A few weeks ago two of my girlfriends and I packed our bags and headed to Mexico. We all work together and we decided that following our sales conference in Arizona we would be smarter about our mandatory attendance in the west and build in a mini-vacay on the tail end of our trip, taking good advantage of our already paid for flights.
On Wednesday morning when the masses were returning to their respective hometowns we grabbed our continental breakfast goodies, shuttled to the airport and headed to Puerto Vallarta. Or so we thought. The excitement started the moment we were dropped off at the ticketing counter, the line approximately one hundred and twenty three people deep. I, unfortunately, was nursing a hangover due to the social events and flowing red wine of the night prior. Couple that with the fact that I’m not even close to being a morning person, and my panic-stricken mood quickly set in.
You see, I’ve flown in and out of the Phoenix airport all too many times and am fond of all of the airport security rules that go along with a successful departure. As far as I was concerned all I could see from my negative mindset was that we were behind far too many people to get our names into the system and bags checked before the non-negotiable 60 minute deadline to make our scheduled flight. So for the next twenty minutes all I could focus on was the missed flight that was surely in our future, which would ultimately result in the late arrival to our long anticipated vitamin D session and icy margaritas.
As I worked the nerves of my travel mates Polly and Leeann and most likely every other person around us, we neared the kiosks. One at a time we stepped up swiping our credit cards, confirming our identity and choosing the number of bags to check. Polly was in, success. Leeann, confirmed. And me, well, of course... the damn machine kicked back with a rejection and proclaimed that I had missed the baggage check deadline. Of course I did! And I was sure I was being punished for my bad attitude.
Now I was really livid yelling at the innocent US Airways (worst airline ever) workers demanding that they must get me on the flight that my two friends had just been confirmed for! Ugh, how could this be? Just perfect, I thought. Leeann and Polly would be sitting comfortably on our regularly scheduled flight, taxiing to the hacienda I had booked for us on the beach in Conchas Chinas then finding themselves horizontally soaking up the sun while I was stuck in the airport waiting on the next flight out. At the point when smoke was emitting from my ears, the gate agent went over to my friends and told them that they would need to calm me down.
Calm wasn’t in my vocabulary and wasn’t about to be until I was on the flight I was scheduled for. Polly and Leeann pleaded and begged the agent to try to get me on the flight and after some overly polite exchange they were able to wiggle me on. Boarding card printed, baggage checked. Go!!!
We ran to the security line as quickly as we could only to find ourselves in the same situation that we had just endured. Another line... a million and a half miles long. Now we were really screwed. All of that trouble getting us all confirmed for a flight that we were still going to miss. The roped off line winded around ten times and created a Disney-Land-at-peak-season type of dreadful situation. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. We shuffled our feet and our bags forward for what felt like an hour while phone calls were being made to loved ones to provide warnings that flights would be missed and a change of plans would need to be accommodated. I watched the clock knowing we were out of luck...only 15 minutes before the plane would take off without us. Hot guy next to us was small talking which was keeping me halfway sane as we neared the front of the line, but I still lacked confidence.
Finally all three IDs were checked. Shoes were off and we were down to our tank tops and rolled up jeans. Our laptops flew out of our bags and clattered as they hit the plastic bins. One, two, three....we all slid successfully through security. We grabbed our things in a hurried mess, didn’t waste time putting our shoes on or the articles of clothing we had shed and made a mad dash for the gate, which of course, was the last one at the end of the longest concourse ever.
Oh my God, my feet were bleeding as they pounded the electric sidewalk. Note to self, never run barefoot, even if you are from West Virginia, on one of those things... it’s like knives. As the heart attack I was about to have set in, we finally neared the gate.... seven minutes and counting. We waved our hands and yelled, “we’re coming!...we’re here don’t shut the gate! please! wait for us!”... it was a miracle in the desert. All three of us had finally made it to the finish line and successfully boarded our flight, despite the trials and tribulations.
We found our seats in a heated pant and thanked God for the work in which he had done for us that day. I’m still learning this lesson, but will say sometimes it pays off to have a little faith in the system and to relax even when things are clearly not going your way. I could have saved myself high blood pressure, a panic attack and a stress-induced hangover if I would have just let the world do what it does on its own.
Bottom line. We made it. But next time I’m getting to the airport earlier in hopes of avoiding the rage that comes along with traveling.
Signing off Just in Time,
Renee Brennan
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