So, while I was in the air going from Las Vegas to the Dallas/Fort Worth airport, the dudes at American Airlines, in their infinite wisdom and with perfect knowledge of their schedules and the weather conditions at both my destinations for that day, cancelled my flight to Charlotte.
However, being the forward-thinking individuals they are, the fine folks at American Airlines (can you tell I’m trying to suck up just a bit to try and get that elusive first-class upgrade the next time I fly? Is it that obvious, dudes? Is it?) went ahead and rebooked me to make sure I would get home.
They decided that the best way for me to get home would be to fly from Dallas to LaGuardia airport in New York City and, thence, from there to Charlotte. I’d leave LaGuardia at 7:45 pm and arrive in Charlotte around 10 pm, only six hours later than my original arrival. And all that sounded great.
There was, however, one tiny flaw in their plan. That snowstorm that had dumped a large amount of snow on Charlotte, basically closing the airport, was now moving up the east coast and was scheduled to hit New York City just about the time I was going to land there. Which meant there was a very real possibility I could find myself stretched out in a spacious, waiting-area chair for the night in LaGuardia with Charlotte open as the snowstorm closed in around New York City, thus stranding me there even longer.
As I said, a slight hitch.
The good news is that I have family in Dallas. As the poet Robert Frost once said, “Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.” With that in mind, I called my dad and his wife and told them to set an extra plate for dinner. My dad actually came to the airport, picked me up, brought me to his home, fed me and then threw me a blanket and pointed to the couch. It was heaven. Especially when you consider that I could have been trying to get comfortable in a LaGuardia airport chair while snow stacked up outside.
The next day, I was back to the airport and a flight to Charlotte, where I was scheduled to arrive about 30 minutes after my lovely wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Going, was to leave on a trip to Key West to be meet up with some college chums and watch female impersonator shows. No accounting for taste.
Fortunately, her flight also was delayed, so we got to spend a glorious 10 minutes in the airport bathroom lobby, chatting amiably and demurely holding hands.
So, despite a 24-hour delay, things turned out to be pretty all right. Although, if Mother Nature hadn’t decided to personally mess with my travel plans, I’d have had an entire day with my lovely bride. So I’ve still got a pretty harsh opinion of the ol’ Mother Nature. Just don’t tell her I said that. I’m not that stupid, after all.