So guys, karmically speaking, I think I’m back to zero. I’m pretty sure I cashed in my chips this morning. I mean, I won’t know for sure until this afternoon, but I think it’s all good. Oh, you want the story? You don’t? Well, what the heck are you doing at my blog, then? At the very top it says: “Stories of the words I’ve said and the pies I’ve eaten.” So here’s a story. Spoiler alert! No pie. (Usually, that’s enough to spoil something for me.)
Last night I went to bed too late. I set an alarm on my phone to wake me up at 4:45 so I could catch a 6:25 flight to San Jose (by way of Phoenix). I woke up this morning feeling about an hour better-rested than I assumed I would feel. Turning to my phone, I realized that my alarm had indeed not gone off (not the first time this has happened; I think I’m using the app wrong, obviously). It was 5:40. Not good. I called the cab company (Green Cab of Somerville, my first thanks!) who dispatched another guy right away. My taxi driver drove like a genius and got me to Logan by 6. I tipped generously.
I went into Terminal C to catch my United Airlines flight, but since it was operated by USAir, I had to run through the whole terminal and back across the parking lot carrying my bags. I was too late to electronically check in, and the lady directing people gave me a stern look and said: “You have to go over there,” as she pointed to a different place where nobody else was. I assumed it was like airport detention. “Over There,” I met Shelagh, who assured me that yes, I probably had missed my flight, but she was going to book me on the next one and still send me through security in the first-class line (what? so fancy!) in case I could make the first one.
Security was a breeze, and I technically made it to my gate before my scheduled departure, but the doors were closed and locked. A USAir employee named Alan assured me that there was no way I could get on the airplane. For a moment, I contemplated the old: “The woman I love is on that plane!” defense. But I am not a great liar, and I was worried that they’d be like: “What’s her name?” and I’d go: “Rosie from the Jetsons” and be busted right away. But! I had left my sweatshirt at security, and Alan agreed to watch my bags while I hustled back to the TSA checkpoint to get it. Thanks, Alan. Suck it, fear mongers!
Denise at the terminal assured me that I was indeed booked on the 10am flight, and that I should check back to make sure that I went to the right gate and that I shouldn’t be late to this one. I told her I was probably going to be on time. Then, hilariously, I asked if there was a bowling alley or movie theater around here (meaning inside the terminal). Denise said no. Which, in reality, only told me that she and I have different definitions of “hilariously.”
Now I’m sitting at Starbucks in the airport even though their new slogan “Take Comfort in Rituals” creeps me out because it sounds like something a cult leader would tell you. I promised myself that if the USAir people made this okay, then I would rescind every previous bile-stuffed tirade I have ever made against airport staff. So…here goes. USAir (especially Shelagh), thanks for negating my dummy-headed screwup and making my day better instead of worse.
Now, when I get home, I’ve got to teach the shit out of some children to get a nice safe karma bubble back.
PS. The upshot of this is that I’ll be at Rooster T. Feathers Comedy Club in Sunnyvale, CA all weekend with headliner Mark Pitta and host/friend Sean Keane. Come by and see a show! (www.roostertfeathers.com)