Flying to Michigan. With best-laid plans.

You made a tough call. You considered the various alternatives and consequences, and it turned out badly. Accept it, and move on, right? No. You b*tch at your stupidity, you stew in it, you try to find others to blame, and then you grudgingly lurch into resignation, slide into acceptance, and then drop into peace. But not until you proceed through the steps, one by one by one.

It’s a White Plains, NY to Detroit to Northern Michigan flight plan.  A major storm sits on top of Detroit. Our pilot circles around the perimeter hoping it clears.  It doesn’t.  We divert to Cleveland to re-fuel.

We all sit on the plane as it re-fuels, the pilot looking to get back up and to Detroit.

The scheduled layover in Detroit was short. I fumble through my Delta app to learn that I will miss my connection.

I then proceed to make a critical (and flawed) decision. I ask to get off the plane to see if I can catch a Cleveland to Minneapolis to Northern Michigan flight and arrive late, but on the same day. (I learn that this is a major deal for security reasons as my luggage is in the cargo hold and cannot be retrieved – and, separating passenger from luggage is a no-no.)

They let me off. (After taking a photo of my ID, my boarding pass and my luggage receipt.)  They make the same offer to the rest of the passengers. Noted, no one else follows me. The attendant explains: “Sir, now you know that you will not have your luggage and it will be shipped on the original flight path arriving tomorrow.” I shrug, smile: “No problem.”

It’s 2:30 pm. The flight to Minneapolis is scheduled at 6pm, then connecting to Michigan at 8:30 pm.

The storm moves on from Detroit, and guess what? It slides on over and camps right on the top of Cleveland.  And it sits, and sits, and sits. Torrential downpours, lightening strikes, and rumors of funnel clouds.

It’s 8:00 pm. With delay after delay after delay.

It’s 9:00 pm and we take-off.

I find a Delta Service Center in Minneapolis to assist in re-booking my flight the next day.  The airport is emptying out. I find a McDonald’s (Open 24 Hours!) and wolf down three Cheeseburgers, the highlight of my day. Is there anything more satisfying than a McDonald’s cheeseburger on a empty stomach? My fingers tremble as I unwrap the yellow wax paper.

I find a cab. He’s annoyed. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting in this cab line for a long ride?”

I don’t respond.

He looks at me in the rear view mirror.  I stare him down.

He continues.

“Do you know how long? 2.5 hours in that cab line.” Let it go Dave. Let it Go.

“Could you not catch the Hotel Shuttle? It’s a 10 minute ride.” Let it go Dave. Let it Go. 

I size him up. Slight build. I’m about to unleash, and I see Jesus swinging from his rear view mirror on a silver chain. I find myself softening. I look away, and sit silently. Imagine, that. Haven’t been to Church, like in forever, and he’s working his magic.

Is there anything more depressing than a cheap airport hotel? I don’t think so. And that musty smell. And the dim hallways.

“Sir, we’re sorry but the hotel is under construction. Have you stayed with us before? Would you like a site map or a tour of the facilities?”

She’s kind. Midwestern. A summer student cutting her teeth. She could be Sister Teresa at this moment and I would find a list of shortcomings. No. No. No. Please. It’s 11:00 pm. Just give me the key, please. Point me to the elevator. And get out of my way. Please.

I offer a thank you and reach for the key. She notes my slight irritation, and recalls the training manual. Remember, weary travelers just want to get to their room.

So, here we are. The next morning.

With no toothpaste.

With no dental floss. (To pick out the Cheeseburger particles.)

With no Razor.

With no deodorant.

With no change of underwear.

I put on yesterday’s clothes and walk down the dim hallway to catch the shuttle.  Dirty. 

Flight Time: 11:30 am. Minneapolis to Detroit.

Flight Time for Connection: 3:30 pm Detroit to Northern Michigan.

Scheduled arrival: 5:00 pm. A full day away from the destination.

Yep, we’re still in the stewing mode here. The storm over my head has not cleared, its thundering.

I step onto the hotel shuttle.  I’m the only passenger.

The driver with toothy, cheery smile looks at me in the rear view mirror:

“Good morning Sir. I’m so glad to take you to the airport, it’s just a short ride. Did you sleep well?”

Notes:

• Photo: Thunderstorm by KJS
• Commuting Series