It all started after a perfect autumn day in the Midwest with my best friend- a hike through fiery foliage, indulgence in Cincinnati signature chili and, of course, pumpkin spice lattes.
My flights to and from Ohio were: San Diego--> Denver--> Dayton, and vice versa.
The week leading up to my trip, I had been vigilant in monitoring the weather in both Denver and Dayton, late season thunderstorms and early snowstorms being threats in mid-October. This weekend, flying in and out of Dayton and Denver both ways offered clear blue skies and ideal flying conditions. No one could have guessed that San Diego, where the weather never strays outside of a twenty-degree spectrum, would be my travel kryptonite.
I should have known everything was running too smoothly to be true. In terms of air travel, I wouldn't even call my luck "decent." The first three legs of my journey had gone off without a hitch- no delays, and we even arrived early in Denver. When the plane's wheels left the ground on the fourth and final leg of my trip, Denver--> San Diego, I let my ever-present cynical shield down, exhaled a sigh of contentment, and nestled in to enjoy the cinematic magnificence of Lord of the Rings.
Big mistake.
Two hours into the flight, just prior to our initial descent, a message from the cockpit: the fog in San Diego is too thick to land and we're making a U-turn back to Denver.
Close to four hours on an airplane and I'm back to where I started, at 11:30 PM, with no flights until morning and work at 8 AM a thousand miles away. Is Southwest going to pay for my hotel? Is Southwest going to tip my hotel shuttle driver? Is Southwest going to pay me for tomorrow's lost wages? Is Southwest going to explain to my boss that I never miss work without giving notice like this? Is Southwest going to find me and pay for food at 2 AM when nothing in the airport is open? Negative.
Luckily, I'm sitting in the fifth row, so there's only 20-ish people that will be ahead of me for rebooking once we deplane. I figure I'll be on a flight first thing in the morning and get to work less than an hour late. Not too terrible.
Wrong.
Southwest sends two measly customer service reps to help 150 people figure out every aspect of their lives for the next 12 hours in a strange city. Twentieth in line, it takes me over an hour to reach the front. I ask for the first flight available to San Diego in the morning. They tell me 12:55 PM.
Wait a second. You have a Southwest plane here in Denver that is supposed to be in San Diego tomorrow, which means it will be empty in the morning. Why don't you just pile everyone back on that plane and fly us out to San Diego at 6 AM? I know there are a lot of logistics involved in running an airport, but stuff like this happens all the time- you're telling me there's not even a little flexibility? My customer service rep had no rebuttal to my logic. He actually agreed.
OK, fine. Work's scrubbed tomorrow... nothing I can do there. It looks really bad for someone whose only been there for a few months to not show up for work, but there was nothing I could geographically do.
Sleeping arrangements. If I had an early flight I would just sleep on the airport floor, but it's an afternoon flight- may as well find a hotel and get some shut-eye.
Grant the Great works on the hotel situation and finds me a decent deal at the airport La Quinta, one of the few hotels with a 24-hour free shuttle (remember, by the time I got my new flight it was 1 AM). Cabbing anywhere in Denver would land me in the poor house, everything's so spread out. So I call the La Quinta, make a reservation and ask for the shuttle to pick me up. This is an "airport La Quinta," but if you've ever been to the Denver Airport, you know how massive it is. The La Quinta was about 10 miles away from my terminal.
Ray, the desk attendant at the La Quinta, tells me the shuttle got in an accident earlier and they need to get a new one from their base. I ask how long that's going to take and he says the shuttle will pick me up in 15 minutes. Doable.
Twenty minutes later I call Ray back. He tells me 10 minutes, it'll be there.
Fifteen minutes later, Grant calls Ray. Ray tells Grant 10 more minutes.
And on.... and on.... for an hour and fifteen minutes. And the best part? The midnight airport construction. Nonstop jackhammering right next to where I'm supposed to be picked up.
2:30 AM rolls around and a janky, unmarked rapist van pulls up to the curb. A little foreign man rolls the window down and attempts to yell over the jackhammering to me.
"LA KWEENTAH?!" he shouts.
I sigh, survey the van, and give him my best "Why the hell not." I'm too tired/agitated for good sense.
Riding shotgun in the supposed "La Kweentah" shuttle, I throw a little prayer upstairs in hopes that I'm not about to be raped and murdered in Denver.
We actually pull up to a La Quinta. Phew. I check in, get my room on the smoking floor and on the way see a cockroach scuttle next to the wall. Yum.
I finally get to my room at 2:45 AM, take a shower, and watch Married with Children in vain hopes to fall asleep. I hadn't eaten since the chili in Cincinnati (which wasn't exactly agreeing with my stomach) because I was planning on coming home to a cereal feast in San Diego that night. Literally too pissed off and hungry to sleep, I toss and turn all night. Not a wink was had.
I won't go into too much detail about this next part but... of course, right on schedule... Aunt Flo decides to come visit first thing in the morning. It's not that I didn't know about its imminence- I just planned to be in San Diego when it happened. 31:1 odds the red river would runneth on this of all days... I have to scour five neighboring hotels before I finally return victorious from my tampon hunt. Do people not menstruate in Denver?
Finally, with some continental breakfast in my system, a fresh tampon and a brand new day to tackle, I head to the airport for what would turn out to be a (thankfully) much less eventful last leg.
Dayton--> Denver--> San Diego in 23 hours.
