SO CUTE! Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be big enough this Halloween season to pull it off. I'll be 20 weeks. Thoughts? Right, you don't even know how big I am right now. I promise I will post a belly picture on Saturday. Get excited!
(Robin, the title of this post has nothing to do with that adorable pumpkin shirt.) Right. True. Here goes:
So, the second half of the weekend story. After staying with my brother on Friday night, Jared, Brad and I woke up early-ish on Saturday and headed to Ikea. Shopped for Jared's must-haves (desk, umbrella stand -- yes, he requested one, pots, straws). I might have nudged him a little on that last one. But Ikea has great straws. I know this because Meghan knows this. Thanks Meghan!
After we finished up at Ikea, we headed to Charlottesville, where I dragged Jared and Brad down memory lane. (And I proved that you can get delicious sandwiches at an Exxon station. Don't doubt.) Sunday morning we put together the desk, which was in 250+ pieces. Seriously. It was the ultimate Ikea assembly project. And it went together without a hitch. Then we went out for brunch at a spot that wasn't open when I lived in Ch'ville, and I ate the best biscuit I've had in years. Picked up the newest issue of Fit Pregnancy at Barnes and Noble for in-flight entertainment. All-in-all, a swimmingly successful day. So I should have anticipated what was yet to come.
Our itinerary to get home consisted of a 7:15 p.m. flight from Charlottesville to Dulles, a two-hour layover, and then a 10:10 p.m. flight from Dulles to O'Hare. Jared drove us to the Charlottesville airport at 5:30 p.m. and we said our goodbyes. When we checked in, we found out that our flight was delayed until 8:30 p.m. Not ideal, but we still had a bit of a buffer to make our second flight. This just meant spending a bit more time at the Charlottesville airport.
Charlottesville's airport is not a hub. Far from it. We sailed through security, as we were the only people seeking the services of the four TSA employees at the time. Beyond security, the airport offers five gates, two sets of bathrooms, four water fountains, and one food/souvenir/reading material shop. After we set our stuff down at the gate, I grabbed a couple nibbles from the food shop, realizing we wouldn't have time to eat dinner at Dulles.
Time to kill, Brad and I watched a Netflix movie on his iPhone (the one with John Cusack's friend who had bit parts in all of Cusack's fabulous movies and now stars in Entourage; that guy stars as a used car salesman; I can't remember the title, but that's not a problem because this movie does NOT bear the Brad and Robin seal of approval).
While we were watching the wretched movie, the food vendor closed. That happened at 7:00 p.m. At 8:00, security abandoned shop, only after warning us that if we left the secured area, we would not be able to return and thus would not make our flight. At 8:30, the gate agent showed up to tell us that the flight was delayed until 9:00 p.m., and that most of us would miss our connections. While the gate agent was re-booking all 13 of us passengers, we learned that we wouldn't take off until 9:30 p.m. Brad made some comment about the airport being virtually abandoned, save our flight, and how it would make a good horror movie. Shortly thereafter the airport lost all power and we sat in the dark for about 60 seconds. Brad said if people started dying, we were not going to forget that we could simply walk through the revolving doors at the security checkpoint and escape unharmed. People would not remember that in the horror movie. We're so smart.
The delay just got longer over time. Turns out that the flight before ours (the one flying from Dulles to Ch'ville and then turning around to take us back) had been canceled. So they had a mechanic (who they had driven down from Dulles) working on a plane that had been grounded for mechanical problems earlier that day. But that plane wasn't looking great. Around 9:30, we learned that they were flying another plane in from Dulles which would arrive at 11:30 p.m. We'd take that plane to Dulles and get in around midnight.
So Brad and I started looking into hotels near Dulles, because I don't sleep well (or at all) unless I'm in a bed. Brad, on the other hand, will sleep on a rollercoaster if he's tired. Screaming and all. We found a decent option, but decided not to book it, just in case. Wise move, Robertsons.
Around this time I realized that I was freezing, wearing a thin knee-length skirt which does not have a waist and is thus incredibly comfortable. But it does not offer much in the warmth department. So I dug my pajama bottoms out of my bag, and put them on under my skirt. Style be dammed. I also put on a pair of Brad's used socks. Hygiene be dammed.
The plane lands at 11:30 p.m., as promised. Our gate agent morphed into the person with the illuminated orange sticks who guided the plane to the gate. Then she morphed into the person who took the baggage off the plane and drove it over to the baggage claim area. About twenty minutes later, she morphed back into our gate agent and we boarded the plane.
I wasn't a fan of this plane. It had propellers. I am generally against flying on planes that have not upgraded to jet engines. My phone does not have a rotary dial. I do not write briefs on a typewriter. And I prefer jet engines. But I was not given a choice.
The cabin door closes, we turn off our electronic devices, the engine starts, the safety admonishments begin (and I listened, because of the propellers). Then the engine stopped. Then the door opened. Then the gate agent-of-all-trades boarded and went into the cockpit. The thirteen passengers started mumbling -- what could they possibly be talking about? Ten minutes later the pilot came over the loudspeaker and told us that the right engine was overheating and they were going to have the mechanic take a look at it.
At this moment, a 75-year-old man with a flashlight walks towards the cockpit from his seat at the back of the plane. This was our mechanic? We were short on hope. Brad noted that, unless the plane was afraid of the dark, this man was ill-equipped to solve the problem. Sure enough, after pow-wowing in the cockpit for another ten minutes, the pilot announced that the plane had been grounded. But fear not! We would fly home the other plane. The one that the mechanic had been fixing all day. Is that one safe? "Of course" says the pilot. Then why are we on this plane? (...crickets...)
But there is one hitch. The flight attendant has timed out for the day, so they are going to call a U.S. Airways flight attendant to see if he can help us out. We'll know in a half hour. (Certainly, that won't be a problem. What flight attendant wouldn't want to get out of bed at 1:00 a.m. and fly home with us? Flight attendants are the epitome of good will.) In the meantime, the pilot will order pizza! Thirteen mouths smiling and watering.
We all return to the airport, reclaim our spots on the floor. I figure out that if I tuck a pair of rolled-up jeans under my stomach, I can lay comfortably on my side. A few minutes later, the first officer walks in with an armful of canned soda, three white boxes, and a sheepish look. Turns out that no pizza places are open for delivery at midnight on Sunday. Shocker. As a consolation, they are giving us the emergency stale granola bars they have to keep on the plane in case it is held on a runway for over two hours. Oh, how amazing pizza would have tasted.
Around 1:00 a.m., the gate agent returned to tell us that our flight officially had been canceled. She was going to talk to her boss to find out if they could bus us to Dulles. Perhaps this is a good point to share a bit of Virginia geography with those of you who are unfamiliar with the lay of the land in the tenth state in the union. Charlottesville is a two-hour drive from Dulles; a twenty-five minute flight. By 1:30 a.m., we could have driven to Dulles and back TWICE. A little advance-notice from United that the flight was a complete mess, we could have easily made our connecting flight at 10:10 p.m. Water under the bridge.
At 1:30 a.m. we learned that ground transportation was on its way. At 2:00 a.m., we boarded the limo bus bound for Dulles. Yup, a limo bus. Imagine the vehicle you would want to rent if you were 21 years old and celebrating your BFF's bachelor/bachelorette party. The exterior walls of the limo bus -- at least those portions which were not dedicated to the minibars or the shelves supporting vases filled with faux roses -- were lined with a low leather bench. The bench curved in odd ways (accented by the neon lighting on the ceiling which mimicked the curves). Also, the bench had no headrests. Because this is not a vehicle designed for a two-hour roadtrip. This is a vehicle designed for five minute jaunts between killer college bars that are lax on checking IDs.
We crammed onto the limo bus, which barely seated 13. Everyone tried to figure out a seating position which would not encroach on our neighbor's limited seat space, but would offer some hope of getting a little shut eye. I did not succeed. Brad did, however, because this limo bus was slightly more conducive to sleep than a rollercoaster. And he's Brad.
At 4:00 a.m. we arrived at Dulles. All 13 of us collapsed in front of the United ticket counter, set to open at 4:20 a.m. We are a haggard group -- I am still wearing my pj/skirt combo. And loads of fresh-faced passengers are starting to arrive. We are easily distinguishable. Do the ticket agents comment or apologize? No. They tell us we are in the wrong line and need to wait in a different line. Around 5:00 a.m., we finally receive boarding passes for the 6:00 a.m. flight to Chicago.
We reach the gate five minutes before boarding, and rush over to a Mexican cafe to order two breakfast burritos. Board the plane, eat our burritos (oh boy were they delicious, even though they wasn't much about them that would qualify as breakfast fare), and settle in for the flight. Plane has jet engines, so I'm feeling okay. Even though I know I won't sleep, because sleep and airplanes don't mix for me.
Guess who doesn't have that problem? There was a sweet little baby who cried, screamed, for 80% of the two-hour flight home. Brad slept 100% of the time. Envy. We landed at 7:00 a.m., made it home around 8:00 a.m. I immediately called in sick and crawled into bed. Ahhh.
Silver lining: Tater was on his/her BEST behavior. I was exhausted, but no more exhausted than anyone else in that situation. I was not nauseous. Didn't have a headache. Best of all, I wasn't irritable. Not sure I would have been able to maintain my sanity if I hadn't been able to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
Good humored, but not stupid. Dear United. You are not a beneficiary of my zen attitude. We are no longer friends. But thanks for reminding me why I love Southwest.
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