After rushing from our E arrival gate to our C departure gate at the Charlotte airport for our connecting flight home, only to discover that our breathtakingly short layover time would be extended by a short delay, we took a deep breath and smiled at the likelihood that our luggage would now actually join us back in Des Moines. The reason for the delay was that there was as yet no aircraft at our gate. As the delay deepened into the night, we were assured - repeatedly over the next hour and more, that the plane was on its way from the hanger. It wasn’t a complete fiction because we eventually did board the tardy aircraft, only to wait for more fuel. After backing away from the gate we waited yet longer, finally learning that there was still a mechanical problem - one that would eventually topple our flight home into the next morning. “No problem,” they assured us. We were presented with 3 fine airport motel options for a brief overnight, along with meal vouchers - never mind that at that hour nothing was open.
Once delivered by the shuttle, whose dashboard control panel signaled in large letters that "Vehicle Service Overdue", to our selected lodging, piloted by our flatulent but jovial driver, we checked into our assigned room sometime after midnight, deprived of luggage toothbrush, or, well, much of anything but the clothes on our back. But it was an educational stay. I don’t think I had ever been in a “smoking preferred” motel, well-stocked with 3 single-serve packages of decaffeinated coffee, and a powerful search light focused on our window throughout the night.
After a luxuriant and restful moment of sleep, we caught the 4:30 am shuttle back to the airport - an “express” van, as it turned out, driving 75 mph through the posted 15 mph speed limits of the airport driveways. Dizzy, but nonetheless and gratefully unharmed, we made our way inside, through security, and somehow, after some trial and effort, found our gate which was mis-posted on the airport departure computers. At least by this time, Starbucks was open with options that included caffeine. They accepted our vouchers, and with coffee and breakfast sandwiches in hand, settled into the seating area to pass the time through yet another delay. This one, however, did resolve into boarding and actual takeoff.
And at this point, from the vantage point of 30,000 feet and the dubious assurances of the flight attendant who hasn’t learned that the “S’s” in “Des Moines” are silent, it appears that we are likely to actually make it home.
Which will look mighty good.
Especially the shower.
Even more especially the toothbrush and toothpaste.
Meanwhile, Maine was a restorative joy. Every, sight, every hike, every bite. Unfortunately, I won’t be including in those fond memories the leftover crab and lobster meat that spent an extra night unrefrigerated in my suitcase. Or the olfactory greeting that will almost surely shout a pungent “good morning” when I unzip it.
Ah, American Airlines. I gotta love you…
…especially when there are no other options.
At least you eventually got us home, safely. And for that, I’m grateful.
Where would you like me to send the lobster and crab?
P.S. The hero in all this, of course, is our rock star Housesitter who, having already buttoned up our abode and headed home to her family in anticipation of our return, returned to Taproot Garden after midnight to spend a bonus night with two cranky corgis and three coops full of chickens. Just think: you make all this possible.
You are the best!
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