Escapador

Well, I suppose now is the right time to tell you my sad little Christmas tale.

I had to work at J-Lab on Monday. One of our coworkers recently quit to go work for the Inauguration committee (who can blame her) and so we needed someone to tie up the loose ends before the holiday. So I  stayed on, despite warnings from my mother that because I fly stand-by, I needed to leave DC a couple of days before Christmas, at least.

The next day, Tuesday, bright and early I was at the airport, awaiting a flight out. I managed to get on the 9:00 to Newark. From there, I had four chances to catch a flight to Kansas City, where my entire family was convening for the holiday.

The first chance came and left, though it was relatively close. The second, too, left me waiting. Between the second and third I took the little shuttle over to a bigger terminal to find lunch. It was crap. Wok n’ Roll has lost its edge. On the way back, I slipped in some of the snow and ended up with wet in my boot for the rest of the day.

The third chance came and went. At this point I started getting nervous. I called my  mother and we spent a long time on the phone, weighing my options. Everything was oversold, checked in full, with plenty of passriders and other nonrevs standing by. Things were looking bleak.

I wanted a drink so badly. I kept checking in on the little bar in our terminal, but it was packed. I hate dealing with airport people. I hate dealing with drunk, crowded airport people even more. But damn, I wanted a drink.

I was informed at that point that I was flying on my only remaining Vacation Pass. To those not familiar with nonrev flying, there are three ways you can get on… either with a Buddy Pass, a Personal Pass, or a Vacation Pass. Because flights have been so full the past couple of years, I always fly on Vacation Passes… it just puts me towards the top of the list, which is convenient. So, since I was flying on the last one for the year, I was in a curious predicament. If I flew back to DC to try flying out the next day, it would be a round trip, which would disable the Vacation Pass status… so I would be trying to fly out on Christmas Eve with a Personal Pass, which is just unheard of. On the other hand, I could stay overnight in the Newark airport and try to get out the next day on my same Vacation Pass. After speaking to several agents, they told me it wasn’t worth it. No one was getting out except for revenue passengers, and even some of them weren’t going to make it. Don’t even try, they told me.

My only chance was the 9:05 flight out of Newark to Kansas City. Everything hinged on that flight. I went to the gate and told the agent what I was up against. She shook her head. “I can’t even get all the revenue passengers on this plane, and there are more misconnects standing by,” she said.

So that was it. No Christmas with the family. I walked over to the gate where the 10:00 flight back to DC was getting ready to board. I switched over to that flight and made it on without a problem. I couldn’t hold back the silent tears while boarding the plane. All of these people were going to see their families. I couldn’t see mine. Kat and Roger were planning on catching a flight to Houston the next morning, which would leave me alone for nearly five days, including on Christmas. I don’t often get emotional about these sorts of things, but damnit, I really wanted to see that crazy bunch.

I sighed and shrank into my seat, turning my phone off. At least I could finally get that drink. I had $5 in my pocket, which I didn’t mind spending on a tiny taste of vodka or othersuch libation. Shortly after takeoff the flight attendant rolled her little cart down the aisle, taking drink orders. I clutched the five dollar bill in my hand. I was seated in row 11, seat B. About 7C we hit a small patch of turbulence. I scanned the FA’s face for her reaction. It was an overzealous “Oh my gosh!” look. I knew she wouldn’t make it all the way down the aisle, but all I cared about was that she reach my row.

9C. 10A. More shaking. 10B. “Come on, come on,” I thought. 10C. Another shake. The FA let out this pitiful little eep. 11A….

“I’m sorry, but this here plane is shakin’ too much. I’m gonna hafta stop.” The flight attendant unlocked her cart’s brake and hightailed it to the galley before I could utter the first syllable of protest. My fiver was still clutched in my hand, clammy from anxiety.

Worst. Day. Ever. 12 hours in Newark and all I got was bad Chinese food and an alcoholic’s urge to drink it away.