood there thinking that they would pass my things over to me, but no. They had taken my things to a separate table and pulled out the little sniffer wand thing and proceeded to wave it over my shoes. The security guard asked what I did for a living, and I thought that she was asking as a bit of small talk, so I told her I was a graphic artist. Apparently that wasn't the right kind of answer because she then turned to me and said "So you wouldn't work with chemicals or anything, right?"

Oh, Crap.

I told her that I did occasionally use cleaners and stuff and I asked her what she found on my shoes. She named some complicated chemical that I had never heard of and then told me she was then going to search my bag. She searched through it and apparently didn't find anything dangerous. By this point, my watch, belt and shoes had been returned and I was in the process of redressing when she asked me to come there. I stood up, my belt literally half on and hanging out of my belt loops, and she said "Spread 'em." Whahuh? So, I held out my arms and she PATTED ME DOWN. Patted me down, people! I was too confused to object, so I submitted to the patting. Now, either she didn't feel anything concealed on my person, or she figured that anyone who is going to giggle while getting searched can't be all dangerous (shut up, I'm ticklish) because she then smiled and said I could go on. I had literally been inside the gate for 5 minutes and I had already been suspected of building bombs and concealing weapons. Nice. Once I got my things together, though, I went on to my terminal.

My flight was originally supposed to leave at 4:10 pm, but the nice computer lady from Orbitz called me and told me that the flight had been delayed. Was that going to affect my connecting flight? She said no. So I sat in the terminal for what seemed like five days as the flight times kept getting changed and pushed back over and over. It happened often enough to where I had to change my ring tone on my cell phone, because the "Super Mario Brother's" theme song was starting to get embarrassing. I met a nice Mormon woman who was traveling out to Utah to meet her Internet boyfriend for the first time and a spastic diabetic lady who kept reminding us that she was diabetic. Soon, though, I just sat there and listened to my iPod until they FINALLY called us for our flight. It was about 6:45 pm or so before we actually took off, and we arrived in Charlotte, NC at 8:30 EST. Well, I take that back, we actually probably landed at 8:00, but I think we taxied up the runway for another 1/2 hour. Once we got inside, I ran to the monitors that tell you if your flight is on time or not. Apparently, my connecting flight had been postponed as well, so I had three minutes or so to make it to my gate. So I ran.

Now, as you all know, I don't run. You could place Johnny Depp at the far end of the airport sporting a chocolate thong, and all you'd normally get out of me is a swift mosey. However, because I didn't want to cause trouble with my plans, I ran. I ran like OJ Simpson in that old commercial. Might I just add that Charlotte is a freaking large airport. By the time I found my terminal, there was no one there except the lady at the counter. I asked, in between gasping breaths and panting, if I was too late. Well, the plane had just left.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The lady was Russian, or Eastern European, and had an accent I could barely understand, so it took me a couple of minutes to understand what she meant. When I asked her if there was another flight, she said that the computers were down and she couldn't tell me anything. I smiled, while silently plotting her death, and went back to the monitors to find another gate leaving for Ft. Lauderdale.

I finally found one and once again ran across the world to get to it. I finally got there and I stood in a line that rapidly got longer and longer. It was already three people across and deep enough so that I wasn't even in the terminal, but out in the walkway between them. The Zoloft had kicked in, so I wasn't freaking out, but everyone else was. Apparently the planes from Buffalo, NY wouldn't be able to make their original connections, so everyone was routed to Charlotte, NC. I heard more than one person say that the folks in Buffalo had told them that they were sure to get a flight out of Charlotte, but that was not true! I found out later that there were more than 100,000 U.S. Airline passengers across the country that got stranded because of the weather in New England. I was one of them. The line didn't move for three hours. Three. Hours. No, I don't think you understand. THREE. HOURS. The line didn't move an inch.

While standing in this line I met a very nice family from Canada (they really do say "eh") and I also got to hear a lot of people complain. I felt bad for most of them because they were supposed to have been in Ft. Lauderdale to go on cruises and things like that. The people in my line all started saying what they were missing by being stuck in the line. In fact, they really started getting on my nerves. I heard "I'm supposed to be in Florida to catch my ship!" so many times that I finally said "Well, I have a friend who just had a transplant and is very sick. I'm trying to get down there to see her." There was a collective "oooooooh" and everyone shut up for a while. I'm not proud that I had to use Sara's condition to my advantage, but at least it worked.

The line finally started to move and after about 20 minutes, I got to the counter to hear the lady say "I'm sorry, but all of our stand by spots have been taken. We can't fit you on the list." Well, it was either scream and rip out her hair, or deal. I chose to deal. I finally got her to tell me the next flight leaving for Ft. Lauderdale, and that just so happened to be at 7:45 the next morning. Wow. So I walked off to find the terminal where it would leave from and get on the stand by list. Granted, I could have had that lady put me on the list, but I wasn't quite sure I still wouldn't jump across the counter and go nuts on her.

At the new line, I only had to wait for a few minutes while one very irate passenger accused the poor customer service lady of lying to him and then I was placed on the stand by list. At this point, I was exhausted, I felt dirty, and I was hungry. Unfortunately, there were no hotels available and none of the little shops were open anymore. I had no place else to go except over into the corner of the terminal, where I pretty much curled up in the fetal position and lay in the floor shivering. It was about midnight in the rapidly emptying Charlotte airport, and I was alone.