Saturday was a hoot, taking Amy and Ryan to the airport, really it was.
We woke up at three, packed up the wife and boy and were on the road by four.
Arrived at the airport right after five and proceeded directly to the Northwest check-in as our Delta travel assistant, stationed in Delhi, had directed us to do. Immediately things became interesting because our confirmation code wouldn't work in the Northwest kiosk, no worries, i figured it was a glitch, due to Delta owning our fare, whatever.
No, not that simple, our trusty Northwest attendant informed us that they only had a return ticket for us from Grand Junction. With the charm and charisma that has earned me millions of fans worldwide, i asked her "So then how will she use the return flight when she can't get to Colorado?" Like so many times before, i got no answer. Instead, the three of us trucked over to Delta because according to Northwest, they had botched this up.
At Delta, we got in our second line, long story short. Delta had correctly set up the fare, Northwest didn't know what they were doing. Amy's new connection would be with American. We wait about 20 minutes while all this gets confirmed then blammo, back across the terminal a la Jesse Owens.
At American, our third line, we were faced with a decision, International or E-Ticket? We waited it out in the E-ticket line, seemed logical. When we got to the front, we discovered that while our original ticket was an e-ticket, the new reissue was a printed ticket, which of course gets handled in the line labeled International. Makes sense to me.
On to line number four, American International. At this point i'm a bit delirious with anger, but it seems like things are sorting themselves out so i recline on the luggage that we've been toting, which of course engages the roller wheels on the bottom and blammo slammo, i'm now laying on my back facing the roof of the New Orleans International Airport. Laughter pours out of me like Tom Hanks in the Money Pit. This is a great way to meet other people in line, namely the wonderful group of senior citizens ahead of us heading to Vancouver. Seeing
Ryan and taking pity on the obviously insane father of this cute little guy, they let us skip in front of the line. Tough times are obviously behind us right?
We get Amy's ticket, all's good with the baby appliances she hopes to check at the plane, and they even give me a pass to assist in the whole operation through to the gate. Nice!
Line number five forms at the metal detectors. We're told that Ryan's carseat and stroller have to pass through the x-ray. So barefoot with a hundred people behind me huffing and puffing, i'm given the awkward task of collapsing the stroller while holding the carseat in my other hand because surprise! Amy and Ryan have been randomly chosen to be patted down. Undoubtedly, her lovely pale skin and blue eyes succeeded in being racially profiled as a key operative of the IRA or something.
I stuff everything into the x-ray, positive that i jammed it, and turn around just in time to see Ryan, my 7 month old son, being patted down by a security officer. This is good stuff, but it gets better.
I'm putting on my shoes, and i grab Amy's plastic bucket containing the 15 odd metal bangles she was wearing, and i hear the following screamed out loud so that everyone in 70001 can hear, "SIR YOU CANNOT TOUCH YOUR WIFE'S BAGGAGE, STEP AWAY FROM THE TABLE." At this point they decided that Ryan, although dangerous looking on the outside, is actually quite benign and they hand him to me. I wink at a pilot and say, "We fooled them! My son is a killer!" he laughs. Meanwhile, Amy is now being scanned by a wand, and i'm wondering why we just didn't drive out to Colorado.
Finally through the security check, we haul butt down to the gate. Amy checks in and they tell her to get right on the plane, so now we're forced to have a nice Hallmark goodbye moment for the viewing pleasure of the 30 odd people pissed off and queued up to be seated last on the plane.
Did we actually pay Delta for this?
