So, we just got back from our trip to Mexico. When people ask me, “How was your vacation?”, I always answer “Amazing,” for “Fabulous,” or something similar, because nobody likes a whiner. Truth is, I love traveling, but I hate to travel. Being en route to somewhere, whether it is by car or by airplane, I am uncomfortable in that in-between place. I want to either by there, or be home. My irritation shows up as anxiety and panic attacks.
This trip stated out as all my trips do: very early. Our flight out of Asheville was scheduled for about 7, so Abby picked us up at 5 to be safe. I had checked in on line and saved the boarding passes in my Apple Wallet. We got up to the security area, though, and I couldn’t find Ron’s passes. We raced back to the ticket counter and waited on line for an agent to help. She was very nice and simply slid my passes over to the left, and there were Ron’s. We hurried back to security where we are TSA pre-approved. and I sailed right through. I looked back for Ron and watched him being led over to the non-pre-approved side carrying his boots and a bin holding his carry-on, his belt, and assorted other metal things. They sent him back to get his suitcase off the conveyor belt, and then he was led to a quiet corner where he was searched and his bags emptied and swiped with a tool searching for something. Finally they released him with no explanation and after he put himself back together, we headed to the gate.
We went to gate 3 where every flight I have ever taken leaves from, and fell into seats against the back wall. We still had about 45 minutes before we were to get on the plane. I breathed a sigh of relief, and zoned out. Ron decided to use the “head,” and I told him to hurry up, as we would be leaving soon. No sooner had he left when I heard our names called on the loudspeaker, “Passengers Wilder and Davis, proceed to gate 2. You have one minute before the door is locked.”
I jumped up and ran to the gate, my heart racing, and over my shoulder I saw Ron pop out of the bathroom and run behind me. We made it just in time.
We arrived in Mexico with no further issues, and then after a week we were almost home when things got complicated again. We were at the gate in Charlotte waiting for our last leg of the trip and were about to board when the gate agent announced that the flight was overbooked and they needed six people to volunteer to sacrifice their seats and leave later that night. As I was thinking, “What idiot would take that risk? These flights to Asheville are cancelled more often than not. I sure wouldn’t want to have to spend the night in Charlotte!”, Ron was racing to the gate agent and offering up our seats
“What just happened?” I asked him as my bowels started churning. All kinds of unpleasant outcomes began spinning through my head. I could just imagine aTwilight Zone episode where our flight disappeared over the Bermuda Triangle or crashed into Hendersonville. I saw the faces of friends at our funeral, “Why didn’t they take the flight they were assigned? I then drove Ron crazy for the next two hours as we waited (impatiently) for our flight to take off.
Even though we received two $500 vouchers for our trouble (which I was positive were worthless), I couldn’t relax until the next day. We have another trip planned for March, paid for with the vouchers (Thanks, Ron!). Valium anyone?
