Here is a second entry into "It could only happen to me." Epic journeys are just my bag, baby.
So, on Wednesday I set out from Boston to my hometown in scenic Pennsylvania. All seemed to be going well. I got to the airport three hours early because I was offered a ride at that time and wouldn?t have to take the T (or a cab, which can cost about 30.00). I thought about eating when I was there, but then thought, "Oh piffle! No need to eat here! I will eat at the Pittsburgh airport where there is much more selection." So I sat and read two People magazines cover to cover. My IQ dropped about 15 points in that time, but it was worth it to learn about Paris Hilton's engagement.
Anyway, around 5pm I noticed that my flight, which was supposed to leave at 6pm, was now leaving at 6:20. This did not concern me. After all, though my connection in Pittsburgh was close, an extra 20 minutes still would have given me at least 15 minutes to switch gates. And I am a marathoner with no carry-on luggage. I was confident I could make it.
Long story short?things were going wrong with planes all over the place Wednesday. The flight leaving from the gate before mine was delayed by about an hour. Then my flight was delayed another half an hour. I got off of the plane in Pittsburgh with a mere two minutes to get to my gate (before take-off time, not boarding time, mind you). I sprinted through the terminal, appropriately attired in my swanky Marathon Jacket That I Earned. As I was sailing by, I heard a voice yell, ?Hey you ran the Boston Marathonnnnnnn.? It faded in my wake. I stopped only briefly to look at a ?Departures? monitor and noticed that my destination wasn?t even listed.
"Crap," I thought. "It?s already taken off."
Here I called Peter, out of breath and on the verge of tears. "Peter, I missed my flight and I?m stuck in Pittsburgh and OH MY SWEET HEAVEN THEY JUST CLOSED THE FOOD COURT." Things were not looking good. I arrived at a ticket counter near my gate and explained my situation to the people there. They told me that I could get a 45 dollar voucher, blah blah, have to pay for a (200 dollar a night) hotel room nearby, blah blah, can?t get my luggage, blah.
This was decidedly bad news.
Meanwhile, Peter kept calling my cell phone (the ringer was off, so I didn't know this) because he thought something horrible was happening because my rather dramatic performance on the phone minutes before gave that impression. I called him back and sadly told him my plight, he agreed that spending the next 12 hours in the airport would be unpleasant, but spending 200 dollars on a hotel room where I would only be fore 9 or so hours wasn?t really fiscally responsible. Suffice it to say, I was upset with the universe at large.
And then Denny entered my life.
Denny informed me that I didn't actually miss my connection, but the hydraulics system of the plane I was to have flown out on had failed and earlier that day, the plane had almost not been able to stop on its landing in Pittsburgh and had skidded off of the runway in a dramatic display of airplane free will. This is why I wasn't to fly home, not because I had missed the flight.
This provided little comfort.
However, Denny, as it turned out, was going to rent a car and drive to the same place I was going. I briefly calculated the odds of Denny being a psycho-killer, versus my likelihood of committing Hare Kare in the airport restroom after listening to 12 hours of the muzak rendition of "Girl from Ipanema." I decided the latter was more probable as the cause of my untimely demise. When Denny went to use the restroom, I hurriedly called Peter and was giving him the details, lest I was never heard from again.
"Peter, listen. I'm going home with a guy named Denny. He looks about 50, is wearing a gray shirt and pants, has salt-and-pepper hair and is balding on top. I was last seen at baggage carousel F in the Pittsburgh International Airport wearing a Red Sox shirt and jeans. If you need a picture to show police, use my school ID; it was taken just after I got my hair done. I will have my cell phone on my person, so use the signal if you need to locate me. I gotta go! Denny's back!? And I hung up the phone. I don't know if this really reassured Peter of my confidence in Denny?s intentions, but one can never be too cautious. Anyway, after miraculously convincing the nice US Airways people to liberate my luggage, and spirited debate with the Hertz Rent-A-Car people, Denny and I hopped into the rented Ford Escort and were on our way.
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