Let's Work Backwards

People always start at the beginning of the tale. And this one is a good tale to tell. But before I launch into the hi jinks of a weekend spent in the wild frontier of Tupelo, Mississippi, I must first relay the saga of the trip home. Even the most fertile imagination could not conjure the breadth of setbacks that Bluesgirl and I experienced just trying to get North of the Mason Dixon Line yesterday. By the end of the night,we were doubled up from laughing, our bellies aching because each setback seemed more and more absurd. We know people thought we were intoxicated and well, that's okay. We were kind of running on fumes by that point, anyway, and I'm sure they smelled of the previous night's tequila.

Here are a series of events as I remember them:

10:22 am: Bluesgirl, E!! and I leave Tupelo, driving 80 mph down Highway 78 to Memphis. E!!, driving her own rental car ahead of us, insists she's doing 70 but we know it's actually 90 because I can barely keep up with her.

11:52 am: We get to Memphis and stop for gas for our rental cars. Bluesgirl is challenged by the dual concept of sliding an ATM card to induce the pump to supply us gas.

12:14 pm: We arrive at Memphis Airport and return the car (our sweet ride--above--at the aforementioned gas station) and get dropped off at the terminal by the Hertz van.

12:16 pm: We run downstairs to intercept the Hertz van because we left a piece of luggage in it.

12:44 pm We are checked in and through security and safely ensconced at the gate for our flight.

2:20 pm It's time for our flight. The plane is sitting at the gate. The gate agent is scratching his balls. People look restless. What up? I turn to ask Bluesgirl but she looks very sleepy. Rightly--we both got maybe three hours sleep last night. The cool paw of apprehension creeps up my back like a bad infection.

2:25 pm: Itchy balls gate agent announces there is a mechanical problem with the aircraft and that further information will be forthcoming at 3:15.

3: 15 pm: Yeah, flight is cancelled. Every man for himself.

3:16 pm: Bluesy and I head for another Northwest ticket counter to get a flight. We'll take any flight back to the NY/CT area providing it is today. You know, Sunday. I hear the words, "You're Fucked" in the back of my head, but dismiss the obvious signs of impending disaster ahead.

3:30 pm: I am booked on a flight to Newark, New Jersey. Bluesy books on a flight to Detroit which connects to Hartford. The time in Detroit between the two flights is less time than it takes to split an atom. Bluesy ponders. A sage woman at the counter says to her, "If you miss this flight, you'll be sleeping in the Detroit airport. And that ain't gonna be pretty." Bluesgirl decides to go to Newark instead.

4:00 pm: We make arrangements for our luggage to be re rooted to Newark. I'm convinced it won't arrive. In the end, my luggage does arrive, although Bluesgirl's luggage does not. In fact, as of 9:52 pm EST on Monday night, it still has not arrived at her home.

5:30 pm: We go to an airport restaurant which is deserted. In fact, there is no one in the airport except for people who have to be there. You know, workers. We realize we haven't eaten any kind of vegetable in the last two days (unless a hot dog or pork is considered a vegetable relation)so we order a salad. It is topped with fried chicken. We chase it with a beer.

6:30 pm: Our flight to Newark is slatted to depart 6:30. The plane shows no signs of leaving. It's as cold as a virgin in a Victorian novel. Oh FUCK.

6:40 pm: We are boarded. We persuade people to take our Exit Row seats so Bluesy and I can sit together in the poor man's seats with 3 inches of legroom. Cozy yes, but better company.

7:10 pm: The plane jerks back from the gate. Can it be that we are leaving? Bluesy asks, "What's that smell?" I fear I may have accidentally farted but then I realize it is jet fumes. She hasn't flown for a few years so she may not know the difference.

7:40 pm: We're off! Thank you, sweet Jesus! I have a 2 second religious epiphany.

9:33 pm: We seem to be going no where. Like we're doing the sky version of donuts in a souped up hot rod in an auto parts parking lot. We soon find out that we are.

10:54 pm: Announcement comes, "From the flight deck. Uh--well, we've been circling Newark and they won't let us land because the airport is experiencing monsoon-like weather conditions and we're almost out of gas. So we're going to Richmond, Virginia to gas up." Bluesgirl and I look at each other and silently mouth the words "Richmond?" at the same time. Then we start laughing like hyenas.

11:37 pm: So this is what Virginia looks like.

12:50 am: Time to go. Aw. Just when I was starting to enjoy this lovely state and heck, I was working on my Jeffersonian history.

1:10 am: We're off to New Jersey. The landing clearances are coming now. We dive in for our pass. It's a little bumpy. Bluesy is slumped over. I can't tell if it's outright fatigue or nausea. We land. One halfway alert, grateful person applauds with the vigor of a juiced old lady at a Liberace concert.

1:15 am: We finally taxi up to our gate in New Jersey. We can't get off the plane though because the pilot is a supremely poor parker. Bluesy yells, "Great! A student pilot!!" He has to back the plane up twice in order to position it correctly for the Jetway. Even I can do that.

1:30 am: We can now disembark. The flight attendant announces, "When exiting the plane onto the Jetway, please use caution. The lighting is not working on the Jetway and the first step is a drop." And so it was.

I finally got home by 3 am, savoring my four hours of sleep before schlepping off to Connecticut for work today. I kept thinking about Bluesgirl and her commute back home which was considerable compared to my ride. I know she did make it home eventually. I just wonder if the sun greeted her when she pulled into the driveway.