Let It Snow

It used to be so glamorous to me. The idea of looking business-like, laptop-saddled, cell phone cradled — striding through the airport with purpose. Arriving at the destination, ordering dinner and hunkering down with said laptop for an evening alone in a hotel in a strange city. Waking to use the gym ammenity with time left to shower, primp and prepare for a day of meetings. Yea. It did.

But today it was reality. The truth that there are girls to leave and a hubby to strand. And the other reality that snowstorms hit the Rockies with a speed and severity that should be familiar by now. And yet. So when I woke to multiple inches, I tried my best to swallow back the cold fear I have at the prospect of steering the Volvo through the weather to then catch a plane that must be de-iced. I used to be so much braver.

What I really wanted was to stay in, make a second latte and look at the Christmas tree. Instead, I plowed through the fluffy white inches to join the masses putting along to somewhere. The drive wasn’t horrible and now I’m a big fan of the E-470 Expressway and EXpressToll transponder. Almost like having a private highway. So I had some of my lost mojo reignited. I had also thought to check parking stats online before departing. The news that there was still garage space gave me hope. Yet as I approached (finally!), that had changed and with it my mood. Econ parking in a snowstorm. (Why didn’t I hire that car and driver!) Cursing and such lead me straight to a guy brushing off ten inches covering his car. A quick inquiry, friendly exchange and I had a spot, right up front. (Hope restored.) So far so good. The trek to the terminal was mostly covered. And relatively short.

Then I reach security. And it hits me. In my haste to pack for one (oh glorious lack of planning!) I had completely spaced the 3oz. liquid rules. My bag was full of the pricey hair and skin products that I can’t resist. I had already self-checked in and the line stretching through the ropes, Disneyland-like to check bags was not going to work. So I was left with purchasing travel bottles on the fly encased in a clear plastic bag set to airline restrictions — emptying the contents of my beloved products (read: vices) just outside of the now longer security lines. I was now sweating profusely and my impending departure time loomed. I decided to try to squeak by my most heavily relied upon product — volumizer — even though it was an ounce over limit. (There’s absolutely no way to transfer a spray hair product into a travel- approved container!) No big surprise, it was a no-go. Despite pleading and heavy gesticulations and pointing to my already flat ‘do. Na-da. So I watched in despair as the nearly $20 and much-relied upon product hit file 13. About then, “Excuse, me, ma’am? Do you have perfume or something in your suitcase?” Damn. Damn. Damn. “I don’t know? Maybe?” And I did. Completely forgotten like the whole rule thing. Luckily this guy was a little nicer and let me move it. And even threw in a, “You look good to me!” for extra measure. Okay then.

Then I get to the concourse. My gate was at the very end. Of course. After that it was a wait for de-icing, a wait for a new part to be installed and the hairy eyeball from some dude who insisted I was in his seat. (I wasn’t). Now I’m in the air. And the adventure is only beginning. I am certain to miss my connection in DC. God I hate traveling.

And am I the only one who realizes that No Reservations starring Cathering Zeta-Jones is just Mostly Martha without subtitles? I got to see all but the last five minutes of it during the flight. I love it when they turn off the movie at just that moment.

Later...
But the one bit of good news of the day is that the $39 I splurged on at self-check-in for economy plus saved me. I made it to my gate at Dulles with two minutes to spare. Sweating profusely (again). But I made it. If I hadn’t been close to the front of the plane, there is no way I would have made it. And the next flight to Hartford wasn’t until 10 or later. Suck-ola.

Now I’m in the hotel room after having a decent meal from room service and a run on the treadmill in the crappy hotel gym. The day is at an end at last. I’m zonked. And I can hear the people next door talking and it’s creeping me out. I can’t hear the airplanes landing all around me at this lovely connected-to-the-airport hotel, but I can hear people talking next door. I don’t do work travel very well any more. I must be getting old.

And I made persimmon and millet muffins to help assuage the guilt and girlie sadness before I left. That and the ziti and I was on my way. At least they can cling to that when they’re in therapy hating me years from now ☺.

Tomorrow is a new day. Yes it is.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: Go Outside & Drive. Blues Traveler. So we can keep hiding. So we can survive. And keep on believing. Someday we'll go outside & drive.