More vacation stories
You can find more fun moments from our family vacation at my sister's blog (the June 26 entry). She has a way of capturing verbal snapshots that outdoes my descriptions.
And, for your entertainment, the saga of the Amazing Atlanta Airport Steeplechase for Passengers:
We are flying blithely over the south on our way from Salt Lake City to Atlanta when we hear an apparently harmless message from the pilot: "Ladies and gentlemen, due to thunderstorms in the Atlanta area we have been asked to enter a temporary holding pattern although we are approximately 560 miles from the airport. Our arrival should still be in time for those of you who need to meet connecting flights." I haven't looked at my ticket recently, so I think nothing of it as we cut a wide aerial circle somewhere over Tennessee.
As we approach Atlanta, I (the inexperienced flyer) finally look at my ticket and realize The Problem: without delays, I have 45 minutes from landing to next take-off. And this airport has four terminals. And breathe a sigh of relief: my next flight departs only one gate over from my landing gate.
I take refuge in this happy thought as my connection time shrinks... 30 minutes... 20 minutes. At long last we touch down, and those of us in the plane's back rows (is that where they send people who buy from Priceline?) watch a hundred or so passengers slowly file off in front of us. About 6 of us look at each other, compare notes, and the realization dawns: we have to make the same flight. In 20 minutes or less. We Are a Team. (Cue Nike ad music here.)
We hit the terminal only to realize The New Problem: our departing flight has been moved—two terminals away. The race is on. Sprinting up the terminal, racing down the escalator, swiftly calculating where the shortest lines to the shuttle are, jumping on. By this time the Navy captain next to me is making snide remarks about Delta refreshments and the little old guy at the end of the shuttle is comparing us to reality show contestants. Shuttle door opens. We race around the corner to the up-escalator and stop in horror. The escalator has stopped. 80 steps reach quietly up into the distance. Take deep breath, hit the stairs, 30-pound bag on back. Reach the top, calf muscles quivering. Navy captain takes his wife’s bag and she rushes ahead, calling back to us, “I’ll tell them to wait for you!” Come around another corner looking for gate B04 and realize that gates count, not up like any sensible person would devise, but down, starting at 18. B04 is hardly visible. Race down long hallway, bag bouncing. Finally reach the gate. Nice man scans my ticket and says, “You made it!” I nearly collapse over his console, gasping out the words: “The escalator … was broken…”
The next morning I slept till about noon in my little beach bedroom. (Hey, it was 9 a.m. California time, so I figure it was fair.)
And, for your entertainment, the saga of the Amazing Atlanta Airport Steeplechase for Passengers:
We are flying blithely over the south on our way from Salt Lake City to Atlanta when we hear an apparently harmless message from the pilot: "Ladies and gentlemen, due to thunderstorms in the Atlanta area we have been asked to enter a temporary holding pattern although we are approximately 560 miles from the airport. Our arrival should still be in time for those of you who need to meet connecting flights." I haven't looked at my ticket recently, so I think nothing of it as we cut a wide aerial circle somewhere over Tennessee.
As we approach Atlanta, I (the inexperienced flyer) finally look at my ticket and realize The Problem: without delays, I have 45 minutes from landing to next take-off. And this airport has four terminals. And breathe a sigh of relief: my next flight departs only one gate over from my landing gate.
I take refuge in this happy thought as my connection time shrinks... 30 minutes... 20 minutes. At long last we touch down, and those of us in the plane's back rows (is that where they send people who buy from Priceline?) watch a hundred or so passengers slowly file off in front of us. About 6 of us look at each other, compare notes, and the realization dawns: we have to make the same flight. In 20 minutes or less. We Are a Team. (Cue Nike ad music here.)
We hit the terminal only to realize The New Problem: our departing flight has been moved—two terminals away. The race is on. Sprinting up the terminal, racing down the escalator, swiftly calculating where the shortest lines to the shuttle are, jumping on. By this time the Navy captain next to me is making snide remarks about Delta refreshments and the little old guy at the end of the shuttle is comparing us to reality show contestants. Shuttle door opens. We race around the corner to the up-escalator and stop in horror. The escalator has stopped. 80 steps reach quietly up into the distance. Take deep breath, hit the stairs, 30-pound bag on back. Reach the top, calf muscles quivering. Navy captain takes his wife’s bag and she rushes ahead, calling back to us, “I’ll tell them to wait for you!” Come around another corner looking for gate B04 and realize that gates count, not up like any sensible person would devise, but down, starting at 18. B04 is hardly visible. Race down long hallway, bag bouncing. Finally reach the gate. Nice man scans my ticket and says, “You made it!” I nearly collapse over his console, gasping out the words: “The escalator … was broken…”
The next morning I slept till about noon in my little beach bedroom. (Hey, it was 9 a.m. California time, so I figure it was fair.)
2 Comments:
Hey, at least you made it! Congrats! Everyone has to have at least one harrowing airport tale, I think. I have one of my own that I am saving up... Perhaps I shall type it in now. :)
hey, at least you didn't have to go through the Hungarian/Romanian border with some way incredibly good-looking dude looking over your passport and totally mangling your name as you try desperately not to laugh so that he'll let you into the country ...
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