Saturday, November 2, 2013

Tales of Dering-do at Sky Harbor Airport

If you would have asked me 8 hours ago about my adventures in the Phoenix airport, I would have asked "is eating a chorizo and egg breakfast burrito an adventure?"  And you would scoff, "Weak.  Chorizo isn't an adventure, it's just delicious."
I should be landing in Maui right about now.  Instead I'm eating pepperoni pizza Combos (an airport snack if there ever  was) while alternating sitting on a chair and sitting on the airplane patterned carpet and pondering which lucky airport F&B outlet should be the recipient of my $10 dinner voucher. 
I've known all along (at least for the past 4 weeks since I knew that I got my job offer) that moving to Hawaii was going to be an adventure.  I assumed that my actual arrival there today was a given and then the adventure would start.  
After an hour+ of sitting on the plane (one row behind first class - what kind of sick joke is that), they let us know that there was a concern with a piece of equipment that we probably wouldn't need, but that must be operational for flights over the ocean.    Hooray for safety awareness!
But the safety hooray starts to fade after 6 hours of delays.
Trying to fix the part and then possibly replacing it and then the air crews shift timing out have all played together to create a community of tired and antsy travelers who were all expecting to be drinking mai tais on the beach tonight rather than diet coke in the airport. 
{and there are Trader Joe's in Phoenix!   I could be eating cookie butter out of the jar right now if only I could escape.   And if only all my luggage wasn't at maximum capacity.   And under the plane}
I'm thinking enviously of my chatty seat partner on the flight from Denver to Phoenix this morning.   After non-stop conversation  for the entire flight where I heard about her husbands, children, grand children, her Sky Mall purchases and the time that her current husband got amnesia, she is probably comfortably relaxed in her Hawaiian party pants in Kauai at this point.   I am in my traveling pants. Alone. Without a sisterhood.  Not the same level as party pants.   Not in the slightest.
Again I am reminded of the immortal words of a previous co-worker, "Blessed are the flexible, for they will never get bent out of shape."
What was your last airport adventure?


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