Ahhh...Travel

It’s been almost a year since I have been a business trip. Foolishly I have been looking forward to going. I miss travel. Or maybe I missed the idea of travel. All I know is, as I started the 2 hour drive to Indy to catch my flight, I was excited.

The ride up was uneventful and I arrived in plenty of time. I went right through security, and found a seat near an power outlet. To the novice traveler, finding a power outlet in an airport to keep your laptop and blackberry going is critical and usually impossible. I plugged in, powered up and prepared to enjoy the free Indy Airport WiFi. Again, another plus because most airports you have to pay for a day pass. Well, you get what you pay for. I had at least 3 tasks which I was counting on delivering while I waited, all of which required broadband access to send. I logged onto the wireless, and was rewarded with a blazing 2MBPS connection. That’s about as slow as dial-up. My browser wouldn’t even open let alone send anything.

To make matters worse, either through cunning planning to discourage siphoning free power or just bad luck, my power supply was right beneath a loudspeaker. Every page, every announcement shook the fillings in my teeth. They also had this strange military style naming convention.

“Can Mr. Jones come to Checkpoint Bravo to retrieve a lost item”

When did I enter the Green Zone? Don’t do it Jones….it’s a trap

“Would the owner of the black Ford Bronco come to Checkpoint Alpha?”

Fuck…are they going to detain him?

I worked away, and as the endless stream of pages and announcements blared on, the blood slowly trickled from my ears.

But, the plane left on time, and I had an exit row so it was all good. Until I landed in Denver.

I had an hour between flights. I always check my departure gate and time off the screens just in case there was a change. Then I physically check the gate. Both my ticket and the screen said B35 – there were people waiting, we had a plane parked outside but no gate agents. I decided I had time to grab a quick plate of dinner. Driving and total transit time to Portland was going to be 11 plus hours, better eat while you can. I grabbed some Chinese Panda or whatever the fuck it is, and sat down at the gate. While I ate some indifferent fried rice and a slimy, sickly sweet honey chicken, I noticed the gate still wasn’t manned. That’s when the fun began.

I walked to the nearest manned Frontier gate.

“Excuse me, where is the flight for Portland?”

“Portland?! That’s Gate 50, you’ll have to hurry?”

Gate 50 was on the other side of the Concourse. I took off running.

Past the foodcourt. Past Gates 40-49. Down a set of stairs. Down a Corridor. All the way to Gate 50.

“Portland?” I ask breathlessly.

“Portland? That’s up at gate 33! You’ll really have to hurry?

“I’m sorry, my hearing was damaged in Indy and I’m still recovering. Did you say Gate 33??? Are you sure?? I was just up there, they sent me here.

“Yes, you better run!”

I blindly followed her command.

Off I went. Down the corridor. Up the stairs. Past gates 49-40. Past the food court. Past Gate 35, where I just was, to Gate 33.

Really Breathlessly and with no conviction whatsoever, somewhat pleadingly, “ Portland?”

“Portland?!”

“Yes… What Gate?”

“55, but you’re really late”

“I was just down there, the screen says 35, they sent me here.”

“I have no control over the screens, the city controls those. It’s definitely at 55,and you need to hurry”

At the time, I was thinking, “Lady, I could give a shit who runs the screens, I don’t need a lesson on airport politics, I need oxygen, a bag to throw up in and perhaps a golf cart!” But I was too winded to fight, and I didn’t have the time.

“Fuck. Call them and tell them I’m coming!”

Off I go. By now, people openly pointing at me and the polite ones are smiling in disbelieve. The assholes are flat out laughing hysterically. None of which I can get upset about, as this made the third time I had sprinted by them, uttering profanities between gasps for air and Chinese belches.

So, back down the stairs, up to Gate 55 (just on the other side of 50 by the way), I get on the plane, and just as I am congratulating myself on making it just in time, the Pilot comes on to announce the flight is delayed. I spend the next 5 minutes catching my breath and convincing my stomach not to forcibly eject the Honey Chicken and the next 20 waiting to take off.

Ahhh, Travel….