*Sometimes on Fridays I take a break from thinking up stories and interesting tidbits to share and delve into my currently unpublished blog that goes all the way back to November of 2006.
Today I’m not getting ready to go anywhere. I’m not packed, I don’t have a car waiting outside to drive me to the airport, I’m not worried about missing my flight. I’m still here, having my first married Christmas with just Kamel. Just us, in our apartment for the weekend (and then off to Mexico City on the 26th). Every tradition I’ve ever had for Christmas is about to be skipped. I’ve never missed a Christmas at home, ever. And in 2007, on this very day, I was also still in the Bay Area, but things were so, so different.
December 23, 2007
Christmas, 2007… 2 days after this post…
I spent a good portion of 4 years flying back and forth and back and forth from Seattle to Chicago during both thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, and the spring and summer thunderstorm seasons. And the amount of times I was delayed? So few I’ve forgotten them. For reals. It was a rare day that I was ever delayed. I was more often than not stuck at the airport hours early thanks to the shuttle service, but my flights were always on time. Now that I have been living and traveling on a coast, I have been delayed to some extent nearly every single flight. My conclusion? Living in the middle rocks when it comes to flight times. Coasts? Get the shaft every time. I’m contemplating a law suit for discrimination. Just because we have an ocean and you don’t doesn’t mean you can shit on my travel plans. Foo.
I’m sitting on an overly used gum-stained carpet at the terminal. Currently on hour three of a four hour airport visit. My flight home, leaving at three thirty, was delayed for 3.5 hours. Where was it coming from? Palm Springs. Palm Fucking Springs. Why there would be anyone leaving Palm Springs at this time of year is beyond me. Stay put Palm Springs! Let your family COME TO YOU. In the meantime I’m still here in San Francisco, (hi!) sitting on the floor, surrounded by laptops, attractive men in old-man-hats, and army folk going home from wherever they have been stationed. There’s the typical lap-eating, which is always awkward and messy no matter what you do to prevent such things, and the gurgling cooing screaming babies who everyone hopes does NOT sit by them, DOES NOT kick their seat, and hopefully falls fast fast asleep right around takeoff. Me? I’ve filled myself up with too many peanut M&Ms and Diet Coke, my legs are falling asleep, and I’ve officially been at the airport for longer than the duration of my flight. Classic.
Where were you on Christmas, 2007?