Chickpeas and the Tale of Shiva

I can only remember missing a flight once in my life, and it was when my family and I went to Florida. Even looking back on that experience now, it isn’t really laughable since things seemed to work out all right. That is not to speak for the Texas flight debacle, as it is hilarious. Granted, it wasn’t funny at the time, but it’s hilarious now.

Our flight was to depart at 7:00am that morning. My boyfriend, Codec,  had been up since 4:00am and I was up an hour and a half later. I figured I could take my time since we live very close to the airport.  We discussed around 6:00am that we needed to leave now. Neither of us were ready. I threw on some clothes and my coat and threw the rest of my items in my bag. Essentially, it wasn’t enough since we didn’t leave until 6:30am. Of course, we didn’t check in online the night before, like idiots. Clearly this was our shining moment as a couple.

I have officially been up since 5:30am and am tired and pissed. I was going to check luggage, but could not do this and had to remove the shit in my duffel that was more than three ounces. We should have run; it makes sense to run. Unless it feels like 30 degrees outside and you’re fucking wearing flip flops; I just so happened to be wearing fucking flip flops. This made sense at the time I was slipping them on, since you know, shoe bombs are so popular that you need to have your shoes x-rayed. Thanks, terrorists. So, we walk fast; Codec is practically carrying all the bags. We’re seriously hoping that we make it some how.

Once we get to the self check in, the woman at the counter proceeds to inform us that we’ve missed our flight. In my cranky mind, I’m thinking, Thanks, captain. This is the point where I expected things to go as they did on that trip to Florida with my family, where the airline puts you and stand by and such. No such luck. Instead those bitches had us running from counter to counter, trying to get a flight with the other airlines – something that would cost us about $1200. Hell no.  We po! I’m biting my tongue, by now. I should be on the plane sleeping my crankiness away, not running a fucking marathon in an airport. I’m sure we both looked really funny doing this, too.

Finally we get back to the counter, and the ladies start trying to get us on a different flight so that we do not have to pay $1200. Something they should have done in the first place. As they’re doing this, I take a comment card and begin to fill it out in my sleep deprived, cranky state of mind. They want to put us on standby for a later connecting flight after the first flight, instead of putting us on the earlier flight with seats. Uh, why? I promise this would later work. I’m scribbling furiously. The comment card (which I have saved), looks like this:

*Name of Airline*

Your comments are important to us. . . Please let us know how Boise is doing!

If our employees have met, exceeded or failed to meet your expectations, please complete the form below and drop it off at the Special Service Deak, mail it to us, or send us an e-mail.

Remarks: I’ve never met an airline staffed with such rude people. We’d missed our flights and were made to run to different counters to get a flight before you decided to rebook us. Comments were inappropriate.

Name: Sarah

Telephone/E-mail Address: my e-mail address here

e-mail: BOIcustomercare@airlinename.com

Verbatim. It’s seems funny to me now because I was so pissed about having to run to the counter. I’m pretty sure airlines DO NOT have/need to rebook passengers like us. I also NEVER sent it in. Sleep deprivation makes me angrier than usual, and seriously the ladies there got us on at flight – set for 1:30pm. Not bad. We went home and laid in bed for a bit, then went for some brunch, which wound up just being breakfast. It was decent, and I wasn’t going to complain – I’d already dome my share of that.

We head to the airport and make it through security with no trouble. Neither of us look like terrorists, nor do we carry terrorist items on us. We get to the gate and immediately I’m thinking about making that early flight with open seats, so I go to get information on what gate it will be at and what gate we’ll be landing at. My good mood was temporary when I find that our flight to Phoenix, Arizona is delayed by a half hour. We won’t make the earlier flight. My immediate thought is, Is there a legal issue with slapping a pilot? We just have to deal, but I’m stressing. The flight we’re going to catch in Phoenix is full, and we’ll have barely ten minutes to make the early flight even though the gates are right next to each other. I’m figuring we’re fucked, and I keep hearing Codec tell me that we can just stay the night in Phoenix and what not.

I’ve been to Phoenix once before, and I was not particularly impressed. The people are rude as hell there. I despise Phoenix and am hellbent on not staying the night. Very hellbent. I don’t hate Arizona, just Phoenix. The people in Flagstaff are wonderful, and had we been flying into Flagstaff, I’d be down with spending the night if we had to. There are no available seats on any of the airlines on ANY websites on my iPhone. Our only options are to hope that two people are kind enough to miss their flight or give us their seats, or we stay the night in Phoenix, or try to drive to Austin, Texas. The last option is completely out of the question when I mapquest.com it. Go on and look it up. You’ll see why.

Once in Phoenix, we realize there is no hope of any early flight as we landed at a completely different gate. We make our way to the gate where we’ll be waiting on standby. The lady tells Codec there’s a flight to San Antonio. Bonus. That’s about an hour and a half away! I try to change the rental reservations for the car, with no luck as San Antonio has no car for our particular company. I cancel the reservations and book with another company for $400. It’s basically a $150 fee to pick the car up in San Antonio and drop it off in Austin. I cringed as I thought about the dicking his card was about to anally receive. I was reminded that it was better than paying $1200. We’re flying into San Antonio – it was our best option.

At this point, Codec and I decide we need food. We head to the closest place with food smells coming from it. We split nachos and I get my first alcoholic drink in months. I order a beer. Generally I don’t drink, but damn it, I wanted one. I order a Stella Atrois. The glass is huge and by the time we leave, I have finished my beer and am buzzed. I now feel it is a great time to get souvenirs. I bought a coffee mug, and a zipper pull with Codec’s name on it for him, and a lollipop with a scorpion in it. Once seated I proceed to eat my scorpion lolli. This turns out to be a disgusting venture after I bite into the pop and eat a portion of the scorpion. I’ve eaten enough bugs in my time to know that an insect or arachnid will taste like whatever it ate last. This tasted like shredded wheat and shit. Not my particular flavor combo, and I am confused by this. I remembered eating a lolli with a meal worm in it and it was good. I throw out the rest of the scorpion and buy a cinnamon bun to get the taste of shredded shit wheat out of my mouth. I’m not impressed by the new food in my mouth, but it now longer tastes like shredded shit wheat. I am no longer buzzed, and am happy to be a little more in control of myself. (My main reason for not drinking. I’m also a serious light weight – the only people I could out drink are Codec and babies. Codec does not, in fact, drink.)

I am afraid of flying. If the plane dips too much to the side, I’m immediately convinced we’ll crash. I like living for the most part. The majority of the way, the flight goes well. Then we come to the landing. It was a particularly rough landing and the pilot seemed intent to hit every fucking bump on the runway designed to keep the plane from going off course. I’m thinking, So when do pilots get to fly drunk?! I am not happy and just want the plane to stop so I don’t lose my chewy bar. I’m not a frequent flier, and this landing didn’t even turn out to be the worst. We get off the plane, and one of the passengers makes a smart ass remark to the pilot about his landing. I smile as I feel some justice.

It starts to seem like things are going well as we get the rental car, punch in the directions on my navigator, and get on the road. We shouldn’t have fooled ourselves. We get on the 410 heading out of San Antonio and immediately see that it is under construction. I seems as though no one is working, but there WAS a POLICE truck with flashing lights on the left shoulder. I begin to laugh. Seriously, a police truck, it was the coolest and most country thing I’d ever seen. We thus begin to sing the theme song to Walker, Texas Ranger. If you have been underprivileged to never see this show, then I shall explain. Chuck Norris plays a Texas Ranger who basically drives a big truck instead of a cop car. I seriously thought this was only fiction. The theme song is as follows:

In the eyes of a ranger,
The unsuspecting stranger
Had better know the truth of wrong from right,
’cause the eyes of a ranger are upon you,
Any wrong you do he’s gonna see,
When you’re in Texas look behind you,
’cause that’s where the rangers are gonna be

We now have to get off the highway due to construction. Good thing that there are roads in Texas that travel along the highway with entries every so often. That’s pretty smart, especially for visitors.  We eventually get on the highway to Austin, I-35. The hotel is in Downtown off of exit 237, or so my navigator says. We make it into Downtown, and I see the hotel off of exit 234b. This confuses me. There seems to be a parking garage in there, too. We drive on and exit at 237.

Upon exiting, I immediately think that we should have gotten off at 234b. I’m freaking. We’re lost. I’ve been let down by my nav system. I consider chucking the phone out of the window. We’re in a seriously ghetto neighborhood, and there’s a girl ahead. I’m not considering directions, as I’m sure she’s a hooker. We get close, and the Mexican prostitute nearly throws herself at our car.

Codec then says, ” Fuck me! Fuck me! Insurance will pay!” I laugh as I look up our hotel by name. We get back on the highway. Something seems wrong. I know we should be going to exit 234b, but we’re going in the wrong direction. I call the hotel and ask them what exit they’re off of. I’m right, it’s 234b. The navigator can’t find our hotel and was sending us to Round Rock. We find out that’s because there have been so many hotels in that one location, and no nav system recognizes the street name, so from now on to enter it in as 500 Sabine. Of course, that’s not helpful once you’re at the hotel. Either way, we made it, and did not have to scrape a Mexican prostitute off of our windshield, or get roundhouse kicked by a Chuck Norris wannabe in a police truck.