"Have Time To Spare? Go By Air."

When I was 17 I decided it would be really bad ass to get a private pilot’s license. Sandra Bullock had one and word on the street was that Angelina Jolie was aspiring to accomplish the task in order to fly around the world collecting babies. That, and knowing that my dad would forever love me as his first little pilot, motivated me to finish the lessons, written tests, and a 5 hour FAA exam with the oldest, driest most horrendously sexist FAA examiner I have ever met in my life. (He may be the only FAA examiner I’ve ever met. Not sure.) Still, I often find myself shoeless, belt-less, and watching someone pull my 3 ounce containers and underwear out of my backpack while they ask me if I’ve had them in my possession at all times.

While traveling to Brazil my hatred for commercial airports hit its peak. Due to flight restrictions and my moving to DC after purchasing my incredibly dealtastic ticket, I had to fly from Baltimore, to Charlotte, to Charleston, to Charlotte, to Miami, to Manaus. With each exchange I found myself frantically running to other terminals to get on my next flight and was luckily greeted upon my sweaty arrival with, “Are you Jamie? Great! You just made it.” That is, until I got to Charlotte for the second time that day to take my flight to Miami where I would meet my cousins for the night and we’d be back at the airport the next morning at 5AM departing for Brazil.

In Charlotte, the flight was conveniently delayed. Then, as I feared, the cancellation announcement came over the loud speaker. “Flight to Miami has been canceled. Please see attendants outside of security for re-booking information.” Suddenly 350 people started running towards the United Airlines ticketing counters. Women in heels were toppling over in their pathetic attempt to sprint. Toddlers were being checked and tackled left and right, all in order to be first in line at the ticket counter. Lucky for me, my keen navigational skills and bat-like hearing led me to the East ticket counter while the rest of the sheep were running west and I was third in line. The two people ahead of me spent approximately 40 minutes attempting to kill the poor UnitedAir messenger and as I approached I could tell she was prepping for yet another ass burning. . .

My mother always always always has to respond to any plea for advice with a good ole cliché antidote like “don’t kill the messenger” or “kill them with kindness”, all of which never give any useful advice and typically make me feel like I’m talking to Yoda. But I remember them often and in this case I had just hung up with my mother as I was frantically searching for help in finding a school bus, pony, or Segway to Miami before my Brazil flight left in the morning. I smiled at the UnitedAir lady, asked her if she was okay, and she amazingly found me the last seat to Fort Lauderdale, as long as I could make it through security and to the very end of terminal C in the next 10 minutes.

I hiked up my sweatpants and ran faster than I ever had in my life.

Though I had gone through security with the same carry-on luggage four times that day, this was the time the crazy goons decided to check my bag. After some brief harassment about the purpose of a Nook and a firm patting of my undercarriage, I was released and running at top speed to the gate.

With four minutes to spare, I approached the gate counter and the gentlemen told me that he believed all seats were full. I cried. Or maybe I was just sweating out of my eyeballs. After a brief explanation of my need to make an international flight and toss of my greasy travel hair the man smiled and said, “Just go find any seat you can and I'll cover you. [wink]”

I made it to Miami with a few hours to spare before the next morning’s flight, and lucky for me Brazilian airlines are far superior to our own and I had a whole row of seats to myself, free wine, and sleeping pills.


Oh,
and my Mother’s response to the whole ordeal, “Have time to spare? Go by Air.”
:)