I like vacations to be low-stress, especially when I fly. Not all of that is under my control, of course, but I do what I can. I'd rather a long layover than a short one, and I typically don't travel at crazy times. After the Cankle Incident a few years ago, I have sworn off red-eyes from California. Generally, afternoon air travel suits me well. Happy hour in the sky.
It leaves me to wonder, then, what the heck I was thinking back in the spring when I booked a 6:05 am flight out of Bradley International. Another lapse of reason came just yesterday morning, when I allowed myself only an hour at the airport. I never do that. Apparently my inner teacher child was rebelling against the alarm clock and waking in the dead of night, as I do so much of the school year.
So imagine my panic when I got to the airport and saw a line of 40 people waiting for the sky cap.
Then imagine the anxiety escalating as I waited, and waited, in thick August humidity, only to see the skycap tag my luggage "late" when it was finally my turn and tell me I needed to take my suitcase in myself to TSA carousel 2 so it could get on the plane with me. Grrr. At least he refused my tip.
I did as told, then waited in another long line to get through security, all the while taking deep, calming breaths, saying little prayers for the safe arrival of my bag and me in Seattle.
Finally, just after I gathered my things from the X-ray conveyor and put my sandals back on, I heard this: "Southwest Airlines paging passenger K to gate 4. Passenger Joanne K to gate 4 for final boarding."
Did I mention that while waiting in that first line I started a doozy of a hot flash?
So there I was, in my well-chosen outfit (comfy, not too casual--you never know who you might meet), a heavy weekender bag on my good shoulder, carrying my purse with the arm of my bad shoulder, sciatica in my right leg (yeah, that's the latest) running as fast as I could while the adrenaline exacerbated my hot flash.
Hot Mess much?
Make that a Hot Flying Mess.