I meant to post an angry post last Thursday which would have contained the line "I wanted to tweet this but 140 characters couldn't contain my rage." It sounds so dramatic. Thursday felt dramatic, but now it's Sunday and I've been medicated into a fuzzy stupor by cold medicine. I feel more mellow now.
Here's what happened:
Thursday, 4:30 a.m.: leave the house.
5:00 a.m.: arrive at the American Airlines counter to get boarding passes because I couldn't print them out at home because I couldn't get a seat assignment for the second flight. As I march to the counter, I am feeling pretty good because I have battled my compulsion to arrive at least 2 hours early for the flight. If you know me, you know flying gets me. Not the possibility of fiery crashes but the stinkin' security lines make me cra-zay.
5:05 a.m.: find out that my flight is cancelled and I've been bumped to Continental. Instead of a 6:20 flight through Dallas that ultimately gets me to SLC at 12:01, I'm on a 6:40 flight through Houston to arrive in SLC at 12:10. Not bad.
And then I saw the mass of people at the Continental counter. It was like it was the day after Thanksgiving and Wal-Mart was giving away free money to the first 10,000 people in line. There were a lot of people there. Many were bumped like me, because flights to Dallas and Chicago were cancelled, others were just unlucky.
5:07 a.m. through 7:05 a.m.-standing in the sea of people at Continental. Their ticketing system was down so they couldn't print boarding passes. There was one, single, solitary, individual overworked kiosk printing passes for All These People. Also, listened to one woman complain loudly on her cell phone about our progress and how nothing in Arkansas is worth anything but her. I wanted someone (but not me because I'm not that kind of person but if someone else did it that would be very different) to trip her in her 4 inch heels but was afraid that might cause a wardrobe malfunction involving her tube top. Yes, seriously.
7:17 a.m.-I sit down in my seat on the plane which has been held. I answer an angry inquiry about why we were so late from the seat in front on me. And I begin to pray about my connection in Houston which was originally something like an hour and a half, but this flight was leaving at least 45 minutes late. I had a 3:10 schoolhouse to get to. I am very important (but I was only a helper to Mrs. Pat Sloan. She could have lived without me. I am mainly important in my own mind).
The rest is a blur:
Make the connection in Houston. Barely (with something like 20 minutes to spare. In my mind that's cutting it close. I can't help it. It's a real problem that I have with airports).
Take a taxi from airport to hotel because I've exhausted all my good travel mojo standing around in Little Rock.
Head for the convention center, just to say, "Hi, I'm here, Pat" before she goes into her Schoolhouse marathon (was it 5 or 6 sessions?).
Then I eat. Original plan had been breakfast in Dallas. As it was, it was around 3:30 that I ate the first time that day. You can tell by looking at me that this is completely unacceptable. I did the schoolhouses, went back to the hotel, spotted the Olive Garden across the street and promptly ate the entire thing.
I saw designers we already work with and love. Some designers I'd love to work with.
I also dropped my phone and broke it beyond redemption. Gah. For the rest of the time there was a steady stream of "ohmyphoneineedmyphonehowwillilivewithoutmyphonewhattimeisitwhatamimissingineedmyphone" in my head and I was plotting how to get a new phone.
Woke up with a killer sore throat which would become the cold from Hades, complete with uncontrollable sneezing. I had a couple more meetings, did my best to see the rest of the booths. I did not see any of the quilts. I think this is the first show I've been to that I missed the quilts completely.
I did ride the shuttle back to the airport where I heard a lot about the dangers of Mormons and ex-husbands. As I have no experience much with either, I made sympathetic noises and urged the van to go faster with my mind. The taxi ride out was much easier. I don't believe he spoke English so I have no idea his opinion on anything.
And then my American flights home were smooth like buttah, arriving 10:00 p.m. as planned.
I really, really, really, really, really hate airports. I'll be staying right here, on the ground, forever or until June, whichever comes first.
Once the cold medicine wears off, I'll check the few photos I took. Promise.