Magical thinking

I've been back from vacation for a week and have yet to post about it! I'm beginning at the end. I don't fly well. In fact, I'm fucking petrified the whole time. I will not get on a plane without knowing there's Xanax in my purse. I want to be able to knock myself out if the terror becomes too great. When I asked a shrink what we should do about my fear, she said that everyone had irrational fears and instead of berating myself for being afraid, I should be proud of myself that I still fly. It would only be a problem, she reasoned, if it had an impact on my lifestyle. I'm proud to say I didn't take my Xanax once through the tale you're about to read. 

I did fall victim to magical thinking, though. I have a rule for myself when I fly – I never change my originally assigned flight. Let American Airlines offer me money or miles to take a later flight. I won't do it. I truly believe that if I do, I am opening myself up to bad luck. No, it makes no logical sense. Just as it never made any logical sense that if I was watching or listening to a baseball game and Anthony Rizzo came up to bat, I had to stop what I was doing and concentrate on helping him. Superstition, magical thinking, wackiness ... call it what you will. 

This time I was right. I broke my own rule and very bad things happened.

I got to LAX at 8:30 AM for my 10:30 flight home to O'Hare. As I checked in at the kiosk, I got the news: there was no crew and my flight was delayed six and one half hours. Not only would I have to hang around in the airport for hours, I wouldn't get me home until after midnight, CST. That was unacceptable. My girlcat had been ill* and I wanted to get home.

American Airlines recommended a flight taking off in little over an hour to Tuscon, where I'd change planes for O'Hare. I was reassured that, since I'd be landing at the gate right next to my flight home, it would be smooth.

Well, they didn't lie about that. The flight to Tuscon was short and uneventful, and yes, the gate was right there. I had time to snarf a breakfast sandwich and bottled water before boarding for my flight home ... and entering hell.

•  First, I was in a middle seat. Between a couple. Who kept talking to each other and passing things over me as though I wasn't there. I asked them if they wouldn't prefer sitting together. No, she's window and he's aisle ... and they're both dreadful. Because we were three fat people in a row, it was hard to move. I had a difficult time getting to my Xanax but I thought, "oh, well, you got this far and you're almost home. It'll be fine."

• As we flew east I monitored the Cubs game on my phone and saw it was delayed. Storms in Chicago.  But the game was not cancelled, so I knew the rain was expected to stop soon. I didn't think it was as big a deal as Mr. and Mrs. passing their reading glasses back and forth over me. "These are yours." "No, these are yours." "Wait a minute, you were right!" "Where's the case for the glasses?" etc.

• The pilot came on and acknowledged the storms, saying we were going to circle high above them for a while until they passed. Because we were, as Dorothy said in The Wizard of Oz, "beyond the rain," what I could see out our window was sunny and fine. I don't know how much time had elapsed before he came back on and scared the living shit out of me. "We're running low on fuel so we're going to touch down in St. Louis." Oh, great! I could fall out of the sky!

• When we got to Lambert, we there wasn't a gate for us. That many flights to O'Hare had been rerouted. So we had to sit, and sit, and sit. I had downloaded The Very Best of Linda Ronstadt for the flight. I shall never listen to it again, for fear of PTSD. Finally we started moving. We were not taking off, however, there was no available runway for us. It's just there's a law about how long we're allowed to sit on a flight, so we had to get off. We were warned not wander far, though. We'd be taking off within the hour. 

• Well, they didn't lie about that. Just after midnight, we were corralled back onto our flight and we all took our original seats. (Me in the middle.) It occurred to me that this would be the time I would have gotten home if I'd followed my rule and just hung out LAX all day.

• We took off and then – you can't make this shit up – within minutes the pilot came on and told us we were going back to St. Louis. There was smoke in galley. I sniffed the air and yes, it did smell like something was burning. My new husband said, "Gee, I hope they'll make us use the chute."  I hated him.

 

No, I didn't.

Actually, I was more frightened when I heard we were out of fuel. Though it's not a feel good to pass firefighters in the aisle as you disembark.

 

•  By now it was 1:20 AM on Tuesday. At the gate we were told to line up for hotel and meal vouchers and that we would be rebooked for a 9:30 AM flight to Chicago. OK, this is simply not acceptable. I worked in Chicago for more than 40 years. I know how busy the Lambert-O'Hare corridor is, especially on a weekday morning. People arrive at O'Hare and are in offices for their meetings every day before 9:30 AM. So I told them I wanted to be booked onto the first flight of the day to ORD.

 

•  That was 5:50 AM, boarding at 5:15. Not enough time to deal with a hotel. In a perfect full-circle moment, I was looking at killing hour after hour in an airport again. So be it. I want to go home. It really wasn't that bad. It took some time to find the baggage office – at this hour all the carousels were down – and explain my situation to the nice, lonely lady who worked their overnight. She explained to me that I would have recheck my bag and go through security again but I'd likely be first in line. Then she emphasized this – DO NOT USE THE KIOSK. CHECK IN THROUGH AN AGENT. She explained that according to the app, I was somehow still on the original flight from LAX to ORD and the kiosk won't "know" me.

 

•  I read. I wandered. I drank a lot of water. As soon as the agents began their day at 4:30, I was there. I thought it would be easy. HA! These four women – who had no one else to wait on, just me and one confused looking couple who just arrived – treating me as an adversary. They wouldn't let me finish a sentence! I had to try the kiosk before they were speak to me. Oh, and the kiosks weren't up yet. "Yes, but I was told ..." No "I'm sorry." Not even a "Good morning." Just "you have to use the kiosk first."

 

•  So when the kiosks finally came on, I gave one a shot. It insisted on charging me $45 to check my bag to O'Hare. NO FUCKING WAY.  I had been a good, uncomplaining sport until this moment. "I am not paying this!" I announced. Loudly. Your voice can really carry through an otherwise empty airport. Finally someone looked at my printed board pass. "The Tuscon flight," she said to herself as she read her monitor. Apparently our ill-fated flight was famous. She checked me through. No apology though. When I complained to American Airlines, this is the only thing I mentioned. My treatment here was the only thing I couldn't justify, the one thing they absolutely could have prevented.

 

• I got through TSA very easily and was home by 8:30 AM. 24 hours after I checked out of my hotel in Los Angeles. I now know why the Pope kisses the ground when he lands. 

 

I am proud of myself that my Xanax remained untouched. I did all this without it. I feel empowered. Angry, exhausted, and traumatized. But empowered, too. 

 

  

*She's so healthy now, I needn't have worried. 

 Photo by Briana Tozour on Unsplash