So...Airport...We Meet Again

The recent marriage of our son in a different state gave me the opportunity to return to my favorite place...the AIRPORT. Just can't get enough of that insanity. I booked flights for myself and our three youngest with frequent flyer miles. You know, that awesome rewards program where you have to use your mad skills to outwit the airline and actually get to where you need to go at the time you need to be there. They make it as challenging as possible by eliminating any days and times that normal people like to travel and by offering flights with 26 minute layovers with plane changes. Game On!

Our flight out left at 6:18 am. Our connection was in LA. We were flying on United. I checked in 24 hours ahead. I paid for the extra bag I was planning to check.  I mapped out my plan and timed everything to include a little extra for possible glitches. What!? Glitches me? Never! I got up at 3:00 am and had the car loaded with kids and baggage by 4:00 am. We got to the airport without incident--not too many people on the road at four-o'clock in the morning.

 I found long-term parking. San Diego Airport likes to keep it interesting by moving the parking around randomly--it's always a fun surprise to find that parking lot you used two weeks ago is now a fenced off construction site. We parked right next to the Commuter Terminal but we needed to get to Terminal 2 because we were on United. We hopped on a shuttle and made it there with time to spare. But, oh dontcha know--all LA flights leave from the COMMUTER TERMINAL?  I guess it would have been useful to have that printed on the boarding pass I printed off 24 hours earlier or perhaps shared with the customer in some way--a sign perhaps?  We waited by the red sign under the pedestrian bridge with several other surprised LA passengers. The Airport Loop shuttle eventually picked us up and gave us the Grand Tour of the whole awesome San Diego Airport Construction Fiasco and eventually dropped us back about 50 yards from where we had parked to begin with.

We hurried into the Commuter Terminal and I was relieved to see that I was next in line to drop off the bag I had already paid for online. There were three employees checking bags and each seemed to be expert in the art of taking as long as possible (make elderly people go back to the computer kiosk and start over with printing off their own boarding passes, and shout instructions at them as they try to figure it out). After standing there idly for 10 minutes while that went on, two of the employees disappeared. Just as I was stepping up for my turn, the lone employee called out the name of the guy who had just strolled in and shoved his bags under the stretchy rope things. Apparently he was quite chummy with our helpful, courteous United ticketing agent--they discussed his trip to Bermuda and the recent unrest in the airline industry as well as the various pros and cons of his favorite coffee shops. By now I was worried about making our flight but I knew I just needed to leave the bag and get through security. As he swaggered off, the employee looked at me with contempt and asked if I had checked in at the kiosk; had I not learned anything from those poor elderly people? I explained that I already had our boarding passes and also had paid for my bag. Oh, but you must STILL check in at the kiosk. Really?  I was supposed to know that? I could have done that with all that idle time I had there standing in line. I went to check in at the kiosk as she called the next people forward. WHAT? They don't have to check in at the kiosk? I entered my confirmation number and got the message:
"It is too late to check in for this flight. You will need to choose a different itinerary for all four passengers."
I looked up and said in a panic "It says I'm too late to check in!"

 Suddenly, our "Employee of the Year" had a sticker for my bag printed and placed on it and my bag was given to a baggage loader. The youngsters and I ran to security--which, in the little Commuter Terminal is one lady who wanted to know the ages of each child and how Sam got so tall and how Shayla liked having so many brothers. We tried to be quick but not pushy and as we got past her and removed all of our shoes, jackets, belts, etc.,  I saw that they were doing the individual screening. At the same time I heard, "Gale, party of four. Report to Gate Four. Your plane is boarding." I went first so I could run to the counter and explain that we were there and coming. As I was pointing out the youngsters who were being carefully x-rayed and patted down, I saw Shane get in line for the wrong flight. I yelled from across the terminal just as he handed his carry-on to the agent to be tagged. Everyone turned to look at the crazy mom and I motioned for my kids to follow me as I ran out onto the tarmac to catch our plane.

On the small puddle-jumper planes, you check your bags on the tarmac and they load them in the belly of the plane. All the baggage had already been loaded but they hadn't closed it yet, so luckily they got someone to come and pick ours up. We boarded the plane and took our seats with a sigh of relief. But we were not the last ones on the plane. Mr. Chatty Bermuda strolled on after we did, sipping his coffee and looking like he had all day.

We began to move and it looked like we were going to take off on time--but then the pilot informed us that due to noise laws, we had to wait until 6:30 to take off. Since we had a whole 26 minutes to catch our next flight to Portland, that 12 minute delay was no problem. Thank you so much for offering a 6:18 flight knowing full well it couldn't leave until 6:30.

We made it to LA and waited anxiously for our carry-on bags, that we really couldn't "carry on",  to be unloaded and handed over to us. Then we made a mad dash for the gate--literally running at top speed--we made it just as they were loading the last of the passengers. Once again we slumped into our seats with a sigh of relief. We were grateful we made it, but sad we didn't have even a minute to grab something to eat. I should have packed a few snacks. They weren't able to serve even drinks because, YAY, we had to pass through some Santa Ana winds just to liven things up. We bounced and dropped like we were on a roller coaster--exciting for the kids, not for the mama who avoids all thrill rides-- I get plenty of  excitement  raising eight children thank you very much.

We made it to Portland and it didn't disappoint; we were welcomed back to our home territory by grey skies and moisture. We went down to baggage claim to pick up our one checked bag. And use the restroom after our eventful journey. Only to be greeted by policemen and some pretty serious looking dogs sniffing around the carousel...and blocking the way to the restrooms. We were lucky enough to get our bag and look for other restrooms before the full contingent of cops and dogs showed up a few minutes later--about the time Andy got there from Connecticut.

Let's just say "All's well that ends well"--and I might also add that I got up at 3:00 that morning to make sure I had time to wash my hair. So, on the bright side, my hair was clean.

The Airport Is Not My Friend

I had another encounter with my nemesis: the Airport. Today I had to pick up Andy after his trip to Costa Rica where he was doing some kind of businessy business stuff.  As soon as I pulled up to Terminal 2 I was scolded by security. "No Waiting!! You will have to move on!" But wait! The very gracious Ace Valet Parking service had allowed me to keep the rental car they provided until I had to return to pick up my hubby. They advised me to drive up to the Valet Parking area in Terminal 2 and leave the rental car. Then, they would bring my husband's long-lost car (well, technically it was a long-lost key--but also technically, we hadn't  seen the car for about a week) around to the curb so my husband and I could drive off into the sunset--as previously planned. But you know about me and my so-called plans.

So I did move--I moved on to the Valet Parking area and pulled up to the curb. I called the supervisor (he gave me his cell number!) to let him know I had arrived. Whereupon he called for the car to be brought around--and soon it was parked at the curb as well.  Such prompt, courteous service! I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going. I made small talk with the boy on duty at the valet stand. He's from Tennessee and his girlfriend is from Colorado. He is going on vacation tomorrow for nine days...I began to realize that I was learning WAY too much about this young man's life story and his plans for his upcoming holiday. Andy's plane should have landed by then. The time for Andy's flight to arrive had come and gone with no sign of him.

I went inside to check the Arrivals and Departures board and see if there was a delay. I had plenty of leeway coming and going as I pleased due to the fact that our car was smugly parked between the little stretchy dividers of Valet Parking. This was small comfort when I saw that what I thought was his flight, was on time and that the passengers from that plane were crowded around baggage claim gathering their baggage even as I was looking at the board. Soon they all dispersed and I saw that it was 45 minutes past Andy's landing time. Still no sign of Andy--I began to worry.

To add to the excitement, I had a 

"Relief Society Activity Quilting and Provident Living Get-together With Refreshments and Bring Your Friends Meeting"

 (Formerly known as Enrichment)

 looming up this evening for which I had promised to bring homemade Blackberry Cobbler AND for which I had promised my nervous non-quiliting Humanitarian Leader that I would be there early to set up the quilt.

I had texted Andy of my location and the plan was for him to call me as soon as he arrived. Yet, I heard nothing from him. I checked with the girl at the American Airlines counter to see if he had been on the flight. No, he had not been on the flight. My worry escalated pretty quickly to heightened concern. To add to this, I had swirling around in my head the story of Andy's briefcase being stolen the night before. His passport, his laptop, a credit card and other valuables were lost in the robbery. It was now an hour since he should have been there at the Valet Stand ready to drive off into the sunset. Still no hubby. This is where my cool was lost. I began to feel a little hint of panic. If he could be robbed, maybe something worse happened. So I just went ahead and made the leap to:

 KIDNAPPED.

 I decided I had better get moving on his rescue. I had been texting Shanna so I asked her to look up his company's phone number. Luckily, I managed to talk myself into being rational until I knew for sure what had happened. As I was talking to his colleague on the phone, Andy beeped in.  He had not been kidnapped. His plane was delayed because of a storm. And he wasn't on the flight I thought he was. So, that was why he wasn't on the passenger list. We were soon reunited at the Ace Parking Valet stand

 and we drove off into the sunset.

1 1/2 hours behind schedule.

But, on the bright side...

my hair was clean.

I Should Have Washed My Hair

Well, all good things must come to an end and I had to tear myself away from my adorable grandson and get back to reality. I flew home yesterday. The trip itself was rather uneventful--I had to change planes in Oakland and there was a bit of a layover --but I love me some good People Watching and the airport never disappoints so it wasn't a total waste of time.

So, I got into San Diego and my thoughtful husband had left his car for me at Valet Parking. He flew to Utah on Friday for little Mason's blessing and went from there off on a business trip. Rather than leave the car in long-term where I would have to search for it, he kindly left it at Valet Parking so I could get off the plane, have the car brought around to the curb for me and head off into the sunset. That was the plan anyway. But you know about the best laid plans and me.

I dragged my two weeks worth of rumpled clothing and BYU  paraphernalia crammed into a large suitcase and a huge rolling duffle out to the valet parking area. There I queued up with all of the hoity toity elite of San Diego who ONLY use Valet Parking. I gave each of them a job description: "Hollywood Mogul", "Trophy Wife of Hollywood Mogul", "Socialite Maven", "Multi-billionaire Industrialist", "Indian Chief" (really, he had the braids and everything--you know those casinos are big money-makers!) and watched as each of them climbed into their Mercedes and Bentleys and Dodge Ram Pick-ups. When I got up to the counter, the ticket taker asked me if I had called ahead to have my car brought around. I had to confess to my ignorance of the procedures and reveal my hick status. I realized by then that my hasty decision to take a speed shower and skip the hair-washing that morning also contributed "greasy hair" to my status. They seemed a little skeptical as to my actually having a car in Valet Parking. Perhaps I was a deluded wannabe who actually had a 1989 Dodge Dart out there in the wilderness of long-term parking. Or maybe I was a bag lady wandering the airport looking for carts to return. I wasn't getting the polite, quick service that everyone else seemed to enjoy. I had the ticket Andy had given me and they deigned to call for me to get the car brought over. So I waited humbly off to the side as many more well-dressed people rolled away in their fancy cars. I kept looking down the road for Andy's car to appear. I had to remind myself what kind of car he drove (I am known to openly insult him when we are out together by heading for the closest car that is similar in color to his--I don't really know one car from the other. The names I gave of cars for this post are just obvious ones that I have overheard my kids admire or insult). I started to worry that it might roll up and I wouldn't recognize it. Then I remembered that he has BYU license plates! Oh happy day--I wouldn't make a fool of myself by walking up to the wrong car!

After a long, hopeful wait, I realized that many people who got there way after me were long gone. Then I noticed that there was some frantic calling going on over at the Valet stand. I walked over a little closer and gathered that they had lost someone's car key. Of course it was my car key. Suddenly I began to get the royalty treatment. "Mrs. Gale, would you like some water?" "Mrs. Gale, we are doing our best to get your car over here." "Mrs. Gale, we are soo sorry. It looks like we lost the key to your car." "Mrs. Gale, we will be crediting your card for the cost of parking and tip that you just paid." "Mrs. Gale, we will get you home somehow."

Then some frantic problem-solving ensued. By now an hour had passed and my plans of getting my greasy-haired self home quickly and with minimal personal interaction slipped away. The first thought was to get me a taxi--until they found out how far out in the wilderness I actually live. Then the "Customer Service" Head Honcho was going to drive me home (awkward, long drive home with a stranger--no thank you). Luckily that fell through. At last, they concluded that a rental car was the way to go. They brought up the Ace Valet Parking company van to whisk me off to the car rental place. Only I thought it was the "Rental Car" I was to drive home. I tried to get in on the driver's side and was politely directed to the passenger side. I was a little relieved as the van was trashed and the seats were torn up. Beggars can't be choosers  but it wasn't my fault I was a beggar.

So, to make a long story just a little longer, I was soon outfitted with a rental car and on my way home.

 2 1/2 hours after I landed. 

The moral of this story is: Don't try to save time and effort at the airport--they will find a way to thwart you.

And the bonus moral is: Wash your hair.

But wait! Did I mention we have an adorable grandson?!