Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (the conclusion of this nightmare)

If you've ever seen the movie Roadhouse, you might remember the line that Dalton delivers to the team of bouncers when he takes over the Double Deuce bar. "Be nice...until it's time to not be nice."

You probably already know that Ron and I have very different thresholds of when it's time to not be nice. Mine was back at 11am when Max & Erma's ran out of cheeseburgers. Ron finally reached his 9 hours later  in Atlanta when he was explaining to the Delta rep at the passenger service desk that Delta is required by law to provide us travel on a different airline if necessary when our flight delays are due to mechanical issues. 

Ron knows stuff.

When she claimed not to know that law, Ron was nice. When she made him show her proof, he was still nice. When she tried to tell him that none of our flight delays in Dayton were due to mechanical issues, but rather the crew just kept showing up late...it was his time to not be nice. Everybody at that desk saw his eyes shift and Ramon the manager was paged to the area and I'm guessing security was on standby. 

Ramon really did do everything he could, but flying into New Orleans was out and our only options available to us that night were to try our luck flying standby on a flight to Baton Rouge that was leaving at 10pm or if that fell through, to roll the dice with standby on a later flight to Mississippi. We knew we'd be renting a car somewhere. Time would tell if that'd be Baton Rouge, Mississippi, or if both of those flights fell through, we'd be making the drive from Atlanta. 

Our luck must've shifted with Ron's eyes, because we made it onto the flight to Baton Rouge and before take off, he went online and booked a vehicle from Budget Rental Car that would be waiting for us at the airport. 

We landed in Baton Rouge, picked up our bags that they forced us to check at the plane door in Atlanta which miraculously rolled out on the conveyor belt, and then we made our way to the car rental corridor where every rental desk was dark and abandoned, except for ours. Things were looking up. But the lady was like nope, we don't have any cars, sorry about your luck. 

This exact scenario happened to us at the Dallas Airport on our nightmare trip to Texas that I referenced in part 1. How that played out was I loudly announced through tears that "I'M GOING BACK HOME RIGHT NOW!!" Ron's eyes shifted and a manager led us to an entire parking garage full of cars we could choose from. 

But before I could burst into tears in Baton Rouge, the Budget lady told us that Enterprise might still have some left. We walked into the dark parking garage and found a tiny Enterprise booth and waited in line hoping they wouldn't tell us they were out of cars when we reached the window because then we'd be forced to tip over their little shed with them in it. Ron's eyes were still shifted and my eyes had been in a perpetual state of shift since Dayton so it'd be no problem.

Praise the Lord we got a car. Then we couldn't drive away because a light on the dash kept indicating...wait for it...a door wasn't closed properly. That's when I officially lost my mind and Ron jumped out and ran around opening and slamming every door on the vehicle before I could take matters into my own hands. 

As you know, we successfully made it onto our cruise the following morning. While we still had cell service, Ron decided to check our return flights the following Sunday "just to make sure." And thank goodness he did, because somewhere along this nightmare, all of our return flights had been cancelled, and he spent the first half of our Sail Away Party sitting on our balcony screaming "SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE" while another ship blaring the song Fireball passed by. He finally managed to get our flights rebooked and we spent the next 7 days cruising with our entire family.

Fast forward to 11pm the following Saturday night. The cruise was over and all of our kids who left that day were safely back to their homes, even the ones who drove. We were scheduled to fly home first thing Sunday morning. I was laying in our hotel room crying because I wanted to be back home too, but I knew we still faced a day of travel that would likely be disastrous because as one of my sons-in-law pointed out, I must be a travel curse. As if to prove the point, the hotel fire alarm started blaring for reasons we still don't know, nor do I care. We never evacuated so I'll assume it wasn't actually on fire.

Sunday morning came and it was finally our turn to head home. We arrived early to the New Orleans airport. Not only did I get thoroughly frisked, but they ran a wand over me and then told me to sit in this chair until I "got cleared." TSA humiliation knows no bounds. 

We took off and landed in Atlanta on time, so I was starting to relax. We had 45 minutes to get to our connecting flight. The subway train arrived promptly, we jumped on, and the doors started sporadically opening and closing until a voice came over the intercom: "We're experiencing technical difficulties..." 

You seriously can't make this sh*t up.

We darted through the malfunctioning doors, jumped off the train, and ran to our gate.

While waiting to board, we received a notification that I'd been upgraded to First Class.

Question for Delta- How do you put a price on travel PTSD? It's higher than one first class flight, I'll tell you that much. 

Our Atlanta flight to Dayton took off on time and an hour and seven minutes later, we landed back at the cursed Gate B12. As I stepped out of the plane door, an attendant stood greeting us and said, "Welcome to Cleveland."

My head whipped around to face her and she laughed and said, "I'm kidding! I just like to see who's paying attention." 

Lady, from my experience in this hell hole, the passengers are the only ones paying attention. 

Ron submitted all of our receipts from that day to Delta for a refund for everything- hotel, Baton Rouge, rental car, chicken fingers- every.thing. 

They rejected our claim. 

Ron rejected their rejection, went to war with Delta, and won the full refund. 

Because as Dalton says... 

 

 

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (Part 3)

 It's 6pm and after spending the entire day delayed at the Dayton Airport, we're now sitting on the second plane they brought to us from Atlanta because the Dayton ground crew couldn't get the cargo door to shut properly on the first plane that landed here that morning. 

I was mentally calculating that if we take off right this minute, we'd only need to bowl over 21 rows of people in front of us to get out of this plane in Atlanta, then Home-Alone-sprint through the airport, and we could still potentially make it onto our last chance connection flight to New Orleans that night. Well. I should say Caymen and I stood a chance. My people pleasing husband with sciatic didn't. 

But the bigger problem was we weren't taking off right this minute. We were sitting. And still sitting. Until finally, the pilot announced we're going to have to de-board this plane because the ground crew is running into some difficulty...closing the cargo door. 

I feel like I've seen this episode before.

He's joking right? The pilot knows nobody's armed this side of TSA, so he's making terrible not funny jokes, which I'm willing to forgive if he says he's kidding and gets this plane off the ground right this minute. 

Except he wasn't kidding. The Dayton ground crew couldn't get a cargo door closed again. 

At what point do we stop blaming the aircraft, hm? 

Serious question. Are the Dayton ground crew the heroes because Delta keeps sending their old crap planes here to die or are the folks in Atlanta sending perfectly good planes to this crap hole of an airport who's ground crew seems incapable of closing a cargo door? 

All I know is they better freakin' FIGURE IT OUT because the passengers of Delta Flight #3108 don't want any more vouchers, snacks, excuses, apologies, boardings, de-boardings, or thank you for your patience's. All we want is to get the hell away from gate B12!

Cue Rod Serling- "There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. A dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. It's as vast as space. As timeless as infinity. And it lies somewhere between mechanics and conspiracy theories. You've just crossed into...the Dayton Airport Zone."

We de-boarded the plane and I was done. DONE. We have trip insurance on our cruise. Call it, I'm going home.

The problem was, Ron wasn't done. Eight days of buffets awaited him in New Orleans and all that was standing in his way was the DaytonFreakinAirport. 

While we waited in the gigantic line at the gate to get a refund, we started weighing our travel options. We were scheduled to board our cruise ship in 16 hours. Should we rent a car and drive all night to New Orleans, then fly back after our cruise? Do any other airlines have flights leaving for Atlanta later that night? 

Our kids all went to work searching and texting us flight options out of other airports. They informed us of a United flight leaving out of Columbus later that night if we could get there in time. They all knew that would've put us on the same flight with Zac and his family who were flying down to surprise us on the cruise, but at least we'd get there. But we didn't have time to drive to Columbus to catch that flight. We decided to bite the bullet, rent a car, and start driving. 

The crowd at the gate was thinning as people were getting their refunds and leaving the area. We were roughly 7 people away from our turn at the counter when the pilot walked off the plane and said "They got the door closed. Everyone can get back on now."

This guy thinks he's hilarious.

But again he wasn't kidding. Twelve hours after arriving at the airport that morning, we were boarding a plane for the 3rd time. It was 7pm, we'd missed all the connecting flight options in Atlanta and had no idea how we'd get from there to New Orleans. 

On top of that, we knew we were either departing on a plane with a malfunctioning cargo door or being sent off by a ground crew who didn't know how to properly close one. Either way, I was fully expecting to meet Jesus which honestly didn't sound like a bad way to end this nightmare. As we taxied down the runway, I sent I love you goodbyes to my family because they have standing instructions to make my obituary hilarious and I wanted to give them a heads up to start writing.

To my shock, we landed in Atlanta and not at the feet of Jesus. 

This seems like a good time to end this part. If you're frustrated with how long this story is taking to tell, imagine living it in real time. 

Tune in next time when my nice husband isn't nice anymore. 

It's about damn time.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (Part 2)

Our saga picks back up at gate B12, where Ron just made his doomsday announcement that it was the same gate all of his 'technical difficulties' happened when he tried to fly out of the Dayton Airport for a recent work trip. 

It started out uneventfully if you don't count our rude gate attendant asking over the announcements if anyone wants coffee before she "has to make it" and when everyone sat silently, she said 'good, because I didn't want to have to make it.' 

Fly the friendly skies everybody.

Then she began harassing everyone that they may as well come let her measure our bags, because they'll have a zero tolerance for all these bags she's seeing that look like they're pregnant with other bags and they will be measuring them.

Listen lady. 

1. I'm not checking my bag for you to lose in Atlanta and be stuck on a cruise ship without my makeup and formal wear.

2. I'm not gonna be bullied into delivering my bag to you to inspect and approve before it's even time to board the plane.

I turned toward Ron to note her audacity, but he was already walking his bag up to be inspected. He returned with a tag strapped around the handle. Your people pleasing tendencies need checked with that bag, man. 

So naive were we.

All was going well at this point. The plane we were taking arrived from Atlanta, those passengers unloaded and they began boarding us. Ron ripped the tag off his handle and slipped his bag into an overhead compartment. The best decision he made all day. 

Everyone was in their seats and the plane just sat there with no explanation. Ron finally said, "You know this is exactly how it went on my work flight. We sat here and then they announced we had to get off the plane for technical difficulties."

As if on cue, the pilot came on and announced we'd have to de-board for technical issues with a 'gap' in the cargo door. 

So where was that 'gap' on the plane when it landed full of people from Atlanta 20 minutes ago? What, the ground crew in Atlanta totally missed that gap in the door?  Those passengers barely made it here alive? If not for the observation skills of the Dayton Airport crew, the cargo door would've flown open mid-flight and we would've spiraled to our untimely deaths? Or...and stick with me...is it possible the Dayton Airport crew didn't shut the door correctly? Surely, it's not as simple as that.

And get this. All the checked bags that had been loaded into that plane were being sent to baggage claim, so everyone who had checked bags had to leave the gate to go pick them up and re-enter through TSA all over again.

I would've lost my ever-loving mind.

Our flight was rescheduled for 12:21pm while we waited for a new airplane to arrive from Atlanta. Then it changed to 2pm. Bumped to 2:30. Oh, we mean 4:06. Make that 4:35. Oh yeah, you'll miss your connection flight in Atlanta now, so we put on the 7:54pm to New Orleans. Funny story, your flight out of Dayton is now scheduled for 5:15pm. Our bad, that should say 5:45pm. Jokes on you, we're not leaving until 6:30pm. 

So here's how we spent our day at the Dayton Airport. We started with lunch at Max & Erma's. I told the waitress that all I wanted in the world right now was a cheeseburger, so I shouldn't have been surprised when she came back and told me they'd just run out of cheeseburgers. It was 11:30am, how in the hell is that even possible? Three words: Dayton.Freakin.Airport.

Our lunch cost $86. When we returned to our gate at 2pm, we were informed that due to the 'inconvenience' of our flight delays, they'd be awarding us food vouchers worth $12 each that had to be used within the Dayton Airport within the next 24 hours. By that point, our new flight was the 4:06 time, we'd just eaten, and our grand voucher total of $36 wouldn't have scratched the surface of our chicken fingers lunch at Craps and Ermas. 

I walked into the gift shop to use it on a sweatshirt because I was stuck in Ohio but dressed for New Orleans. Nope, vouchers have to be used on food. So Caymen and I shopped their snack rack for $36 worth of chips, nuts, and candy, but when we carried it all to the checkout, she told us that we have to buy them in $12 increments under each voucher separately. For the safety of everyone, I walked out of the gift shop and found Ron who recognized my rage face. He told me to stay in my chair at our gate and he'd handle the purchasing of the snacks.

As soon as he walked away, they announced at our gate that due to the 'inconvenience' of our brand new flight time of 5:15pm, they were putting out complimentary snacks because the DaytonFreakinAirport's piss poor timing is unmatched.  

That's when the ruckus broke out at the bar and Ron sprinted around the corner of the gift shop, visibly relieved when he found me in my chair. Listen, no judgement here on the guy getting escorted to Security. My sober a** almost went postal on the gift shop lady 10 minutes ago. The bartender should be used to it. 

The time is now 5:45pm. We're sitting at our gate with a bag full of three $12 vouchers worth of gift shop snacks along with giant handfuls of the complimentary gate snacks because I don't care, I'm taking these too. Our replacement plane just arrived from Atlanta and "Good news" they said. There are no passengers on board, so we can board you immediately and get you on your way at your brand freakin new flight time of only 6:30pm! Good luck catching that tight connection in Atlanta because all the other flights to New Orleans tonight are full. 

And that's where we'll leave this one off. 

I never said it'd be a short series. 

Sooooo. Stay tuned next time when we board our 2nd freakin airplane on the same freakin day at the DaytonFreakinAirport.

But can they close the cargo door on this plane?

Spoiler Alert: No. They can't. 

To be continued...

  

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (Part 1)

It takes a lot to get me to leave the house, much less travel. I despise long road trips, I'm either flagged or the TSA hates me for no reason, and airplanes appear to be cursed in my presence.

But every so often, my family convinces me to leave the safe confines of my home to join them on adventures. I never regret the destination. But I always end up regretting the journey. 

Ron, on the other hand, travels frequently for work. He always travels Delta and almost always books his flights through the Columbus Airport. It's the strangest thing. He shows up at the airport, walks through Security, gets on the plane, the plane takes off, and then lands at his next destination without incident. Weird. 

But the one time he talked me into flying to surprise my family in Texas a few years ago, I got thoroughly frisked by Security (it happens ever damn time I fly), then they started announcing at our gate that they were overbooked and needed people to volunteer to get off that flight (I begged him to let us volunteer and he refused), then our plane sat at the gate covered in ice for 2 hours before we finally took off, then we had to frantically run through the Atlanta airport, we missed our connecting flight by 5 minutes, and were told they'd bumped us to the next available flight...8 hours later. 

We're still married because he introduced me to a little thing called 'The Delta Sky Club' where he ordered me a margarita iv drip from the open bar and pointed me toward the vats of bbq ribs and Mac and cheese on their free buffet. If they'd asked for volunteers to get off that next flight, I promise you there would've been no stopping me.

So last year, our family booked a cruise out of New Orleans. Ron asked me if we should drive. No, we should not. "So we'll fly then?" No, I don't wanna do that either.

I've never claimed to be easy to live with.

The deciding factor was when he told me he had enough points for us to fly for free and we could fly out of the Dayton Airport. You see, there was a time when I preferred to fly out of the Dayton Airport because it's smaller, therefore less overwhelming for an introverted homebody and it feels like a shorter drive than to Columbus. Whether that's true or not is irrelevant. 

I started dreading that decision when both Zac and Ron experienced 'technical difficulties' trying to fly out of the Dayton Airport for various work trips in the months leading up to ours. Zac's plane got delayed by 3 hours and after getting on the plane, off the plane, back on the plane, and off again without ever leaving the gate, Ron ended up cancelling his trip altogether and came home.

They've come to the conclusion that airlines must send their small crap planes to small crap airports, thus making your entire experience trying to fly out of there a dumpster fire of crap. 

And now I would agree.

The plan was to fly out the morning of the day before our cruise, we'd have over 3 hours layover in Atlanta...helloooo Sky Club, and we'd arrive in New Orleans around dinner time where we'd meet up with Aubrey and Nick who drove down the day before and Kearstin and Trevor who flew down there uneventfully like mythical little travel fairies or something.

We arrived at the airport early that morning and ran into a slight snag at Security when she asked to see my driver's license and I looked at Ron because he's the one who always shows the bartender a picture of my license when I get carded. But he just stood there looking back at me and asked me where my driver's license was, so I explained it's in my purse at home and then everybody stared at me like I'm the one who travels all the time and should know stuff. We had our passports for the cruise, so crisis averted, but then I was thoroughly frisked anyway. (Did I mention this happens every damn time I fly?) Listen, I forgot my driver's license, that doesn't make me a terrorist. 

Caymen was coming through behind me and they asked her if she was with me. She said yes and then they patted her down too and now she says she's never going through airport security with me again. Ron was over in the TSA approved line because he decided a long time ago never to go through airport security with me again because of that one time I packed my Weight Watcher's scale in my carry on and you would've thought I'd tried to bring an explosive devise with me.

When we finally made it through security and arrived at our gate, Ron said "Uh Oh. This is the same gate where all of my technical issues happened last time I tried to fly out of here." 

And that's where we'll leave off for now. Stay tuned next time when we spend the next 10 hours at the cursed gate B12 of the Dayton Airport, they hand out vouchers to try to calm the hostile masses, and the cops are summoned when someone refused to accept that their voucher could not be used on alcoholic beverages at the airport bar. 

You're probably assuming that was me. Ron certainly was when he heard the situation announced over the intercom and bolted out of the gift shop to make sure I was still sitting in my chair at the gate where he left me. 

To be continued...