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.
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