January 11, 2005
January 6th, 2005I stepped through Mr. Porter's front door and into a winter wonderland. The sky was still dark and the snow was still falling. Had it not been so early and had I acquired a little more than three hours of sleep, I'm sure I would have pursued my desire to toss a snowball or two, but such as it was, I did not. We were running a wee bit behind schedule and thus we were off before any temptations of giving Mr. Porter a face wash completely consumed me.
Nearly ten inches of snow made for a long, slow ride through Milwaukee and I was thankful for the 4WD vehicle that I did not have to navigate. Mr. Porter dropped me off at the baggage claim area at Mitchell Field around 5:20 a.m. and I procured my ticket from one of the automated machines near the check-in booth. I wandered upstairs and breezed through security, as usual, and we boarded the small Northwest aircraft just before 6:40 a.m. when we were scheduled for take off.
I was in the second row of the plane and had two seats all to myself since only 18 passengers occupied the aircraft. There was a business man in front of me with a kind smile and a wandering eye and an older woman to my right who sat elegantly with her high heeled brown boots and matching dress. Our flight attendant, Angela, was a boisterous young black woman with a calm and easy voice and just enough attitude to make her perfectly charming. I stowed my smaller bag in the overhead compartment, tucking my back pack under the seat and managed to bump my head only twice during the entire process. This was apparently rather amusing to my present company.
"Just trying to see how many times I can knock myself unconscious before we actually take off."
The business man, the older woman and our lovely flight attendant laughed heartily at my expense. I broke the ice and felt right at home. Little did I know that this would, indeed, be my home for quite some time.
At 7:00 a.m., it was announced that we were waiting in line for the plane to be 'de-iced.'
At 7:45 a.m., it was announced that there were several planes in line waiting to be 'de-iced.' Angela passed out beverages as the pilot apologized for the unexpected delay.
At 8:15 a.m., it was announced that one of the two 'de-icing trucks' had collided with another aircraft and thus it would be an even longer wait until it was our turn. Angela told us a story about a woman who passed out on her earlier flight and how she was sure that the woman was dead.
"I'm telling you, the woman was as cold as ice, she was! I poked her, not being really sure what to do, and all of a sudden, she POPS her eyes open and stares at me as though I were the devil, she did. I nearly passed out myself! It has been a weird day. Let me tell you."
At 8:30 a.m., seven passengers pulled out their cell phones so that I might hear the full explanation in semi unison that we were still waiting to be 'de-iced' as they conveyed these events to their loved ones. The businessman in front of me called his two children, instructing them to 'push Mommy into the freshly fallen snow' for him. I could not help but laugh out loud when he turned around to wink at me.
At 8:45 a.m., we were 'de-iced,' but our lavatory was found to be dysfunctional and so we had to exit the plane while mechanical repairs were being made. Pamphlets were handed to each person with the pilot's regrets that our flight had been delayed. The booklets contained phone cards that no one used since everyone had a cellular and a discount for a future flight (good through March).
I waited until after we were off of the plane to call my parents and retold the story as I smoked a cigarette in the smoking lounge. They had apparently been monitoring my plane online, worried about the flight being delayed due to the weather. My father quipped that he had sent some DVD's to John in New York and that they should get there before me. My lack of amusement was rather apparent, though I believe I covered it well.
We re-boarded the plane at 9:30 a.m.. Two last minute passengers, that were not originally on our flight, came spilling into the aircraft after the rest of us were already seated. Angela shot them a disapproving look.
"Hurry up and sit down! These guys have been waiting forever for this flight to leave."
"Say, could you hang up my coat?"
"Hang up your coat?! You're kidding, right? You've got a whole row to yourself! Hang up your coat... Dear Lord!"
The rest of laughed and kindly explained the situation of our delay to the newcomers. It was another full hour before our plane was once again 'de-iced' and ready to go. Angela was about to make an announcement in preparation for flight when she saw a woman get up to use the bathroom. We all turned when Angela's voice boomed over the load speaker.
"Hey! You! Yeah, you! Go on and sit down, girl! You can wait - we're taking off!"
All of us were laughing, including the woman that had committed the offense, and Angela continued.
"Now, you all have been simply amazing passengers; so patient and understanding despite the fact that I know you want to get the hell off the ground as badly as I do. I'm passing out free cocktails, whether you like it or not - you can have some Bailey's added to your coffee - as a personal 'thank you' from me. I'm not going over the safety instructions again. We're taking off. Now."
Before we taxied down to our take off strip, I tapped the businessman on the shoulder.
"Sir, could you please return your seat to its original and upright position as we prepare for take off?"
"Why, thank you, Miss!"
I love traveling.
We arrived in New York around noon (CST) but came across another delay. The traffic was heavy going into LaGuardia Airport and thus we remained in the air, circling the city, for about another forty minutes. Finally, we landed. There was much rejoicing. Angela nearly shouted her enthusiasm over the speakers and we all thanked her emphatically as we exited the craft. I turned to the older woman and the businessman before we parted ways and thanked them for their light hearted attitudes and for keeping me company. They returned my gratitude, each with a smile and I skipped off to the exit as they hurried off for their baggage.
As soon as I was outside, I lit a cigarette and looked around me. It was just before 2:00 p.m. (EST) and raining. Instantly, I was taken back to my arrival in Paris. I stood in thought for what seemed a very long period of time and, upon snapping out of my reminiscent coma, called the hotel. No answer. I called them again. No answer. I called up John, knowing I had given him the number of the hotel, and rather bellowed my arrival to New York in his ear. I believe this was followed by a resounding 'YEE-HAW!' which made more than one person turn their head toward the crazy out-of-towner. I confirmed the Ramada's phone number and let John go back to work. Finally, they answered.
The hotel was located less than five miles from the airport and thus they had a free shuttle service to and from their establishment. The only problem was that they needed to know exactly where I was and I had no idea, even vaguely, where I was.
"Well, I'm on the lower level in front of a lot of other people being picked up by shuttles, busses and taxis. Does that help?"
"Is that the main baggage area or is that the Delta Terminal area?"
I looked behind me and saw a sign for Delta and a baggage claim area inside.
"Both," I said confidently.
"Hmmm, okay... We'll send out driver out right away, Ms. Johnson. Shouldn't be more than 10 - 15 minutes."
At 2:00 p.m., I called up my parents to relay the good news that I was finally in New York, I waived off 20 taxi cabs who were in want of charging me $15.00 to take me to the hotel and I wandered up and down the row of honking vehicles looking for a Ramada shuttle. No shuttle.
At 2:20 p.m., I called the hotel again and inquired as to their driver's location. Apparently, he couldn't find me. I explained that there was a large Hertz bus and a connecting terminal shuttle stop in front of me. This seemed to make sense to them and thus they requested that I wait for just a few more minutes as the driver was already at the airport. I knocked off the next few minutes by smoking a cigarette and splashing in a puddle. No shuttle.
At 2:40 p.m., I called the hotel again and dramatically apologized, but there was still no sight of the shuttle. The desk clerk proceeded very slowly, yet without contempt, so as to ensure that I understood the simplicity of the situation.
"Okay, Ms. Johnson. The shuttle is white and has red lettering on it which says 'Ramada Hotel.' That's R A M A---"
"Yeah, gotcha, but he's not here."
"You're at the Hertz Rent-A-Car, right, Ms. Johnson?"
"What?! No! I'm at the airport!"
At 2:45 p.m., I ran inside and had the nearest person with a uniform explain exactly where I was located and that seemed to do the trick. I apologized again and asked Alex, the front desk clerk at the Ramada, if he stowed weapons behind the counter. He said no, not to worry, and assured me that everything was perfectly alright. We laughed and my shuttle arrived ten minutes later.
The desk clerk may not have been miffed, but the driver sure as hell didn't seem to be painted with sunshine and rainbows. He glared at me with these dark, mousy eyes and muttered something in Russian or Romanian and sped off before I even had the door shut. To dissuade him from driving me halfway across town, beating me bloody in a back alley with his transmitter, tying my bags as weights around my ankles and tossing me into the river, I handed him a generous tip as soon as I sat down. Still, he did not say anything for the entire ride. I kept poking in a few lines here and a couple of questions there, but he remained completely focused on the road ahead of him.
At the hotel, he did not open the door for me. Instead, he sort of pushed my bags toward me and then made a 'shooing' motion with his hands. I stood outside for a moment and laughed out loud, wondering what would become of me as soon as I walked in. I peered around the corner of the lobby and crouched down as I approached. My facial expression and body movements said it all and it was not more than three seconds before I was mocked and made fun of by the two men behind the counter.
"Ahhhhh, the infamous Ms. Johnson! You made it!"
"But are you still going to give me a room? THAT is the question."
"I don't know. You have proven yourself to be a difficult customer before even stepping one toe into the actual hotel."
"Yeah, I do tend to complicate things a bit."
Then I went on to blame all of my follies on the weather in Wisconsin, Northwest Airlines and the lack of signs at LaGuardia Airport. I'm sure it would have all been more believable had I not been engulfed in laughter with the two men behind the desk, but I suppose we shall never know.
To be continued...