Summer of Mishaps … part two
After driving 100 miles to our final destination (the lovely University town of Columbia) we arrived at the hotel we’d previously booked. When I arrived, the cops were in the parking lot. Two cruisers. They were there to – you know what? I didn’t stay to find out.
A few phone calls later and I had a room at Extended Stay America. Quite a step down from the Hyatt and back down to mere mortal status where I belong. I proceeded to deluge the AA 800 phone number with phone calls. I was desperate to be reunited with my luggage. However, as far as anyone could tell me my luggage was still sitting at the airport in Chicago. Everyone was quite hopeful it would arrive “at some point” in Columbia. So…two days in the same clothes. I took a little side trip to a department store, courtesy of the airlines (though they don’t yet.)
At long last, we were tearfully reunited with our luggage early the next morning. I proceeded to move Man Child into his new digs with ease. No issues whatsoever. And he does love it there. He’s going to be fine, I know.
Until I got a phone call from my oldest son, informing me that he was being admitted to the hospital to have his appendix removed. (hint: never, never wonder ‘what else can go wrong?’ There’s always something.)
Anyone who knows me is aware of how geographically challenged I am. I thought a smart phone and GPS would help with this, but also I’m fairly new to the app. Long story short? Got lost on my way to the regional airport and missed my flight. I was there at six AM and this is what the airport looks like at this early hour (after the flight you missed has just left without you):
Empty. Desolate. I was alone for hours, except for the janitor. I’m not sure where all the rest of the people were. This is a little airport with only three incoming and departing flights a day, and they arrive when they’re needed. There’s a little café nearby, but as luck would have it there was construction going on. So I sat for eight hours and fed myself from two vending machines with all the $1 bills I had left and most of my change.
I tried to make the best of my situation (no place to go as I’d just delivered the expensive rental car) and wrote approximately 2400 new words. Not bad when you’re feeling sorry for yourself. This is the same heart bag I took with me to RWA. It gives me good feels and warm fuzzies. And believe me, I needed them.
