Disclaimer: If any government or TSA agents are reading this, please note that my blog is prone to exaggeration. So when I say I want to “kill” a gate agent, I really mean, “shower them in butterflies and rainbows.” Also, I am totally not violent, FYI. We cool?
Chase and I came out to LA for the week to attend a friend’s wedding, and to catch up with old friends and favorite restaurants. You know that saying, “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey?” Whoever said that has apparently never flown Delta. Fuck the journey, I’m not traveling again until they invent teleportation. Let me break down how our journey to LA went:
Thursday, June 27th
While sitting on the airplane in Asheville that is supposed to be leaving for Detroit, we’re told that a huge storm has passed over the city, and we now have to get off the plane and wait for at least 1 1/2 hours to find out if there is even a chance of us leaving tonight. Chase and I de-plane and head straight to the bar, where we order beers and fight over whether or not I should have realized when booking our ticket that of course Detroit would have a weather delay in June.
Our plane is cleared to depart and I am assured by a perky gate agent that even if we don’t make our original connection, we are guaranteed to make the later flight to Los Angeles.
We sit on the runway for 30 minutes waiting to take off. I regret not having a second beer at the bar.
We arrive in Detroit. The last flight to Los Angeles is scheduled to leave at 10:00PM. I ask a gate agent if they could please call over to the flight and let them know that we are on our way. She merrily laughs in my face and says that I will just have to run to the gate and hope the plane is still there. I consider killing her but don’t have the time to spare.
After running at full speed from the very end of one terminal to the far end of another one (because it is a federal law that connecting flights cannot be near each other) I arrive breathless and panting at the gate only to be told the plane just left. The gate agent cheerfully informs me that that no, they never hold planes for passengers. I consider killing her but am too busy trying not to vomit. I also make a mental note to do more cardio at the gym.
Chase and I arrive at the re-booking gate. There are approximately 25 different lines that we can stand in, but no one directs us where to go. We pick a line and hope for the best.