May tenth was the first escape from the humdrummery of my life in several years. I was traveling to Central Wisconsin for a celebration. A most happy occasion as a family/friend was celebrating retirement. Not a 100% retirement, but one close enough to say that if he and the Mrs. wanted to dash off to Canada or Outer Mongolia, they could.
The flight in, rental car pickup and the drive from Chicago to Central Wisconsin all went flawlessly. I flew on Southwest Airlines. An airline that has yet to treat me like I was cattle. The boarding went well; No hassles from TSA. It was just a picture perfect start of a mini-vacay.
The flight in, rental car pickup and the drive from Chicago to Central Wisconsin all went flawlessly. I flew on Southwest Airlines. An airline that has yet to treat me like I was cattle. The boarding went well; No hassles from TSA. It was just a picture perfect start of a mini-vacay.
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| My plane to Chicago |
The time came to go home Sunday afternoon. The morning breakfast with the family was fantastic. The long car ride was pleasant. I made a few stops along the way. The old bladder is not as robust as it once was. The rental return was pain-free. All seemed to be going well. I had TSA pre-check status… fantastic.
UNTIL they scanned my backpack.
Enter the square foil-covered package. I’m carrying...Cheese. Some of Wisconsin’s finest. Okay. A few minutes delay while TSA wipes down the outside of the package. I don’t know what they think they were going to find. Cheese is only explosive after you eat it. The cheese and I are reunited and were off to the gate. First, a quick quesadilla lunch in one of Midway’s food courts.
Right about then, the wheels started to wobble on this metaphorical cart (trip). The flight is delayed one hour. Ok. Not a problem. Then the flight was updated as delayed three hours. Grrr. Ok. Still not a problem. Flight cancelled. Son of a Buzzword. The wheels have fallen off. Not the plane, but the metaphorical cart. Now we have a problem.
All flights heading east that haven’t been cancelled are fully booked including stand-by. The earliest they can book is Monday night. Ferk that. I’m trapped. Stranded in Chicago. I start scrambling for a way home. The result was I took the Orange line to the Quincy stop. I’m headed to Union Station. I had a quick beer and a deep dish at Giordano’s, then dashed off to Union Station for a 19 hour Amtrak train ride in a private sleeper car to NYC on the Lake Shore Limited to see the sights of South Bend, Indiana. Ok, I was asleep when we passed through Indiana and Ohio. I did see Erie, Buffalo, Rochester, Syracuse, Utica, Schenectady and Albany, to name too many.
First, of the 19 hours on the train I spent more than half in my sleeper car; well, sleeping, napping, nodding off...you get the picture. The rest of the time was spent on the phone. Before I dive into that pool of poop, let’s talk about sleeper cars and sleeping on trains. I was beat. It had been a very long stressful travel day. By 10 pm, I was ready for Mr. Sandman. However the Senior citizens in my car (#4811) were in the hallway yakety-yak-yaking. Grrrr. I hate retirees. They finally went to bed and I finally dozed off under a very rocking and bumpy train ride. I didn’t sleep all that well. The bed was thin and as wide as a coffin and was meant for people no taller than 5’11”. I’m 6’. I had finally got into a deep, peaceful sleep about 5 minutes before the nice but very nasally voice of one of the dining car employees announced breakfast was being served. Yum. It was 7 a.m.
Breakfast was meh, at best. Lunch however was a surprisingly tasty cheese burger. The train forged on. When we got to Albany, NY, we paused. The train had to be split in two. I never heard of this before. What an unusual but practical way to run two trains at the same time. Chicago to Boston and Chicago to NYC. Like an earthworm, they cut it in half and one became two separate lines. The front of the train after a 45 minute layover went on its way to Beantown to see the Boosox. Go Yankees. The rest of us in the back had 30 more minutes to hang while they hooked up the ready, willing and able engine for the NY leg of this trip.
Phone calls: I spent much time on the phone with Petsmart, Southwest, Winner Parking and of course, my car dealership’s service department. I was supposed to pick up my repaired car today. Ain’t happening. If all works out, I have a ride lined up to pick me up at Trenton, take me to Petsmart, get kitty, take him home and board a SEPTA train to the airport to gather my luggage and car. We’ll see. Well a few hours later we’re pulling into Penn Station without problems. My problem was I needed to dash off the train as soon as the doors opened and sprint up the stairs to the NJ Transit kiosks to buy yet another ticket for yet another leg of this long weekend live performance of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. I got my ticket. Found my track and got on. You can guess it. If time was of the essence (Ugh, I hate to use hackneyed phrases like that but <shoulder shrug> ), the heart that needed to get to the hospital for the transplant would have expired. I was on the local to Trenton for 95 minutes. Of all the trains! Dammit. I missed the Express (63 minutes) by 5 minutes. I’m staring out the window at the Princeton Junction platform and still have several stops and about a half hour to go. It’s now 8:05 pm. I have until 9 pm to get the cat from Petsmart. My luggage is looking like I may never see it again at this point. And I’ll be paying another day’s rent on the car at Winner Airport Parking. And dinner! I haven’t had dinner yet. I’m starvin’, Marvin!
UNTIL they scanned my backpack.
Enter the square foil-covered package. I’m carrying...Cheese. Some of Wisconsin’s finest. Okay. A few minutes delay while TSA wipes down the outside of the package. I don’t know what they think they were going to find. Cheese is only explosive after you eat it. The cheese and I are reunited and were off to the gate. First, a quick quesadilla lunch in one of Midway’s food courts.
Right about then, the wheels started to wobble on this metaphorical cart (trip). The flight is delayed one hour. Ok. Not a problem. Then the flight was updated as delayed three hours. Grrr. Ok. Still not a problem. Flight cancelled. Son of a Buzzword. The wheels have fallen off. Not the plane, but the metaphorical cart. Now we have a problem.
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| My train to NYC |
All flights heading east that haven’t been cancelled are fully booked including stand-by. The earliest they can book is Monday night. Ferk that. I’m trapped. Stranded in Chicago. I start scrambling for a way home. The result was I took the Orange line to the Quincy stop. I’m headed to Union Station. I had a quick beer and a deep dish at Giordano’s, then dashed off to Union Station for a 19 hour Amtrak train ride in a private sleeper car to NYC on the Lake Shore Limited to see the sights of South Bend, Indiana. Ok, I was asleep when we passed through Indiana and Ohio. I did see Erie, Buffalo, Rochester, Syracuse, Utica, Schenectady and Albany, to name too many.
First, of the 19 hours on the train I spent more than half in my sleeper car; well, sleeping, napping, nodding off...you get the picture. The rest of the time was spent on the phone. Before I dive into that pool of poop, let’s talk about sleeper cars and sleeping on trains. I was beat. It had been a very long stressful travel day. By 10 pm, I was ready for Mr. Sandman. However the Senior citizens in my car (#4811) were in the hallway yakety-yak-yaking. Grrrr. I hate retirees. They finally went to bed and I finally dozed off under a very rocking and bumpy train ride. I didn’t sleep all that well. The bed was thin and as wide as a coffin and was meant for people no taller than 5’11”. I’m 6’. I had finally got into a deep, peaceful sleep about 5 minutes before the nice but very nasally voice of one of the dining car employees announced breakfast was being served. Yum. It was 7 a.m.
Breakfast was meh, at best. Lunch however was a surprisingly tasty cheese burger. The train forged on. When we got to Albany, NY, we paused. The train had to be split in two. I never heard of this before. What an unusual but practical way to run two trains at the same time. Chicago to Boston and Chicago to NYC. Like an earthworm, they cut it in half and one became two separate lines. The front of the train after a 45 minute layover went on its way to Beantown to see the Boosox. Go Yankees. The rest of us in the back had 30 more minutes to hang while they hooked up the ready, willing and able engine for the NY leg of this trip.
Phone calls: I spent much time on the phone with Petsmart, Southwest, Winner Parking and of course, my car dealership’s service department. I was supposed to pick up my repaired car today. Ain’t happening. If all works out, I have a ride lined up to pick me up at Trenton, take me to Petsmart, get kitty, take him home and board a SEPTA train to the airport to gather my luggage and car. We’ll see. Well a few hours later we’re pulling into Penn Station without problems. My problem was I needed to dash off the train as soon as the doors opened and sprint up the stairs to the NJ Transit kiosks to buy yet another ticket for yet another leg of this long weekend live performance of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. I got my ticket. Found my track and got on. You can guess it. If time was of the essence (Ugh, I hate to use hackneyed phrases like that but <shoulder shrug> ), the heart that needed to get to the hospital for the transplant would have expired. I was on the local to Trenton for 95 minutes. Of all the trains! Dammit. I missed the Express (63 minutes) by 5 minutes. I’m staring out the window at the Princeton Junction platform and still have several stops and about a half hour to go. It’s now 8:05 pm. I have until 9 pm to get the cat from Petsmart. My luggage is looking like I may never see it again at this point. And I’ll be paying another day’s rent on the car at Winner Airport Parking. And dinner! I haven’t had dinner yet. I’m starvin’, Marvin!
We made it to Petsmart with a few minutes to spare. Kitty was making his usually pissed-off-I-don't-want-to-be-in-the-carrier noises. Five minutes later he was home and breathing a sigh of relief.
The Mother's Day Travel Massacre was not yet over. However, I gave up the ghost. I was just too damn tired. My BFF was so kind to pick me up, pick up my cat and drop said cat home. Under her protestations, she drove me to the Woodbourne train station. All the while saying, "You should just do this tomorrow." She was right. I owe her at least two dinners with drinks. The train wasn't due for another half hour. We incorrectly thought the train was due in five minutes. But then, the train monitor started to report that train was late. First, five minutes, and then ten minutes. I thought, Oh, no. Not again. I calculated that by time the train arrived it would be almost 10:30 pm. An hour ride to 30th St station makes it 11:30 pm. Then a 20 minute wait for the train to PHL and a 40 minute ride to there, 12:30 am. If I could find my bags, probably anywhere from 10 minutes to infinity, then contact Winner Airport parking, wait for them to arrive anywhere between 10 minutes to half an hour, so, if you are doing the math, add an hour ride home. If I was lucky and all went as planned as it all too often does not, I'd get in somewhere between 2-3 am. I haven't eaten since Noon. I haven't showered since yesterday morning. I haven't done a bunch of stuff that I should have and I still might not have luggage. So, I gave up.
I called an Uber. He arrived within 8 minutes. I was home in about 10. I collected 4 days of useless mail. I ate a microwaved breakfast sandwich. I gave kitty a few minutes of TLC. He's a little pissed at me over the whole sending him to prison aka Petsmart Pet Hotel. He didn't have as good a time as I did...or did he? Now, off to the shower and then bed. I decided to deal with the rest tomorrow morning.
Tuesday’s Plan, though it felt like a Monday because Sunday seemed to go on for days:
I woke early Tuesday morning to a cat licking my arm and the notion that I had forgotten something. I did. I hadn’t submitted my time for work last week. Ooops! Might not see a paycheck this week. Damn Southwest. I got myself together, called for an Uber and this nice young woman drove me to the airport. My luggage, along with 300 other bags, was waiting to be claimed. I claimed mine. I called the Winner Parking car park guys. I waited 15 minutes for the loaner car to arrive, tipped the guy $5 (is that too much or too little?), jumped in and tore out of the airport. I made great time to the dealership to exchange cars. I hit the turnpike to get to work. Making great time on both I-95 and the PA turnpike, I arrived at work by 10:30 am.
The end of the travel nightmare. It felt like I already put in a full day.
Even though, the battle was lost. The war has just begun. Financially, this trip cost me twice what it should have due to the extra unplanned expenses and lost wages. Vicious email and poor Yelp reviews will commence. To be followed up with demands for investigation of malfeasance, skullduggery, pandering, and collusion by a Republican backed coup on my long (really long) weekend. I shall not relent. The game was afoot and I intend to plant a foot into somebody’s keister before I fly Southwest again. The gauntlet has been removed and thrown asunder. Now we shall see who will have the cajones to pick it up and take the challenge. Babble, babble, babble, nonsense, nonsense, some more metaphors and outdated colloquialisms and a grandiose attempt at giving a damn about humanity and finally, “and the same goes for your mother. Ya bastads!” Heed my warning! It’s not safe in the air or on the land, mateys.
Whew! Didn’t think I’d get that out before I blew a fuse.
Also, a special ha-ha note: The people who did accept the booking for the 9:05 pm flight Monday were in a 3 hour delay when I checked when I got home. It meant, if they were lucky, they’d get to PHL by 3-3:30 am. Those poor bastards were still stuck in Chicago. However, the 10:30 pm flight was still on time. Maybe some of them will get relief, but don't count on it. They'll probably be there forever in the Chicago Midway Airport Twilight Zone. Cue Rod Serling. The moral is I should not travel…EVER! I like traveling but traveling doesn’t like me. I always seem to run into these strange situations.
Well, goodnight and good ‘morrow, friends. Until next time, TTFN.
The Mother's Day Travel Massacre was not yet over. However, I gave up the ghost. I was just too damn tired. My BFF was so kind to pick me up, pick up my cat and drop said cat home. Under her protestations, she drove me to the Woodbourne train station. All the while saying, "You should just do this tomorrow." She was right. I owe her at least two dinners with drinks. The train wasn't due for another half hour. We incorrectly thought the train was due in five minutes. But then, the train monitor started to report that train was late. First, five minutes, and then ten minutes. I thought, Oh, no. Not again. I calculated that by time the train arrived it would be almost 10:30 pm. An hour ride to 30th St station makes it 11:30 pm. Then a 20 minute wait for the train to PHL and a 40 minute ride to there, 12:30 am. If I could find my bags, probably anywhere from 10 minutes to infinity, then contact Winner Airport parking, wait for them to arrive anywhere between 10 minutes to half an hour, so, if you are doing the math, add an hour ride home. If I was lucky and all went as planned as it all too often does not, I'd get in somewhere between 2-3 am. I haven't eaten since Noon. I haven't showered since yesterday morning. I haven't done a bunch of stuff that I should have and I still might not have luggage. So, I gave up.
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| My ride home. Planes, Trains and Automobiles! |
Tuesday’s Plan, though it felt like a Monday because Sunday seemed to go on for days:
I woke early Tuesday morning to a cat licking my arm and the notion that I had forgotten something. I did. I hadn’t submitted my time for work last week. Ooops! Might not see a paycheck this week. Damn Southwest. I got myself together, called for an Uber and this nice young woman drove me to the airport. My luggage, along with 300 other bags, was waiting to be claimed. I claimed mine. I called the Winner Parking car park guys. I waited 15 minutes for the loaner car to arrive, tipped the guy $5 (is that too much or too little?), jumped in and tore out of the airport. I made great time to the dealership to exchange cars. I hit the turnpike to get to work. Making great time on both I-95 and the PA turnpike, I arrived at work by 10:30 am.
The end of the travel nightmare. It felt like I already put in a full day.
Even though, the battle was lost. The war has just begun. Financially, this trip cost me twice what it should have due to the extra unplanned expenses and lost wages. Vicious email and poor Yelp reviews will commence. To be followed up with demands for investigation of malfeasance, skullduggery, pandering, and collusion by a Republican backed coup on my long (really long) weekend. I shall not relent. The game was afoot and I intend to plant a foot into somebody’s keister before I fly Southwest again. The gauntlet has been removed and thrown asunder. Now we shall see who will have the cajones to pick it up and take the challenge. Babble, babble, babble, nonsense, nonsense, some more metaphors and outdated colloquialisms and a grandiose attempt at giving a damn about humanity and finally, “and the same goes for your mother. Ya bastads!” Heed my warning! It’s not safe in the air or on the land, mateys.
Whew! Didn’t think I’d get that out before I blew a fuse.
Also, a special ha-ha note: The people who did accept the booking for the 9:05 pm flight Monday were in a 3 hour delay when I checked when I got home. It meant, if they were lucky, they’d get to PHL by 3-3:30 am. Those poor bastards were still stuck in Chicago. However, the 10:30 pm flight was still on time. Maybe some of them will get relief, but don't count on it. They'll probably be there forever in the Chicago Midway Airport Twilight Zone. Cue Rod Serling. The moral is I should not travel…EVER! I like traveling but traveling doesn’t like me. I always seem to run into these strange situations.
Well, goodnight and good ‘morrow, friends. Until next time, TTFN.
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