The difference between A and B

Thursday, March 13, 2008

I flew home to Utah on Friday after school so that I could attend the wedding of a very close friend, Chrissy Brook, in Manti the next morning. My trip there was relatively uneventful. Other than having to haul a laptop and a heavy school bag around the very large Chicago Airport everything was about as good as traveling gets. It was of course wonderful to see my family especially since my sister and her husband and kids were there. The wedding was a beautiful experience; I was reminded of how lucky I am to have a temple marriage myself. I loved how the simplicity of the ceremony enhanced the importance of marriage, rather than detracting from it with a whole bunch of bells and whistles.

Sunday I was able to spend with my family, and I left early Monday morning to fly home. This time I was prepared with a rolling carry on so that I wouldn't be stuck hauling all my stuff around during my layover, once again in Chicago. When I arrived in Chicago I was pleased to note that my departing flight was only two gates away from the one I arrived at. This would happen of course when I had a rolling Carry on. So I found myself a chair and sat down to grade some papers while I waited. I took a few breaks but I spent most of the 2.5 hour layover grading. I finished up my last set of papers and thought "hmm, it's been a while they will probably start boarding soon." I checked my watch and my stomach did a little flip-flop when I realized it was only 5 minutes away from departure time, and they still weren't boarding. What had happened? Had my gate been changed? Flight canceled? I ran to the information screens to check one more time, and my flight was not delayed, the status was "boarding!" I had a brief moment of mass panicky confusion and scanned across the my flight information one more time. Gate B 17... gate B 17... oh dear! I was waiting at gate A 17. Somehow I am qualified to teach college level math courses and I do not know my A, B, C's. I Can't even get past A and B. I ran to a customer service desk to explain my situation so they could call ahead to my flight and let them know I was coming. The lady at the desk said they had been paging me (not sure how I missed this since I'd been hearing them page everyone else in the world) ; she would call ahead to let them know I was coming but I would have to run.

So I ran. And ran. And ran. All the way down the entire length of terminal A at the Chicago Airport. And then I ran some more...all the way down the entire length of the B terminal of the Chicago. Because of course both gates were at the far end of their terminals. When I arrived at Gate B 17 my plane was still sitting there, but the door to the loading ramp was closed, I was too late. At this point I should mention that the only exercise I get lately is walking from our apartment to the elevator, elevator to the car, and car to classroom when I get to school. I repeat this entire process backwards when I come home in the evening but it doesn't quit keep me in shape. After having run all the way through both terminals lugging my wheeled but nonetheless very heavy carry on suitcase I was somewhat out of breath to say the least. My face was bright red (I found out a minute later when I went to the bathroom) and I felt like I was going to melt away into a pool of perspiration. The customer service agent at gate B 17 said there was another flight to Washington in about 90 minutes but it was full. She put me on standby but said she would also put me on standby for a flight to Baltimore that had openings and left a little later than the DC flight. I ended up on the Baltimore flight and Drew had to fend for himself on the infamous Baltimore-Washington Parkway to come and rescue me from my traveling woes. The Baltimore flight ended up landing an hour late which didn't do anything positive for Drew's nerves but finally I landed and we drove ourselves home. We had to drive out to the Washington Airport the next day for my luggage but I was so glad to be home I didn't care that much. I went to school the next day in glasses, a ponytail, and no makeup, but several of my students complimented me on the glasses, which if you haven't heard anything about my students is big. Really big. Really really big. Eighth graders aren't the most complimentary species of mammal on this planet. I suppose the moral of this story is that if you plan to travel, plan to take someone with you that knows how to read. Or learn to read yourself. That works too.