Dear readers, this post comes to you from my childhood bedroom--yes, I made it home to Philadelphia, despite a second cancelled flight, a blizzard and the utterly impassable New Jersey turnpike. This is my story.
I woke up in the hotel on Sunday morning, ready to head back to the airport and try the whole shebang all over again, after Saturday's plane- and heartbreaking "technical difficulties," only to find a sign in the hotel lobby alerting all of us stranded passengers that our new flight had also been cancelled, due to the incoming blizzard on the East Coast. We would not be picked up and taken back to the airport, we were told, because we were, once again, unticketed passengers who could not be allowed to clog up the delicate and highly refined workings of the British air travel system (aka, they were tired of directing massive queues of devastated people and preferred just to ignore us). This...was not going to work for me. I took the first cab I could find to the airport and found myself in--what else--a massive queue of devastated people, waiting to talk to the Continental airlines ticketing office. There was no one at that desk, but we could all see them hiding in the back, afraid to come out. But before they even had to do anything as brave as coming out to face the people they had screwed over, it was suddenly announced that the flight was back on! Given our arrival time, Newark was going to let us land. We all proceeded to check-in, which was in itself a massive cock-up, but eventually I made it through security and to the gate. We boarded a couple hours late, but that was still ok, as long as we got off the ground in time.
Readers, we sat on that plane for another hour, while they tried to fill every seat with standby passengers, who otherwise would have been stranded, as all of the next day's flights had been preemptively cancelled. I understand this desire to make sure everyone can get where they need, I really do. But when it literally is coming down to minutes, when the longer we stayed on the ground increased the chances that Newark air traffic control would refuse to let us land--well, you don't jeopardize 200 people for the sake of seven, is what I say. The flight attendants were absolutely frantic, trying to find seats and get everyone on board as soon as possible, and eventually they just refused to let anyone else on, closing the cabin door in the face of the airline representative. Hip hip hooray for flight attendants! They really do not put up with any bullshit.
One upside of the whole standby delay was that I got bumped to first class. I didn't enjoy it as much as I might have (I worried myself right into a chest cold this weekend--yay stress phlegm!) but it was wonderful to be able to stretch out, put my feet up and watch movies as we winged our way over the ocean. Also, there was a cheese and fruit cart, endless free wine, and ice cream sundaes for dessert. You don't get that in economy.
After a long but relatively pleasant flight, we landed in Newark, which was basically a giant white-out. This is when I realized my UK phone was not going to work in the states (duh, right? Well, I'd had other things on my mind), and I was unable to contact my family to find out how to get home. Went through passport control, went through customs, finally found a kind soul to lend me their phone and found out my dad had come to pick me up. Wheewwwwwwwwww...I just knew that if I'd had to take the train, the storm would have broken the lines, or something, and I'd spend the night stranded on the northeast corridor; I had even stolen the airplane blanket and pillow with just that situation in mind.
Met my dad and off we went! Flying down the road toward home and Christmas at the incredible speed of FIVE GODDAMN MILES AN HOUR. Newark is eighty miles from Philadelphia...it was going to take longer to get there than to get to the states from Scotland. Fortunately, things opened up once we hit the Pennsylvania roads, and five hours after leaving the airport (and 36 hours after first leaving my flat in Edinburgh) I was home.
Hugs were had, tears of joy shed, standing rib roast and Yorkshire pudding devoured. Then we opened our presents...considering I almost categorically refused to tell my mother what I wanted, I pulled in a pretty good haul. I know Christmas isn't about the presents (this year it wasn't even about the birth of Christ, since we essentially celebrated Boxing Day) but I am not going to turn them down.
Today I'm supposed to leave for Portland. I don't know if I'll be getting out of here...from my window it looks like there's about a foot of snow, possibly more. And I feel pretty shitty about being home less than 24 hours. It wasn't supposed to be this way. But, I made it home, and I saw my family, and we had Christmas together, finally. For a while there, it didn't look like any of that was going to happen. So I'll take what I've got, and be grateful for it.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
So glad you finally made it home -- hope all is well now that you're back stateside! Oddly enough, we too cooked a standing rib roast for dinner Sunday night. No pudding though. Which is just as well considering we nearly smoked ourselves out of the house preparing the roast and everything acquired a distinctive meaty aroma, including the furniture. Looking forward to buying you a beer (or three) when you get back from the left coast to help you render that ordeal utterly forgotten!
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