On Memorial Day, I rose early from my friend’s oh-so-comfy spare bed, after a mere 4 hours sleep, to pack my belongings, drop off my rental car and present myself at the airport for my return home to the Big Apple. It seemed such an unreasonable hour to travel but it is what my friend Rodd booked for me.
I’ve known Rodd since we were 4. He and his twin brother, Todd (yes, the Simpsons got that one right) and I have the same birthday. In a town of 475 people, the chances of people having the same birthday are pretty slim. Couple that with three children in kindergarten and one in fourth grade all having the same birthday and I’m betting were talking Lottery type odds here. Yet there we were every year celebrating our collective birthdays with our class. It was a bit of cruelty really.
Our class only had 15-18 kids in it, which as Rodd pointed out, is a very large percentage of the class, not including the summer birthday kids who never got to bring snacks to school. With a Three-for-one, the chances to knock off early for the day and ingest some serious sugar were decreased significantly. We only got one cupcake to celebrate all three. Had we separate birthdays, that would have been 2 extra party days a year. I’m amazed no one stoned us at recess.
But back to the airport. Rodd and Todd rather improbably grew up and became airline pilots. Yep, both of them. But the best part of all of it is this: they fly for the same airline, sometimes together. When that happens, they stand at the door of the cockpit and greet all the passengers, just to see the bewildered faces. I think I would enjoy doing that as well in truth.
At any rate, Rodd very kindly offered me a Buddy Pass to get to Dallas for a wedding and I rather happily accepted. he made it perfectly clear that I was flying stand by and that I’d have to be patient in case the flights were full.
Fine by me.
I presented myself to the check-in at the appointed time to be told that I’d easily get a seat to Dallas but getting to Denver to catch it was in question. Upon presenting myself to the gate agent, I asked if there was any chance at all or had I just wasted cab fare to hang out at the airport for the afternoon. She smiled, checked her computer and replied: You should pray for a disaster; you’re 7th on the list for 5 open seats. It seemed to mean to pray for disaster so instead I asked for bad traffic or a change of mind.
Whatever it was, I got a seat. And about half way to Denver they announced we’d be landing 30 minutes late, since we were delayed in New York due to weather. 2 call lights immediately went off. Ummm…. I have 35 minutes between scheduled flights and we’re pulling in about 20 gates away. Denver is a linear air terminal and a long one at that. 20 gates could easily be 20 gates in a row on one side. I’ve spent my fair share of time sprinting on the moving sidewalks thru that airport and I had absolutely no desire to do it in 3” heels.
God bless the flight crew of that plane. They arranged to move me to the front row, found out where I needed to go, and then instructed the first few rows not to exit until I’d bolted. It was the best he could for me and it turned out to be good enough. As instructed, I turned left and ran like hell for 20 gates, arriving just in time to be the last person seated on a plane containing 25 people.
I flew to Dallas a very happy woman.
On the way back, however, it was an entirely different story. I was a very tired woman, one with a significantly lighter bank account but new luggage. I checked in and was told no problem getting to Denver. We arrived at 9:30am with just about an hour before the next flight, conveniently located a mere 4 gates away.
I amused myself until the gate attendant told me she’d rolled us all over to the next flight to New York, at 3pm. What? So now I’ve got 4 hours to kill in the airport with a very low possibility of getting on that flight. But the next next one might offer hope, at midnight-thirty.
So I bought a pass to the first class lounge room, figuring it would keep me occupied for the day. Yeah, not so much. No tv, no internet, no books or magazines, very few non-café chairs, free coffee and bar service, but snacks limited to chips and bread sticks. And granola bars. I’d have been better off staying outside with the commoners. Or signing up for the British Airways lounge, which stayed open until the wee hours, unlike Continental which closed at 6pm.
Tired. So tired and so over being at the airport.
After I was bumped from the 3pm flight, I called Rodd and asked what I should do. He was flying in from Atlanta at 9 and would meet me to sort it out. It’s very nice to have a knight in shining armour.
We had drinks and caught up at the bar while waiting for the red-eye flight, which he was completely sure I’d get a seat. People always no-show for those. Unless, it would seem, it is a holiday weekend there is work the following day.
So I got to spend the night at Rodd’s apartment. Poor guy. But I must say, for a guy, he keeps a tidy and very female friendly apartment. Great coffee, comfy bed with soft sheets, conditioner in the shower and even a toothbrush for me. He’s mighty prepared for unexpected guests.
We woke the next morning and readied ourselves for a day at the airport. I had a slim chance of making the 10am flight, none for the 3pm and was 3rd for 8 seats on the red eye. I sent my bosses a text while I had coffee on his balcony, staring out at the skyline of Denver and of the Rocky Mountains. I pondered if I should just stay. His building is across the alley from an architecture firm. I like Denver. Its close to family.
Just sayin’…
Turns out that there is a ranking for stand-by seats on airlines. People who bought tickets and were bumped by the airline get priority standing. Following them are people who bought tickets but missed their flight because they are stupid. (That’s been me before) Then come the employees and then come their friends and family.
Had we been traveling together, I’d have had a seat no problem but since I was alone, at the bottom of the list. With no hope of leaving Denver until midnight-thirty again.
So Rodd came to New York with me.
The benefits of being a pilot are pretty cool. So he stayed in my not-so-ready-for-anyone –on-earth-including-me sublet in Harlem. I do, however have plenty of conditioner which meant little since he had a bag packed already.
It was a great time to spend with him though. We’ve not seen each other in 6 or 7 years and we had quite a bit of catching up to do. We got thru the past, discussing the people we grew up with, where they are, who is doing what, supposing about the others. We talked about his travels in Europe, my living in Europe and how neither of us would give that up to settle down. We talked about how odd it is that he’s 39 and I’m not a day past 28 and yet we have the same birth date. We talked about how annoying it is that no one can tell them apart. I can. I've always been able to. Even when he sends me photos out of the blue, I always know and I'm always amazed other people don't see it. that then segued into how we all have things in our lives we'd like to change but cannot. Persnickety things unique to us that never fail to annoy.. I, for instance, will always order the one wine that is unavailable. Give me a wine list with 75 wines on it and I’ll pick the one they don’t have. To contrast with that, I can always turn left on to a busy street. Rodd’s version is that people always cut in front of him only to walk slowly. Sure enough, our entire transit in New York was people with slow walkers. I don’t remember that on Seinfield.
It was a beautiful night that demanded a bit more atmosphere than my neighborhood so we hopped on the subway and emerged in Little Italy. We had martinis in a very fancy New York bar that was used in Sex in the City and has an actual history to it that I can't quite remember. Something about a tunnel between what was the bordello and the police station next door. We followed martinis with amazing Italian food in a virtually empty restaurant. And they even had the wine I wanted! It was such a great night; it was almost worth 18 sleep deprived hours at the Denver airport.
Well…
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