United Airlines to Nora: Go Jam Yourself (Part I)

My vacation in Palm Desert was scheduled for December 20-28th. 8 days of doing nothing in the middle of nowhere with 3/5 of my nuclear family.

But nothing can be so simple. I should have known I was in for it the minute the stewardess informed the cabin that the movie on the flight would in fact NOT be Little Miss Sunshine, but would be The DaVinci Code, but I didn't. I sat there blindly drinking my Coca Cola Classic and burning up the battery on my iPod.

Oh, a layover in Denver. How lovely. Never been there, excited to see if the airport is really as crazy as some people say it is. Will I see a lizard person? Will Delta Force shoot me in the chest with a laser?

I wish.

The connecting flight is late, the plane needs de-icing, whoops! The plane needs fixing of some sort. Sit on runway for 2.5 hours. Get off the plane. Back on the plane. Snow piling up. Airport closed.

Cue panic. Throaty sobs while I call my dad and scream something like "AIRPORT CLOSED! NORA ALONE! I CAN'T GO ON VACATION? WHA HAPPEN?"

Wander airport. Find another semi-hysterical kid I recognize from my flight from LaGuardia. Hello, new best friend!

No rental cars. No hotel rooms.

Where to go?

Airport bar!

Oh no! Where did the Red Cross go? They came with blankets and cots and little bags with toiletries. We didn't get any. Guess who got them all? Middle-aged ladies who are hoarding them away, literally folding their multiple blankets while I tell them that I don't have a single one. "Find the Red Cross," they say, and I secretly hope that they all smother in their sleep.

New BFF and I get a tiny blanket from United, extra-flammable and extra-thin. Huddle under payphone after downing sleeping pills. Fitful nightmares. Sore muscles from shaking all night long. Suddenly understand a little bit of how much it must suck to be a refugee. Or a convict.

Wake up. Stand in line to pay $10 for a bowl of mealy oatmeal and a coffee. Yum! So many people on hold with United that the Gershwin music they play is audible even when you are finally disconnected (and you always are). Old people are strangely calm, reading newspapers, chatting quietly. Shouldn't we panic? Doesn't this suck? I think it sucks and we should panic. Friends call. I try not to cry. They hang up and enjoy their trips to Illinois or Missouri or Florida. I hang up and try not to cry. Not true, I don't even try not to cry. I just cry. Life isn't fair.

New BFF finds a ride to Phoenix. I retardedly hang back, opting instead for a more difficult journey.

Hooray! Saved by co-worker who lives in Denver and lets a greasy, still-hysterical near-stranger sleep in his home. More fitful nightmares. I hate Denver. Wish Delta Force had shot me with a laser.