Lampoon Vacation, Part I: Flights of the Fanatical

Or How to Misread and Mixup a Location

Let me just preface this by saying that most of the calamitous results of this trip are of my own doing.

Let me add the additional caveat that no one suffering from Widow Brain* should be allowed to travel alone or operate strange mechanical equipment. 

With all that being said:

I had been anticipating this trip for months. In fact, I booked two trips simultaneously, both as getaways for the more difficult times of the year since my husband’s death in June: Christmas and Ayden’s birthday, both firsts without Lane.

The plan for the birthday trip to commemorate Ayden’s foray into teenagehood formulated over the summer thanks in large part to an email that outlined a Disney Marvel-themed cruise. Admittedly, the theme is just as much for me as it is for Ayden. He is unaware of it as of yet but will find out as of  Christmas Day when he will receive a call from the mouse himself.

The Christmas trip came as a result of receiving a letter from my vacation travel company that a series of trips Lane and I had booked had already gone into a year and that we only had a limited time left to complete them. This trip also came as a result of Ayden asking if we had to stay home for Christmas. The plan: to take off the week of my job’s closing for break. Though Ayden would technically still be in school, how much would they be doing in that last week? I called and found out what city would accommodate my dates, and Myrtle Beach it was.

My plan involved completing at least the renovations to my bedroom and ambitiously decorating the home for Christmas before departure.

Nothing is hung with care, Mr. Moore. 

The bedroom is still a wreck, or as Decluttering Club guru Sarah Mueller says, the messy middle. As for the decorations, the tree is up with half of them on thanks to Ayden, and boxes are still strewn all over the living room. Our two stockings are hung as is the wreath, and I did manage to clear three batches of Happy Nest laundry delivery from the living room as well, but there are no other remnants of Christmas anywhere save a lone skiing bear haphazardly tossed into the downstairs bathroom.

Yet I was ready. The day before, I did all I could in terms of packing and then treated Ayden and myself to some Korean fried chicken, potstickers, and pedicures—Ayden’s first. He is trying to negotiate getting them on par with my own schedule. I even did a flight pre-check on the Southwest app to get a decent boarding position.

The morning of the flight, I awakened at a freakishly early hour and had trouble sleeping most of the night. I had packed for both myself and Ayden the night before in my usual last-minute fashion, though I had pre-planned many of the outfits I was going to wear and purchased new items for Ayden, who has either outgrown most of his long pants from last year as pre-teen boys tend to do.

I figured that the extra early time was to get prepped and strip down my suitcase to the true essentials. I am a notorious over-packer, and I am proud to say what I packed for this entire week looks like what I would normally pack for a 3-day weekend! I removed the two beach coverups and two extra bathing suits, as well as the two extra dresses. I packed one extra pair of shoes and a small clutch. My suitcase upon weighing at the airport was only 28 pounds!

I woke Ayden up, made him take a shower, and still had “extra time.” I made sure I had all my needed documents and weaved through light traffic doing the appropriate speed limit since we had plenty of time. We parked in the econolot and rode the shuttle to the main terminal and had plenty of time to check our bags. I took us to the electronic kiosks for convenience, put in our reservation number, only to watch the kiosk lock up. Confused but nonchalant, we moved to the adjacent kiosk, only to have that one jam as well with the notice to see an attendant.

Fine. There was only a small line so it was no big deal. We still had plenty of time.

Up at the counter, I present my ID—and nothing comes up.

The very patient attendant: “Are you sure your flight is today?” 

This I had double-checked because I don’t have the best track record when it comes to dates on a normal basis. For example, when Lane was alive, I treated the family to the live-action version of Beauty and the Beast at a gigantic theater an hour away from our house, but I had purchased tickets for the day before. In July, my cousin came from Virginia to see The Lion King at the Kennedy Center with me. Only after scanning our tickets, did I discover that we were a day early. I like to consider these after death mishaps small practical jokes from beyond the grave, and I can usually take them as such and have a little chuckle.

After my affirmation of the date, she asked for the res # which I pulled up on the app.

She and I discovered my faux pas at the same time.

My flight was scheduled for BWI, an airport 45 minutes from my current location.

At some point, you would think that I would have noticed the airport departure location since I 1) did early check-in 2) verified the date and departure time, and 3) woke up early to check that there were no delays. Somehow, I mixed up the trip itinerary departure locations with the logic that DCA is closer, hence I would always logically book from it out of sheer convenience.

The attendant was kind, understanding that taking the shuttle back to the lot and driving like Cruella Deville at the end of 101 Dalmatians to the other airport was not feasible, and she changed my flight to one originating from the airport where I was located, the only flight that left from there that day at no extra charge, and according to her at risk of her job. “I’m not supposed to do this, and I could get fired, but…”

I hope she was being facetious and that the attendants can pull last-minute strings in special situations. Nonetheless, I was grateful even though the flight left an hour later and had a layover. 

Crazed post-panic woman that I was, I caught a shuttle bus to another terminal at the airport before realizing that the ticket that said Terminal B was the layover ticket and that I had been in the correct terminal all along. The kid and I ended up walking back to the first terminal, the bright side being that I completed my daily step goal before boarding.

We made it onto the plane and were soon on our way. I wish I could say that this is the end of the story, but in true “me” fashion, it is only the beginning, but since this entry is getting long, I will stop right here.

As a special end-of-year treat, this blog will be divided into three parts and be told in three days, especially since I missed all of November.

More tomorrow.

*Widow Brain = the extreme discombobulation after the loss of an intimate loved one, most commonly a spouse, but could be a parent, sibling, or even a pet.