the life and musings of a kinky slut


Warning: This is a rant.

I almost threw up on the plane.

On my flight home, the Captain warned us it would be a rough landing. We were coming in through a heavy downpour. I opened up the window and could make out the storm as we passed through it.

After the first time the plane pitched, I knew I needed to find my vomit bag. My stomach, normally happy to brave the ups and downs of a roller coaster, was having none of this turbulance. I endured because I had no choice, because this was what I had to do to get home.

Our rocky landing wasn’t the only thing I had to go through this traveling Monday just to make it back home.

TSA decided, once again, that the rosettes on my boots looked suspicious. But, instead of just opening my bag, seeing the boots, and closing it liked they had the last time I left SFO, this time the trainee inspector decided to swipe down all the pockets of my back pack, unpack the entire bag, and run it all through the scanner again. Oh, and she almost forgot to give me back my $500 boots.

Already pissed off that I’d been hasseled by Homeland Security, I patiently waited for my plane. But at least I was on my way home. At least I would be in my bed by the end of the night.

And then Murphy’s Law struck.

The plane that would’ve taken me to Dallas/Fort Worth (the hub from which my connecting flight back home left out) had to be taken out of service for a maintenance issue. All of a sudden a full plane of people was scrambling to find ways home.

A flight attendant passed out Customer Service cards. Each one of us got on our phone and spoke with a representative trying to find us new flights while we all also stood in line to get reticketed. After about thirty minutes on the phone, my rep found me an 8pm flight to LA and then a direct flight home. Arrival: 6:45am. As much as it sucked, at least I would be home before my work the next day (today).

However, when I got to the counter, a stroke of luck. The SFO rep found me a direct flight with another carrier, arrival only two hours after my previous expected time.

But then came snag number three: I had to go through security again. I walked out of terminal two, made my way to terminal three, and waited. When I was half way through the security line, I cursed and exited. I’d forgotten to dump my water bottle which I’d filled after my first security check. Back in line, waiting again, I had the unlucky pleasure of being in front of a douchebag who decided to complain about the wait we all had to endure.

After shoving my things through the scanner (along with specifically pulling out my boots to avoid another bag check) I was let through fine. I ate an overpriced but pleasing lunch. I waited for three hours for my now direct flight home.

And just as we were about to board the plane, the attendant asked us to wait just a bit longer. My heart sunk.

Not again. Oh please God not again. This can’t happen to me twice, can it?

And, thankfully, it didn’t. One of the restrooms on the plane was out of service, but the flight would still happen. We boarded with plenty of room for the less than half capacity of passengers.

I sat. I closed my eyes. I wanted, desparately wanted, to pass out.

But, once we were in the air, I couldn’t. Instead I pulled out my netbook and started typing. I got some NaNoWriMo words in. I roughed out a few blogs. I felt better, much better. And I was on my way home.

And then the kid in front of me wouldn’t sit still, and decided he wanted his seat all the way back, and oh-my-god-this-movie-is-so-awesome. I moved to the center seat and turned up the volume in my earbuds.

Later, satisfied I’d gotten some work done, I passed out for maybe an hour before we slowly made our descent.

With the jossling of the plane, I kept breathing deep trying to keep the contents of my stomach in my stomach. For about ten to fifteen minutes, I wondered if I would have another first in my life. Thankfully puking on a plane is still a cherry I have not broken.

We landed fine. I am not dead. And even though I still had to endure a ridiculous shuttle ride home (an hour and forty-five minutes when normally it would take about thirty), I did eventually make it.

I walked through my door at 3am. I did not sleep overnight in the airport. My lugguage was not lost (carry-on only bitches!). I made it to work today.

I am tired, worn out, exhausted. But I made it. I survived. I endured.

Categorised as: Rant | Travel

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