I had planned meticulously. I left for the airport 7 hours in advance. Really, it should only take 3 hours max to get to Chicago, but with a recent blizzard that dumped around 2 feet of snow, roads were a little questionable. I left early.

I arrived in the Chicago area 2 hours earlier than I needed. I parked at my brother-in-law’s house, took a cab to the airport.

Isn’t it interesting that even though you know your flight is delayed, they still expect you to be there as if it’s an “on-time” departure?

I think my flight finally left approximately 3-4 hours after its scheduled time.

Did I mention that I have a cold? My head is completely congested.

My flight was actually excellent. I read, worked, and listened to music. It was really quite nice. The flight attendant even helpfully stopped by to ask the person pouring into my seat from his (slightly large, shall we say?) whether he might be more comfortable in a seat behind me. This was great! And, I had even resolved that I would be positive about his invasion of my personal space.

My head remained comfortable as I blew through half a box of tissues. Not so comfortable upon landing.

I got into Phoenix around midnight. Unfortunately, I was headed to Los Angeles. And my connecting flight had left 1 hour earlier.

Hello Hotel. By the time I get luggage, catch shuttle, send emails written on plane – 4 hours sleep. Head still completely clogged, ears never opened up upon landing.

Catch 7am shuttle for 8:23 flight – I thought “should be plenty of time.”

Wrong. Shuttle was 10 minutes late. The line for check in was longer than any line I’ve ever seen at Frankfurt International (and those lines are HUGE!). And, I failed to see the sign (which you really cannot see until it’s too late) that reads, “Passengers must be checked in 45 minutes before scheduled departure.” I checked in 43 minutes before departure.

Now I’m on stand-by for a later flight.

But you know what? It wouldn’t have mattered.

After standing in the security line for 30 minutes while a TSA employee sang out what’s allowed and not allowed, I found out I had been selected for “additional security screening.”
I enjoyed my “special search” and walked casually to my gate.

I’m out of cash and the one ATM in my terminal didn’t work. Here’s to the cashless society.

One more decongestant to pop and I should be ready. If I make the stand by short list.

Oh, and why am I on my way to Los Angeles? Only the most important meeting my small agency has ever had with one of the largest high-tech companies in the world. It’s at 2pm this afternoon and I still need to iron my shirt and change (budget hotels don’t supply ironing boards).

Will I make it? Who knows?

[time passes]

My flight finishes boarding. I’m called as the last stand-by passanger. I’m on the plane. Just settled, when. . .you guessed it, some other passenger makes it to the gate and I, Mr. Standby, get to deplane.

According to the gate agent, the next available flight would get me to LA somewhere after 2pm. Obviously, not a good situation.

So, while I’m standing in front of the gate agent, I decide to check reality. One call to my travel agent had me on another plane with a guaranteed seat. Why is it that I have to call someone to help me when I’m standing in the middle of the flippin’ airport?

The gate agent offered to work out the credit (for some reason, I had to purchase the ticket to LA from Phoenix). I thought this was very cool.

I got to LA, changed in the airport bathroom, (obviously, my shirt never got ironed, but oh well) and we headed off to our meeting. The week was actually terrific for meetings. Every single meeting went really well. This was huge.

And then I got ready to return.

Remember how cool I thought it was that the gate agent was going to credit my account for the flight I got bumped from? Yeah, well, it appears she cancelled my return flight while she did that. Problem is, it’s Pacific time and after hours in the Midwest – my travel agent isn’t going to be able to resolve this for me on the fly. Pull out the credit card for the nice “sock it to ya” one-way ticket home – at least I got a seat (many flights were being cancelled because of weather in the Midwest – what a week of weather!).

This time I wasn’t as lucky with my seating. Middle seat. Guy in front of me insisted on taking full advantage of his recline feature. Woman to left is dancing in her seat to Nelly while secretively writing furiously in a notebook. A writer? I don’t know. Man to left pulled out his ginormous 32-inch wide screen laptop (yes, that is exaggeration) and begins watching a movie. No worries. I down a drink and sleep.

I finally arrive in Chicago, pick up my bags, and call the suburban taxi company for a lift. Only, there are no cabs available anywhere near the airport. Nice.

Taxi line.

Outside.

Chicago Winter Cold.

45 minutes.

I landed at 11:10pm and arrived (about 10 miles) at my brother-in-law’s at about 1 a.m. – that was after the little taxi driver yelled at me for using the taxi line when I wasn’t going downtown. Man was he grumpy. I’d describe him in more detail except I fear someone would feel I was picking on his ethnicity, so we’ll forget that whole drama.

I slept in, rolled out of bed and got on the road for my 3-hour drive home.

As I sit here and do my expenses, I can see that my cheaper, connecting flight approach appears to have cost me (at least right now, before any credits we may be able to finagle) about 539 USD beyond the original ticket price of 380.

I think I’ll be less cost conscious next time.

Oh, and I have to say that I think I will avoid both Phoenix and USAir for the rest of my life (if possible).

Fly direct.

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