Neverending Day

The day began at 3:30 am Arizona time. To catch the *only* flight that leaves Tucson for the East these days, I had to be at the airport at 5 for a 6am flight. And the "stagecoach" decided I needed to leave the hotel at 4am. Sigh. I hate days that start in the middle of the night.

The wait at the airport went by quickly. There was a bit more rigamarole to checking in, and turns out the stagecoach was right. We beat the masses by about fifteen minutes. The lineup behind me was long and snaked back out of sight.

The four hour flight to Atlanta seemed to take much longer than the flight from Atlanta to Tucson - not sure if we were fighting a headwind or not, but it was bumpy the entire way no matter what altitude we were flying at. The captain never once said, "I have turned off the fasten seatbelt sign and you are free to move about the cabin." (Who are they kidding? Free to move about the cabin? They make it sound like you are on vacation in the piney woods at a quaint little hideaway filled with hammocks and fishing boats and thinking about taking a leisurely stroll. There is no 'cabin' - only a skinny aisle. And as for moving about, well, if you can turn sideways and time it so you don't get stuck behind the serving cart, you might be able to actually stand up for a few minutes.)

I had time in Atlanta to get lunch and relax for about an hour, then we boarded for NYC. What should have been a two hour flight ended up taking longer, and I was nervous about missing my last leg to Rochester. When we landed, I had only about a half hour before they would start to board. We sat at the gate for a good twenty minutes waiting for someone to drive the breezeway to the plane door. I watched the precious minutes tick away, panic rising in my throat. If I miss this flight, it is the last one of the evening, and I will be stuck. I nervously mention it to the person standing in the aisle next to me. He nods, mentioning that he is in the same fix.

They finally open the hatch and we spill out. Tired kids block the ramp and tie up traffic. I manage to squeeze around them, their strollers, suitcases, adult entourage completely oblivious to my plight, and gaze frantically about for the screen that will tell me what gate. I have a gate on my boarding pass, but they often change the gate and given the two minutes I have, I don't want to go to the wrong place. I have never been in this terminal before, so I am clueless as to where I need to be. I start moving in the direction of the gate I know, watching for the departure information as I move quickly, threading my way around other passengers.

I keep seeing the signs for Gate 25, the arrows directing me farther and farther from everything. I think I am headed for the outback, down one hall, around the corner, past a few fast food places, down a second hall, around three more corners, up a ramp, down a flight of steps. Still I haven't seen departure information. I am sure they are already boarding my flight though I have not heard an announcement. Who could hear with all the noise of conversation and little transports beeping and bells going off and airplane engines whining!

I finally see Gate 25 in the distance. I have been running for at least ten minutes. My legs ache, my breath comes in heaving little gasps. I think I will not make it to that gate, but I am encouraged to see a swarm of people still standing there. I finally get close enough to read the sign. Yes, it lists Rochester, and doesn't direct me to another gate. But there is no activity. Then I realize it lists about ten destinations - Bangor Maine, Buffalo, Boston. What is this?

I approach the desk, boarding pass in hand and ask about the Rochester flight. The attendant looks at me like I am stupid, and says snippily, "That flight is delayed until 9 o'clock." I am so relieved that I haven't missed it that I don't know whether to be happy or upset. At very least I will have time for a bite of dinner. I look around, afraid to wander too far. There aren't many options at this end of the airport. It is as if we have come to the end of the world and find only the dregs left.

I settle for a bottle of water - suddenly realizing how thirsty I am - and a piece of lemon pound cake. Not much of a dinner, but it will do. I am lucky to find a seat near the gate, and I settle down to enjoy my repast and take a deep breath to recover from the recent frantic dash. Two young ladies - and I use the term loosely - sit next to me, holding long cellphone conversations with unknown persons, grumbling about the flight delay, teasing each other, being loud and brash and obnoxious.

We endure repeated announcements about the status of our flight - now delayed until 9:30, now ten, now unknown because they have a plane but no crew, then the hostess just gives up and berates us verbally for being there and expecting to board a flight home when she cannot arrange it.

At long long last we board a plane, and the steward tells us to expect no less than an hour of taxing before we will be first in line for take off. I believe him because I saw the lineup for takeoff when I landed and it was non stop. The steward offers free alcohol to pacify the disgruntled passengers, and tells us to go to the bathroom now before we take off because the air is rough and we won't be allowed once we are airborn. The queue fills the aisle.

It seems like forever before we finally leave NYC behind us, the glow of the lights oranging the sky long after we are away. I doze, grateful that once again the Lord has arranged for me to be seated on the side of the aisle where there is only one seat, so I have no infringing neighbors to contend with after such a long day. My butt aches from sitting in uncomfortable seats. My legs ache from being cramped in small spaces. My arms are weary of being held over my chest because the guys next to me insist that they need the armrests (imagine what they would do if they had breasts to deal with!).

The flight is gratefully short - only about an hour. We see the lights of Rochester, and I try to make out where things are. I see the red letters of several Wegman's stores, but can't quite orient myself. I finally see downtown, the towering skyscrapers a dead give away. And then we land. It takes forever for the luggage to arrive - almost as long as the flight! What on earth could the holdup be? I spot my bag, but can't get anywhere near the conveyor belt for the crowd. I manage to squirm my way in and wait about ten minutes until it comes around again, grab it, and head from the parking lot.

I have parked in the far lot, the one that is least expensive. It is a twenty minute walk. I worry a bit about safety, but there are plenty of people about, lots of lights. I am *so* happy to see Baby patiently waiting for me, and taken aback to discover that the right rear tire is soft. Very soft. At this hour I am not sure there will be a gas station open, so I pray like mad that I will be able to make it home without it going completely flat.

I hold my breath and drive. My tummy is rumbling, letting me know that dinner has not met the requirements and I need food. I pick up Drew, check with my sister to see how things went (not horrible, but not easy either), then head for the gas stations near my house. Yes, I can get air at one even though it is closed. There was only 7 pounds of pressure in that tire - thank you Lord!

I suggest a quick stop at Timmy's for a pastry, and Drew is happy to comply. We arrive home well after 1am. I have church choir in the morning. Daylight will come fast. Fortunately, I am tired enough to be able to fall asleep quickly. 3am to 1am. Whew! I am glad this day finally called it quits and let me get some rest. Let's not do that again real soon.