After
posting recently about our all-too-brief stay in Wilmington, North Carolina,
and about losing our bottle of authentic Carolina barbecue sauce to security at
Raleigh-Durham Airport, I got a comment from a friend on Facebook that said,
“You must not fly very much.”
Guilty as
charged. Up until June of this year, the last time Linda and I had flown
commercial was December of 2010, when we went up to Seattle to see my sister at
Christmas. Then in a period of seven weeks this summer, we both flew to Seattle
for our nephew’s wedding and back east for our son’s basic training graduation.
In between, Linda also flew to Minnesota, from whence a friend took her to the
Finn Fest in Hancock, Michigan. Don’t ask.
The return
trip from our son’s basic training graduation last month was somewhat eventful
— not a good thing in commercial flight — and reminded me that our air
transportation system operates on a hair-trigger. When the friendly skies turn
surly, it becomes a daisy chain of messes.
Atlanta Down
Our
itinerary for returning from the Carolinas and Virginia was to return the
rental car at Raleigh-Durham Airport, catch a 4 p.m. flight to Atlanta,
arriving a bit after 5, then hop a 7:45 flight to San Jose, getting us to the
airport before 10 p.m. and home by 11. As the old saying goes, when men make
plans, God laughs.
Arriving at
Raleigh-Durham on time, we learned that severe thunderstorms had closed
Hartfield-Jackson in Atlanta to all incoming and outgoing flights, a condition
that lasted for nearly five hours. At one point, we boarded the plane, sat on
it for an hour, then were marched off because Atlanta was still down.
Delta, our
carrier, was helpful, and stationed an agent at an adjacent gate to help people
with connecting flights. She gave us the bad news that our flight to San Jose
would be taking off as soon as Atlanta opened, but she could rebook us at no
charge on a 10:30 flight to San
Francisco, arriving at 12:45 a.m. As the defense attorneys used to say in Law & Order, we took the deal.
The Longest Taxi Ride
We finally
got out of Raleigh-Durham a bit before 8, which seemed to put us in good shape
to make the connection. Problem is that Atlanta is one of the busiest airports
in the country, and the ripple effect of a weather closure is immense. When we
touched down at 9, we had to wait on the tarmac for nearly 40 minutes for a
gate to open up for our plane.
And, of
course, the San Francisco flight was leaving from another terminal than the one
where we disembarked, so we had to take the airport subway to it, arriving just
before they started boarding. The good news was that the flight wasn’t full,
and I got an aisle seat.
Arriving at
San Francisco International just before 1 a.m., we faced the next question: How
to get to Mineta San Jose, where our car was parked. At that time of day, the
only option seemed to be a taxi, so we took what I fervently hope will be the
longest taxi ride of my life, arriving at San Jose’s utterly deserted long-term
parking area just before 2 a.m. The fare was $150, in case you’re wondering,
and that was before tip. It was nearly 3 a.m. when we got home, or 6 a.m.
Eastern time, which was what our bodies were on. I’m glad I don’t have to do
that for a living.
