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May 7, 2007
Beth and Mr. Tall’s Excellent Adventure Bogus Journey
Michelle no longer has a monopoly on travel disasters
So remember back a few weeks, when I mentioned that wedding season has officially begun? Last weekend, Mr. Tall and I packed our bags and headed to Los Angeles to celebrate nuptials and gorge ourselves on chocolate mousse cake. The wedding itself was beautiful and amazing—they even hosted a post-dinner cigar bar, which was very popular with the boys.
Everything involved with this weekend trip besides the wedding? Not so beautiful and amazing. Allow me to start on Friday night, when Mr. Tall announces at 8:30 PM that he has no acceptable shirts to wear with his suit and tie. And the mall closes in 30 minutes. And, due to the fact that Mr. Tall is so, well, TALL, most stores do not carry clothes that fit his freakishly lanky frame.
Fast forward to Saturday morning, when, according to Mr. Tall’s itinerary, we must leave for the airport at 6:30 AM. I am all packed and ready to depart at 6:25 (for real). Mr. Tall decides to start packing at approximately 6:29, despite—or perhaps because of--the fact that I nagged him relentlessly about it the day before. Then he decides to take out the trash and tidy up the kitchen so the dog-sitter won’t realize we live in squalor. Actual departure time: 7:15 AM.
Halfway to the airport (approximate speed: 90 mph), we discover the freeway has been closed and we must detour, along with every other car clogging the roads, on winding little surface streets.
This is when the swearing begins.
Due to time constraints, we abandon our plan to park at a low-cost lot and accept that we must pay $40 per day for airport parking. (When you’re as cheap as I am, this hurts. Bad.) And, due to the new restrictions against carrying on gels and liquids, we must check one of our bags. Time until our flight takes off: 20 minutes. We race into the departures terminal, only to recoil in abject horror. The airport is busier than I’ve ever seen it. The line at security looks like the queue for Space Mountain at Disney Land during a holiday weekend. The line to check baggage is longer still.
Divide and conquer: Mr. Tall lines up for baggage check, I fight for a place in the security screening mob. I am literally on the phone with the airlines, trying to re-book for the next flight to LAX, when Mr. Tall squeaks into line next to me, earning the fiery wrath of our fellow stressed-out travelers. And of course we get pulled aside at security for a thorough bag-searching—turns out, my darling gold lame kitten heels have aroused suspicion that I’m smuggling deadly weapons. Something about the metallic finish? Yeah, I don’t really understand it, either. Anyway, the harried TSA official unpacks our bag, rummages around, then re-packs it just in time for Mr. Tall and I to full-out RUN to our appointed gate and dive onto the plane mere minutes before they close the doors.
By the end of the 75-minute flight, we are finally beginning to speak to each other again. Then we open our carry-on bag to retrieve our rental car confirmation…only to discover that the security agent back in Phoenix forgot to re-pack that critical piece of paper, along with the wedding invitation, all the directions to the hotel and wedding, our hotel reservation confirmation, and oh yeah, my darling gold lame kitten heel shoes.
Swearing goes from R-rated to NC-17.
We manage to secure a rental car and wend our way to the hotel, whereupon we are informed that they are booked solid and “we have no record of your reservation.” Mr. Tall takes one look at my face, pulls the desk clerk aside for a few gentle words, and miraculously, something opens up. (He’s freakishly tall AND charming!) I get dressed for the wedding as best I can, given my glaring lack of cute shoes, and we leave in plenty of time to make the ceremony kick-off. Well, it would have been plenty of time in Phoenix, but we’ve gone soft since leaving Los Angeles, and we’ve forgotten how beastly traffic can get on Sunset Boulevard on Saturday afternoon.
We arrive to the wedding only 15 minutes late, which, at this point, is a major victory. Swearing temporarily abates, as wedding is lovely and lots of old friends are there.
Swearing recommences bright and early Sunday morning, when we awake to realize that our requested wake-up call never came and we are now going to be late to the airport. AGAIN. (Further investigation reveals that our room phone broke sometime after midnight. For real. No dial tone. It probably committed suicide just to spite us.)
Miraculously, the airport is virtually empty and we make it to our gate with time to spare. Seventy-five minutes later, we’re back in the Grand Canyon state and congratulating ourselves on a) our superior ability to sprint even when laden with overstuffed luggage and b) refraining from killing each other and/or innocent bystanders. This is when we realize that the freeway is closed AGAIN. And then the dog-sitter calls to break the news that Roxie has somehow managed to slip out the front door and is “currently at large.” (We do eventually round her up, but only after she indulges in some unidentifiable road kill, which she later vomits onto the family room floor.)
The next day, we get a call from the fraud alert department of our credit card company. They want to know why our rental car company is attempting to charge us $400 for what was supposed to be a $40 bill.
We have scrapped all plans for future summer vacations, and have decided to install a LoJack on Roxie's collar. Michelle, the gauntlet has been thrown: bring your (bad) karmic A-game next time you step on the subway!
Posted by Beth at 1:11 AM | Comments (8)
Comments
Oh, Beth! You poor thing! I hope you get a chance to wack the person who forgot to re-pack your shoes with a pair of stilettos.
Posted by: The LC Eileen ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.literarychicks.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at May 7, 2007 11:20 AM
Ah, man - and I thought packing stuff in the carry on was supposed to help it get there. (This is what people tell me.) So, so sorry.
Posted by: RandomRanter at May 7, 2007 6:03 PM
Oh gosh! I thought that stuff was only saved up for me! I'm glad that fate "shares the love!" But I'm glad you made it home okay!!! Once, I was running so late for a wedding, by the time I got there, it was already in progress. I recognized no one; I realized I was at the wrong church! What can I say? There are a lot of little white churches in New England!
Posted by: Kimberly at May 7, 2007 9:51 PM
All I could say was "Whew!"
Posted by: TeresaH at May 8, 2007 4:32 AM
Did you ever go back to their security people and ask them about your shoes?? :)
Posted by: Jo at May 8, 2007 4:52 PM
My sincere sympathies, Beth! Sounds horrendous.
Upon departing California via Ontaria a few weeks ago, hurrying to the side of my mother, who'd had a stroke, I encountered carry-on trauma of my own. Upon realizing that my make-up was in my carry-on, I rummaged through and pulled the wee bottle out and placed it in the gray tub to go through screening. They screened. And then asked me what I wanted them to do with it because I couldn't have it back. Why? Because it WASN'T IN A PLASTIC BAG. I would really like someone (anyone!) to explain to me how, exactly, it is that the mere presence of a plastic zip bag would suddenly render the wee bottle of makeup from a threat so severe that I am not allowed to have it to an innocuous item that I may keep.
On the other end? When I was coming back from Iowa (where I had purchased a new wee bottle of make-up, which I then made sure was in my checked baggage)? They had a bin full of plastic bags for travellers who found themselves in the situation I had been in some 11 days earlier. Again, I really fail to see how the mere presence of plastic surrounding the bottle renders it innocous.
Posted by: Dia at May 8, 2007 5:53 PM
I always thought it would be a better trade off if instead of attending out-of-state weddings, you sent the $ you would have spent in flying, accomodations, transportation, etc. Both parties win! LOL
Posted by: Amber at May 9, 2007 1:42 PM
Beth, you have earned yourself a spa day.
Posted by: Laura Fitzgerald at May 10, 2007 6:37 PM
