In my defense, I was tired and it was cold outside. It was Thanksgiving night, after a lovely day with 96's fiance, hereinafter known as Dr. Ombré, and her family in Chicago, and I had returned to the hotel and was just about to climb into bed for an early flight when I realized I had left my phone cable in the car. I went to bed confident that I'd have enough power to get to the morning, and in the morning I'd plug in once I was in the car. No problem; I've done it a thousand times. And I'm lazy so there was never a chance I'd've walked out to the car anyway.
The next morning I finished packing the last of my sundries, tossed everything in the back seat, and hit the road. I knew where the Dunkin was, so I head there, pick up my iced tea (no lemon no sugar) and reach for the cord to plug in. No cable. Hmmm. Maybe I packed it by mistake? I didn't think I had, but it wouldn't be the first time. So I shrugged and pulled up directions to the airport and crossed my fingers that I'd drive faster than the battery drained.
I headed out, expecting to find a gas station to top off before I returned the car. I knew I was going in the general direction of the airport, so I wasn't too worried. And as a bonus I might also see a Walgreen's or Target and pick up a cable. But the area I drove into appeared to be the luxury car dealership capital of greater Highland Park: BMW, Mercedes, and more, one after the other. I even desperately wondered if dealerships have their own gas stations and would they sell me a couple of gallon? I saw an entrance to a highway (49? 94? 40? I don't know!) But it was numbered, and it was going in a generally airportward direction, so I got on and crossed my fingers again. Which worked for about five minutes, when the phone unceremoniously died. Even the car wondered what happened, asking me if I want to check the phone battery because the bluetooth had failed. Thanks, dude. It could be the battery, yeah.
I didn't dare get off the highway, for fear I'd never find it again if a gas station was blocks or more away. So I followed the signs for O'Hare, and eventually saw signs for Car Rental Returns and let out a whoop and a hallellujah and returned the car -- with the gas gauge 2 gallons low. Twelve dollars later (don't tell Tom) got on the shuttle, and made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare.
I was almost to the security checkpoint when I realized my boarding pass in on my phone. My dead phone. A quick, not-at-all-discreet, complete unpacking and repacking of my bag yielded exactly zero phone cables. Fortunately the crowds were thin, and the line at the ticket counter was nonexistent. I got my olde tyme paper boarding pass and I made it through TSA in record time, planning to pick up a cable at the first storefront inside the terminal.
I'm going to assume my new lightning cable was handcrafted by fairies who work under starlight on the night of the new moon, because that sucker set me back forty American dollars. Plus tax.
Not even at my gate yet, I found the first seat next to a power source, and sat for about 10 minutes, until I had enough charge to find (another) Dunkins and pick up breakfast including (another) iced tea for the flight. Dunkins in hand, I mosied/moseyed/strolled to my gate. I'm early, so I'm not super surprised no one's waiting at the gate. The sign behind the counter says "Flight Closed" so I figure I'll just eat my breakfast and people watch in leisure while this flight closes up and my phone charges.
A family with a baby carriage rushed up and I watched empathetically as they collapsed the carriage, got out their paperwork and juggled all that baby crap you have to fly with when you fly with a baby, and silently thanked goodness those days are behind me. And turned back to my leisurely breakfast.
After I finished breakfast I glanced up at the gate again. The sign still says flight closed, but this time I notice TO: Washington/Reagan. So I (still leisurely, mind you, just add in a splash of confused) leave my bag and tea my seat, and walk up to the counter. "This is not #123, right? My flight to DCA isn't for another hour." After all, 5 minutes ago didn't I still have 90 minutes? "Actually," person at the counter tells me, "this is the #123 and we're just waiting for a passenger." I think she saw the look on my face, asked me my name and confirmed that this is my flight. Oops.
They were literally waiting for me. Just me. I sat down and buckled just in time to hear the overhead announcement that we're all here now and the doors are closed. And that someone had found a pair of glasses in the jetway so let us know if you're missing your glasses. Within minutes we were away from the gate and in the air. And I practiced knitting blind because I was so not going to admit those glasses were mine.
So the lesson to learn here, people, is that I am never not traveling the day after Thanksgiving ever again. Even if I don't plan to travel, I'll get the ticket just so I can have another whole row to myself.
And never trust your body clock.
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| Hail, hail, the gang's all here! |
