Entry 289: Instant Calamity

You have heard of the John Lennon song "Instant Karma?"  Well, my trip to Joplin, Missouri, for my cousin's wedding was something a bit different: Instant Calamity.  I had a thing happened to me at the airport that I had never even heard of happening to anybody: My flight was canceled on my way from security to the gate.  I was walking down one of those super long corridors you find at big airports, and in the distance I noticed an usually long line at the service kiosk at what looked to be my gate.  I suspected this was not a good thing, and then I knew for sure when a buzz in my pocket revealed a text saying that my flight had been canceled for "maintenance" -- not delayed, outright canceled.  I stopped in my tracks glanced back up at the formidable (and growing) queue, and thought to myself, "Shit.  What now?"



A fellow traveler -- some random middle-aged woman -- must have noticed me and read my body language, because she approached me and asked if I was booked on the flight to Chicago that just got canceled.  I said I was.  We commiserated for a few beats and then started shuffling unenthusiastically toward our old gate, which had quickly descended, it appeared, into full-fledged chaos.  Luckily, however, a friendly twentysomething bro overheard our conversation and gave us the heads up to go to the main United customer service kiosk at the other end of the concourse because they had more service agents and the line was shorter.  So that's what we did.  Before too long I was speaking face-to-face with a United service rep.

United was willing to fly me out on any flight that had an opening, but there were not many options.  My final destination was the Springfield-Branson Airport, which is not exactly LAX is terms of traveler throughput.  (I later drove to this airport, giving myself plenty of time to account for traffic, before realizing it's more likely to be delayed by cattle crossing than other cars.)  All flights had me arriving after 9:30 p.m., which meant I would miss the rehearsal dinner (starting at 6:00), and I would have to spend all day in the airport.  The thought of each of these outcomes was extremely disheartening.

Feeling more and more defeated with each flight option arriving later than the next, I started thinking about surrounding airports.  I thought I remembered hearing about Joplin having its own little airport, so I asked the service rep about it, and she clacked a button, "No sir. There is no airport in Joplin."  (The funny thing, in retrospect, is that there is an airport in Joplin -- a bunch of my relatives used it.)  Next, I looked on my phone to get an approximate drive time from Kansas City to Joplin -- about three hours.  Long, but doable.  I asked about Kansas City.  She tapped some more buttons and said, "There's one that arrives in KC at 2:40 pm."

"Book it!"

She did, and I turned and started to walk away, and then turned back: "Wait ... what about my luggage?"
"Oh ... You got luggage?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm ... Okay, I guess can put in a transfer request."
"Request?"
"Yeah, it's just something we put in the system to do a transfer."
"But you said 'request'... It will get to Kansas City for sure, right?"
"Yes.  It should."
"Should?"
"Yes sir, it should... Oh, and sir, here's a meal voucher for your troubles."

It was the least confidence-inspiring assurance I've ever received.  I was certain my suitcase was going to end up on a baggage carousel in an abandoned airport outside Butts, Missouri -- but what could I do?  The voucher was worth $7.

To complicate things, I was supposed to meet my parents in Springfield and drive them in my rental car to Joplin.  Now not only did I have to change that reservation, I had to book myself a car in KC.  The former was relatively easy; the latter was more complicated than it might sound, because a) my flight was leaving soon, b) the woman at Dollar Rental Car was fighting me over returning the car to a different city than it was rented (my return flight didn't change -- it was still out of Springfield), c) she had an accent, which, with the cell reception, made her very difficult for me to understand, d) I was hungry and irritable.  It wasn't until I threatened to call one of her "competitors" that she finally acquiesced -- while charging me a hefty fee, of course.  I was not really in a position to argue, so I just agreed and finalized the reservation.  I then hustled across the walkway, bought a sandwich, and then hurried to my new gate and onto the plane.

I instantly decompressed into my plane seat.  It was an intense hour-long scramble, but now I had nothing to do but sit for a few hours.  I looked out the window, and in one of those seemingly insignificant, but actually quite remarkable bits of happenstance, I saw my bag going up the conveyor belt into the belly of the plane.  "Wow," I thought, "I might just pull this off."  I put my hand in my pocket and felt the meal voucher.  I didn't even remember to use it.

The rest of my trip to Joplin was pleasantly uneventful.  My new flights were on time, my luggage did in fact arrive at the correct destination, the rental car transaction was easy, and the drive from Kansas City to Joplin was completely devoid of the heavy traffic I'm used to in traveling the Eastern seaboard.  I arrived at my hotel about ten to six and literally bumped into my Uncle J in the lobby.  He was on his way to the dinner with a group of a half dozen family members.  I said some harried hellos, and then hustled to check in.  As I was leaving, my uncle pulled me aside and said, "Clean yourself up.  Take a shower."  I couldn't tell if he was being overly affable, or if I really did need to bathe, so I bolted to my room, took a "navy shower," slapped on some deodorant and clean clothes, and then found my parents' room.  They hadn't left yet, so we were able to go to the dinner together.  This was one time when my mom's general leniency toward punctuality worked in my favor.

The dinner was nice -- so was the ceremony, and the reception for that matter.  Weddings are kind of like dreams in that they aren't interesting unless they involve you, so I'll just hit the tangential highlights.

• My cousin's husband is from Arkansas, so the wedding had a bit of a Southern feel to it.  (In fact, I think Joplin should have a new slogan: Welcome to Joplin, Missouri: Where the Midwest meets the South)  My cousin is also relatively young, 25ish, and if you combine these two things -- Southern and young -- you end up surrounded by a bunch of "kids" who look like they are 15, but all have wedding rings on. 
• It was a Catholic ceremony (I'm surprised this is still allowed, I mean, with the War on Christianity, and all), so there was a fair amount of scripture reading and prayers.  I never bow my head or close my eyes when asked to pray.  It's my own little pointless protest -- although every now and then I make eye contact with another non-believer and give a knowing nod.
• Between the ceremony and reception a group of us got ice cream.  There were two cars going, so my dad and my cousin's wife coordinated the location.  The problem is that they put in the wrong address for the ice cream shop -- it's a local chain and they put in the address for location B, thinking it was the address for location A -- so the Maps app on the iPhone started taking us in the "wrong" direction (away from A, toward B).  We realized we were going the wrong way, so we turned around and found location A on our own.  After that everybody (by which I mean mainly just my uncle) made fun of the Maps app and refused to believe it for the rest of the trip.  But the app actually had it right.  We were the ones who had it wrong.  
• One good thing about taking the wrong route is that I got to see a bit of Joplin (get your kicks on Route 66).  You probably recall that it was devastated by a tornado four years ago, and the signs of the wreckage are definitely still present (there is a sizable treeless strip cutting through the city), but it's remarkable how much of it is rebuilt with new houses and businesses.  Humans are pretty resilient, when we need to be.  (My uncle's and aunt's house was not in the strike zone, thankfully.)
• At the reception venue, the locks on the bathrooms didn't work properly -- after they clicked you had to turn them once more to get them to lock -- so people kept walking in on other people peeing.  I was one of the first -- I opened the door and was surprised to find it already occupied by a young woman with her dress hiked up, sitting on the john.  (My immediate reaction was one of repulsion, so I guess I don't have a pee fetish.)  I said, "whoops!," and she said "sorry!" and I closed the door and fled the scene.  I'm not quite sure, why she was apologizing.  It was a bit embarrassing, but I don't think either of us really got a good look at the other one.
• After the reception, my cousins and I met at the hotel bar.  It was fun, until this drunk dude spoiled it.  Some guy who was somehow related to my cousin's husband decided to join us ("Hey ... Y'all are from the wedding, right?"); he was annoyingly drunk, and probably not somebody whose company I would enjoy even if he was sober.  His topics of conversation consisted primarily of: a) his arsenal ("My ex-wife got my sniper rifle in the settlement, but she don't know about my grenades."); b) his hatred for Bill Clinton, perhaps oblivious to the fact Clinton's gubernatorial term in Arkansas ended 23 years ago ("He is not what Arkansas needs right now!"); the windows at his old house ("I'm still $2,000 in debt on those damn windows, and I don't even live there no more."); and his divorce proceedings ("I saw the bill for my lawyer, and thought 'Shit, I'm better off just paying her directly'").  At first he was kind of entertaining, but like all drunken fools, he quickly became unbearable.  For the better half of the night, I just wanted him to leave, but he wasn't budging.  As a nice little added "bonus," when he final wore us out, and we decided to turn in, he gave my cousin C a very creepy hug -- one of those from-behind, over-the-head-hugs (my cousin was sitting, he was standing) where the forearm slides down a little to close for comfort.  He was a real peach.
• As I was walking back to my room, I overheard one of the other wedding attendees -- a guy who was somehow drunker and more idiotic than the guy at the bar -- using the n-word.  When I turned the corner, and he realized I had probably heard him, he got embarrassed, and his wife scolded him -- "You know you can't use that word!  That's offensive!" -- but you can't unring that bell.

Pretty much everybody cleared out of Joplin the following afternoon, Sunday, but I had to drive to a hotel in Springfield and fly out early Monday morning (I had a 5:00 a.m. flight).  We used S's miles to book my ticket, but in order to do so, the options were limited.  The flight out Monday morning was significantly cheaper -- like several hundred dollars cheaper -- than anything on Sunday, even accounting for the extra night at a hotel.  The Springfield airport is tiny, and it's in the middle of nowhere, so there wasn't much to do but chill out in my hotel room.  I watched some interesting videos on YouTube (free, fast wi-fi at least); I ate at the only diner in the vicinity (one of those places where the waitress hacks and wheezes and calls you "hon," your entire meal costs $9.00 with tip, and everybody else in there, staff and other patrons alike, is seemingly coated in a thin layer of grease); and I watched the Cavs beat the Warriors in the NBA finals (unreal performance by LeBron).  

[The menu from the restaurant.  I stayed away from the "Oriental Food."  Somehow I just didn't think it would be very authentic.] 

Everything was going fine until ...

*Buzz*

"Your flight to Chicago (UA931) is canceled due to weather."

Sigh ...

I had never had a flight canceled on me before, and now I had two in three days -- unreal.  I checked the weather online, just to make sure that this wasn't some sort of mistake, but indeed storm icons were covering the Chicago area.  I called United to rebook.  They were not nearly as accommodating this time, because since inclement weather, unlike maintenance, is not their fault, they will only rebook you on one of their pre-approved carriers.  This meant I either had to fly through Chicago on a flight that had not been canceled (yet), which I didn't want to do for obvious reasons, or fly through Denver in the evening, which I also didn't want to do, because that mean I would have to wait all day in Springfield to fly halfway across the country in the opposite direction to get on a flight that would arrive on in D.C. in the middle of the night.  That made no sense.  So after getting nowhere with a service rep I asked to speak to a manager.  

When the manager got on the line I launched into a travel-weary, semi-coherent, half-suppliant, half-aggressive plea.  I don't remember exactly what I said, I just remember I was frustrated, and I was spitting out everything that happened to me over the past few days as fast as I could.  If was part service call and part cathartic rant.  I finished with, "I know the weather isn't your fault.  But what I'm asking is that, in these extraordinary circumstances, you get me on a flight from Springfield to Dulles that arrives at a reasonable hour and doesn't go through Chicago.  I don't care how -- just do it. Dulles is a huge airport; I know there are other flights that go there.  I don't care what airline or what your business agreement is with them.  Just get me on.  That's what I'm asking you.  This is a good chance for you guys to keep a customer."

"Huh," is all I got in response.  

[A few pics of the Springfield Airport.  Yes, they are open.]  

But she did in fact switch my ticket to a flight through Atlanta.  I finally got into Dulles around 5:30 p.m., and I was home by 7:00.  I had to miss another day of work, but it was not so terrible, all things considered.  It could have been worse.  When I got home, I hugged S and Lil' S until they pushed me away.  I was only gone three days, but it longer, much longer.

Until next time ...