Could be Worse in Detroit

If you happen to be in a cruddy little bar in the Detroit airport Best Western hotel and you see a lady sitting next to the juke box drinking by herself, crying over her laptop, accompanied by a basket of onion rings with ranch dip -- that would be me. At least there's big screen ESPN and fish tanks.

What, don't they know that women and cat people get flight cancellations too?

Once, just once, I wanna walk into a bar with big screen Oprah.

You heard what I said, a real bona fide juke box. They still exist and I'm looking at one. I'm searching for that country western song about how I've been done dog gone wrong. Since I can't find it I'm going to write one myself and dedicate it to Northworst Airlines.

You have probably figured out by now that I am allowing a full fledged pity party and if you would just give me these few moments to reject my Lutheran tendency to believe that things could be worse and fully immerse myself in how much this sucks. I know things could be worse but I'm not going there right now. Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow as in, that's when I'll be home instead of today. Because Northworst Airlines cancelled my flight to Des Moines with no explanation and with no redirection so by the time they figured out what was going on every potential alternative route to Des Moines had already departed. It wasn't actually a flight cancellation -- I'd call it a flight that vanished into thin air. They simply changed the gate announcement screen to another city. Birmingham. Des Moines no longer existed.

Luggage? What luggage? Who do you even ask about the luggage? I don't care about luggage.

I've already yelled at the lady on the other end of the 800# who was lucky enough to disconnect with me as I entered the tunnel to get from terminal B to terminal A. The tunnel that I had run through merely 6 hours earlier in order to catch my close connection. Hindsight is so clear. Why didn't I just rent a car and drive to Des Moines? Hitch hike? Crawl?

I don't believe in yelling at the ticket counter people because it's obvious that they are mere subjects and have no idea what so ever on the current status of anything. You just feel sorry for them. And you remind them that you are entitled to food and lodging vouchers. And yes indeed, after the poor ticket counter people telephone the secret Northworst illuminati people to verify the voucher thing, you get vouchers.

And wala, you are blogging in a cruddy little Best Western bar in Detroit with $13 worth of deep fried dinner.

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Meanwhile, there is an empty seat in the Jordan Creek movie cinema in West Des Moines where my daughter and the screeming teaming tweens are set to see the opening night of Twilight. An event that Amanda and I had planned to do together for months. I was to serve as a driver for Amanda's pack of girlfriends who pine over Edward the impossibly beautiful vampire. The pre-paid tickets are in my purse here in Detroit next to the jukebox and topical fish. I called the theater and they honored Amanda with a new ticket -- thank you! thank you! thank you! I was nearly over the top with emotion at gate 35 when I realized that I have the tickets and that perhaps Amanda would have to be excluded from this girls night out. Isn't that silly? Bob and Aidan gave up their bowling date to tow tween transportation in my stead.

Anyway, whatever. Thank you for granting my inward looking self indulgence. I promise to get over this and to get to the things could be worse place.

Could I please take this opportunity to wish my husby a Happy Birthday? Happy Birthday, sweetie. This onion ring is for you. . .

Take care everyone, T