That moment you had just put your order in with the waitress for a pizza and you realize that you had been mistaken about the time your connecting flight was to leave Dallas for San Francisco, panic sets in. It was 1:18 PM and my flight was to leave at 1:25 PM. How could I have been so mistaken?
I woke up early this morning from my parents’ place in Tampa, leaving after a wonderful few days with them. Perhaps I was tired, missing them, and not thinking clearly.
I have a long history of stories trying to arrive at my flights on time. After I tersely told the waitress to cancel my lunch order, while I was rushing to the gate, I was immediately transported to that time I was flying to Philadelphia for my sister’s graduation when I still lived in Chicago. That was also the trip I would see my folks to tell them I was accepting the offer for a new job and moving to San Francisco. That flight was scheduled for 6:30 AM. I was so paranoid that I would not make that flight, that I decided to stay up all night: had dinner and drinks with friends, came home to clean up my place, listen to some serious tunes and write (about what it might be like to leave Chicago and live in San Francisco). I was happy to say, though completely bug-eyed, I arrived at the gate for O’Hare International on time, texted my sister all was good, and sat down with plenty of time to spare amidst all the other passengers boarding that flight with me. Next thing I know, I am sitting alone. I had just woken up and it was 8:00 AM. I had fallen asleep, of course missing my flight.
This memory took but a thought in my head as I made it to the gate in Dallas, upon arriving seeing the sign for Oklahoma City. I had missed my flight yet again.
Frustrated but no one to blame but myself, I waited in the line to figure out my options, most likely to go stand-by for the next available flight. Once it was my turn with the agent, I apologized “I missed my flight. I was supposed to get on the Dallas-SFO flight at 1:25 PM.” Quite understanding with an affable smile, the agent informed me that I had actually not missed my flight. The plane was arriving late from Cancun cos of the rains in Dallas, new departure 3:05 PM.
Just goes to show what a little bit of luck can go…
I was comfortably sitting in my seat by 2:30 PM and promptly fell asleep, which is quite a normal experience (one of the few times I didn’t on a flight from Chicago to Los Angeles because I was captivated and let’s face it, tearing up, turning page after page of The Art of Racing in the Rain, the best book of fiction I’d read in years). I awoke three hours later, happy that I had slept my entire flight when I realized we had not even taken off.
Just goes to show what a little bit of luck can do…
Go Adventure. Go Travel. Go Live.
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