Oh let me guess...it's delayed?

Apologies, apologies for those most loyal followers. I've been on a no dankity hiatus this past week...a phenomenon known to most as vacation.

‘Twas just so hard to complain when you're on a boat near a beach drinking a beer.

Alas, snap back to reality.

I beg your forgiveness, for my complaining may be not precisely up to par. You see, my brain is still as mushy as the silty sand surrounding Morris Island, SC.

But for you, my dear 38 (thank you so much!), I shall try.

Let's start at the very beginning...a very good place to start (thanks Fräulein Maria!) 

I. Hate. Flight. Delays.

Seriously? Why are they allowed? I don't understaaaaand. I'm pretty sure most airlines have got their shit together. And if they don't, then shame on them. For sure.

Kelly and I headed down to Charleston last Thursday morning. We were at the airport perfectly on time – neither too early nor too late. There we sat at the gate, time ticking onward.

The destination board thing wasn’t changing. It said Detroit, not Charleston. And, no judgments here, but I wanted to go to The Holy City, not Motor City.

Of course my anxiety wound its way through my veins, pulsating. Yeah, I had some heart palpitations. But as a first time flyer with my pal KCobb, I didn’t want to seem like too much of a neurotic nutjob.

However, I asked the attendant whither dat flight was headed. And, lo and behold, our gate had moved. We had to take a shuttle bus across the terminal to another gate.

Finally, we got on the plane. It was raining, of course (because let’s be serious, that’s all it DOES here in New York).

We sat.

And we sat.

And we sat some more.

And oh, I’m sorry, we deplaned. Yes. Our hearts sank as we gathered our belongings and stepped off our little putt-putt plane bound for South Carolina. We were wham, bam, thank-you-ma’am SMACKED with a two hour delay (at the very LEAST, our Cap’n said).

Boo hoo, woe was us. But, per usual, to be expected.

We went to the bar and had ourselves a consolation Bloody Mary each.

But, daaaayum you vodka, my anxiety was still in full effect - and after an hour I said I was going to check on the flight. Kelly offered and there I remained, slowly sipping my spicy tomato juice n’ alcohol.

“KATIIEEEEEEEEEE” – say wha? Moi? I looked around.

Oh shit. Departed?!? 

We raaaaan, Home Alone style, to the gate. The flight attendants knew who we were, like magic. Then we sat. Again. For another hour.

And of course, coming back Monday afternoon we were...yes...delayed. Again.
I just don’t understand. It’s really unfathomable. I don’t GET it. Why, when you fly, is it a given that you’ll be delayed?

It’s not FAIR. It’s UNREASONABLE.

We could have slept another hour. We could have enjoyed some Starbucks. We could have finished our Bloody Mary’s for crying out loud.

But no. We got nothing but stale plane air and dead pilots on the runway (so awful!)

And that, my friends, is one of the many reasons I hate flying. Many more to come!