Straight up

I never realized how often I drop things until it became too painful to pick them up. The once-automatic act of picking up after myself became a daunting task. Think of how many times you drop something - a set of keys, a piece of paper comes off the desk, a napkin off of the kitchen table. No big deal, right? You just swoop down and pick it up. Not me. As soon as that item hits the floor I go through a battery of considerations, do an impromptu risk assessment and then formulate a plan for how to recover the dropped item. You just don't consider how handy bending is until you lose the ability to do so.


I didn't know it at first, but what I was dealing with was two herniated discs and mild spinal stenosis. For weeks I just thought it was back pain and if I rested for a bit it would get better. In the meantime, living with it was horrible. On the first day I walked into my apartment and accidentally dropped my keys on the floor. I took a deep breath and just stared at them. I stared at the floor the way you would stare down the Grand Canyon if you had just dropped your cell phone and were working up the courage to rappel down and retrieve it. It's so far down. I'm going to hurt myself. I may not make it back up. What am I going to do? Can I live without my keys? Can I just leave them on my floor forever and have someone make a new set for me? Perhaps I should just make dozens of sets of keys and when I drop one I can leave it behind as collateral damage - leaving the world littered with sets of keys. That seems like a reasonable solution. Anything sounds better than bending over.

Of course, I did not make a dozen sets of keys - I would need the original key to cut the duplicates. I had to slowly bend my knees with my back remaining upright and feel around on the floor to pick them up and hang them on the nail. It was a laborious task. It didn't stop with keys, either. I started to wonder if I've always been a klutz and never realized it. Every day I would drop something. The worst was when someone else dropped something by my feet. The polite thing to do would be to pick it up and retrieve it for them. Sorry pal, you are on your own. If someone dropped something on the Metro and it slid below my seat, I would just kick it back to the person. I would try to explain that my back is screwed up and I can't bend over. But the damage was done. It's really not polite to kick something at a person after they drop it. Especially when you're as uncoordinated as I am, and the item would likely get kicked past them, or somewhere within a 3-foot radius of their location. Precision is not one of my talents. It sucks when it's painful to be polite. It was not completely debilitating. I could still go to work, I just had to get up from my desk and walk every couple of hours so I didn't get sore.


One day, after a long day at work, I came home to find that a delivery person had slid a menu underneath the doorway of every apartment in my hallway. What the hell kind of masochist would do something like that? That's just great. What am I going to do now? How am I going to get this off the floor? I am going to have a pizza menu on my floor for all of eternity. What was that delivery person thinking? It was as if someone had vandalized my apartment and I had to figure out how to fix it. Cruel, cruel delivery driver.

The pizza menu stayed on my floor for a couple of days. I finally went through the process of getting x-rays and an MRI on my spine to determine what was causing the pain and that's when I learned of the spinal stenosis. The orthopaedic surgeon showed me the MRI results and pointed to a white line leading from my spine to my right leg. "Do you see the white lines? Those are nerves. Now look on your left side. Do you see how that nerve just stops?" It was creepy to see what's going on inside my body, but it answered a lot of questions. The herniated disc was bulging right into the nerves and cutting them off. Along with the back pain being on my left side, I also had been feeling like my foot was asleep. I often untied my shoelaces and loosened them because my foot hurt, and I thought I had just pulled the laces too tight and cut off my circulation. It turns out that it was not a circulation problem, but my nerves were affected by the back problems. At times it feels like I am walking on something underneath my toes. I must have taken my shoes off and straightened my sock a dozen times because I thought it was my sock bunching up below my toes. But my socks were never bunched. I was feeling something that was not there. I guess that is how the jumbled nerves manifested themselves. It felt very uncomfortable, but not painful like the back pain. The back pain was the worst.


One thing that was very hard for me when dealing with back pain, was that it was all internal. I didn't have a cast on my leg or a brace around my neck that clued people in on my delicate state. If someone didn't know me, they would think I'm an able-bodied young woman in my twenties. Looks can be deceiving. What looks like a 25-year old body on the outside, feels to me like it's 75-years old. I take public transportation everywhere and I struggle with finding a seat during rush hours. I have started waiting until later and taking the train when it is not as packed. When I get to work, I now take the elevator to the second floor instead of the stairs. It makes me very self conscious because I'm sure it just appears to other people as if I'm lazy. Some friends have recommended carrying a cane or wearing a neck brace, just to make it easier to find a seat on the Metro and on the bus. I can't bring myself to ask someone to give up their seat. How do I know they are not suffering from some internal injury as well? Who am I to pick and choose who should give up their seat for my ailing back? I never do. I just suck it up and go on and it seems to get a little better every day. If I have learned one thing from this experience, it is that you can't always tell when someone who comes across as rude or lazy is actually just dealing with pain in the best way that they can. If I have learned two things, it is that bending is awesome and is not to be taken for granted.

How many states have you been to?

I recently took an Amtrak train from Washington, DC to Chicago. I take this trip once or twice a year and I have never suffered from lack of conversation. You meet interesting people on a train, and when you are stuck together for 18 hours, people tend to be fairly social. On this recent trip, I had both seats to myself and was excited to be antisocial and start a new book I've been wanting to read. But as I got settled in, I couldn't help but hear the introductions being made by new seatmates all around me. On the other side of the aisle a young man in his twenties chatted with a woman who appeared to be in her forties. Even though I was immersed in the world of ESPN, his voice carried across the aisle as he asked her: How many states have you been to?

It struck me as a naive question. Or rather, a question that would be asked by someone who has not traveled much. I would not expect anyone to know the answer to that question off the top of their head unless they had a fairly short list themselves. The woman also seemed surprised by the question and didn't know how to answer right away until she said, "Jeez, I don't know. I travel a lot. It would be easier to name the ones I haven't been to." She then rattled a short list of the usual suspects - Montana, North Dakota, Utah, etc., and I didn't hear more of their conversation because I was already in my own little world, trying to count on my fingers - how many states have I been to? I had no idea. Not that many, really - but enough that I couldn't name them all without looking at a map. So, when I got home I printed out a map of the U.S. and grabbed a set of colored pencils and started to color in the states I have been to. They have to be places I have actually visited and not just spent time in a layover at the airport - that would be cheating. When I finished my map, there were seventeen total, plus the District of Columbia, of course. The stark whiteness of the remaining states made me realize how little I have traveled in my life. It immediately became a new addendum to my bucket list. It is not unreasonable to visit all 50 states within one's lifetime. In fact, I think it's a fantastic and patriotic goal. Whenever I think of vacations and travel, I always fantasize about other countries and wondering where I should get my passport stamped next. It's a shame that I haven't made time for a weekend trip to West Virginia, or visited relatives in North Carolina. All the times I have had a layover in Atlanta, I have never stepped out of the confines of ATL, as evidenced by the gaping white region on my map between Virginia and Florida. I have never been to the south, never to Texas, and haven't hit the Pacific Rim either in the U.S. or otherwise. This is a very sad and boring map.

When I returned to work the following Monday, I asked a coworker, "How many states have you been to?" She gave me a strange look and I told her that I had overheard someone ask that question on the train. She agreed that it was an odd question. Then, after we mutually speculated on the lack of world experience of the person who had asked the question on the train, she said, "Dammit, now I'm curious" and printed out a map and started circling the states she had been to. She printed out another copy for me because she wanted to see where I had been and compare. Just like myself, and the woman to whom the question was originally posed, she said, "It doesn't count if you're just driving through, right?" Of course not. Same as the airport rule - it would be cheating. She had been to 23 states, but most of the whiteness remaining on her map was in the Midwest - where most of mine is shaded in. It makes sense, she is retired from the Coast Guard so her remaining states are landlocked.

This conversation took place over a month ago and I often spend time daydreaming about where I should take my next road trip and knock out some more of my bucket list. Whenever I receive an email from one of the airlines advertising last-minute airfare, now I look to see how cheap the prices are to places I have never been. Just in case opportunity presents itself to take a spontaneous vacation/bucket list trip. Apparently I am not the only one who has kept the map handy. My coworker came to my desk excitedly a few weeks ago and said that she had to take a work trip to visit Missouri. Now she could mark one more state off of her map and she's almost covered half of them! She's not going to St. Louis, or any city that she was excited to see. But the thought of crossing another state off of her list felt like an accomplishment. As it should. This is a big country, diverse in geography and culture. And we are fortunate to have the freedom that we can just take a road trip and see what the rest of these United States have to offer. Someday I will hit all 33 of those remaining states, and I hope you will too.

I still wonder about the person who originally asked that question. My immediate thought was that he must not have traveled much in his life, but he was on an Amtrak halfway across the country so I'm probably judging too hastily. It is possible that this was his first big trip, or maybe he just knew it was a thought-provoking question. It certainly provoked a lot of thought in one person sitting across the aisle, quietly eavesdropping. Whatever his motivation, I'm glad he asked it. I intend to keep this little map handy for a long time. And when I start to feel like I need a vacation, I may just have to keep my passport locked away and take a little road trip. Maybe I will even find myself on a different Amtrak route next time around. I know just what question I will ask when it comes time to make small talk.

A Tourist in my Pocket

Next month marks my third anniversary as a DC resident, and my adoration for this city grows with every year. The only thing I love more than exploring this city is when people from back home come to visit me. Showing someone else the wonders of DC is like seeing it again myself for the first time. I often walk alone through the city and feel like the luckiest person in the world to be able to live in such a wonderful place. Last week I walked to the zoo. How often does the average person visit a zoo? Once a year? I can walk four blocks and pay the elephants a visit any day of the week. There is so much to see and do in this city and I hope I never take any of it for granted. Having visitors is always a great way to share my enthusiasm for the city.

This week I have a new guest staying with me. His name is Flat Stanley, and he comes from a second grade class in Illinois, not far from where I grew up. Stanley belongs to the daughter of a dear friend who I have known my whole life. He arrived yesterday via USPS (a very reasonable alternative to air travel in this day and age.) He's very quiet, extremely polite and doesn't have much of an appetite. He's still a bit envelope-lagged from so much travel, so this weekend he will rest up and on Monday he's going to come to work with me and I'll show him around the city. We have a lot of fun stuff planned - we'll visit the National Zoo, Union Station, and as many monuments as we can pack in while he's here. Of course we will have to have a photo-op in front of the White House as well. Poor Stanley really wants to meet the President. I tried to explain to him about the Secret Service and since I don't know the Salahi's, there's no way we can just drop in and visit the President without a formal invitation. He told me he understood, but he seemed a little disappointed. Hopefully a visit to the National Postal Museum will take his mind off of it. After his long journey through the mail, the Postal Museum seems like the ideal place to begin his adventures as a tourist in DC. I am looking forward to showing him around the city and taking lots of pictures before I send him back to his second grade classroom in Illinois next week.

As you can see from his big smile in the picture, Stanley is very happy to be here. He is especially enjoying my copy of Strange Bedfellows, by Russell L. Peterson. He says he wants to learn a bit more about politics before he starts to explore the nation's capital. He finds the book to be a fascinating and well-researched study on the relationship between "infotainment" & political comedy and the political process. He's surprisingly intellectual for a second grader.

December 28, 2009

On December 28, 2009 - one day before Ariana Huffington urged everyone to move their money to a local bank - I was (for the first time ever) appreciating the convenience of my own evil, bailed-out bank.

Prior to this enlightening experience on the 28th, I probably would have looked past the awful George Bailey references and agreed with the advice from Huffington & Co. When I moved to DC in 2008, I reluctantly opened an account with one of the big banks. I would have preferred to keep my money in a local bank (as I did for several years in Iowa) but the big bank was two blocks from my apartment and had branches and ATMs back in Illinois in Iowa. I hate paying those $2.00+ transaction fees, and this way I would have a better chance of avoiding them when I went home to visit family. I support local businesses, but only on a very passive and convenient level. There's a local grocery store near my apartment and I would much rather give them my money than one of the national chains, but it's not practical to spend a couple dollars more for a gallon of milk that's going to expire in two days. I can't afford to put my money where my principles are. But the Huffington Post article is right. If enough people with enough money made a point of changing their habits and moving their money to a local level, it would make a difference. Businesses go bankrupt because of people like me who are just trying to save $2.00 at a time.

It may have been easy a month ago to jump on board with the HuffPo article, but the day it was published, I was still deep in thought and beginning to accept the benefits of our global, technological society. Here's what happened.

At 3:30 p.m. on December 28th, my dad was driving me to Chicago to catch a flight back to DC. We left a little earlier than normal, just in case the underwear bomber succeeded in beefing up airport security to level: overkill. It was about two hours before takeoff, we were twenty minutes from the airport and I received a call from a friend who was in Italy for the holidays. She had gone to visit friends and was flying by herself. I was not expecting to hear from her before we were back in DC. I answered the call and chaos and drama poured out of the receiver. She was frantic. She had left Italy and was stuck in Munich. She couldn't get in touch with her family or her friends in Italy. She was being told she had to leave the airport and stay at a hostel, but she had no credit card other than her debit card connected to her checking account. She was not expecting to pay for a hostel two days before payday so she didn't have enough, but had nowhere to go and no money for the next 13 hours before her flight left. She was stuck in a country where she didn't understand the language and she didn't even seem to know why she was calling me, she was just making her way through her contacts list because she didn't know what else to do.

As the panic spewed from my cell phone, I looked at the clock and then looked over my dad's GPS. I knew that she and I had the same bank, so I picked up the GPS and typed in the name of the bank. There was a branch 7 miles out of the way, but we could still make it there and make the flight. I interrupted her desperation.

Frantic Friend: "I don't even know what to do and there's like one person in this whole airport I can talk to about it and they're telling me I have to leave and I don't know what to do and I hate this place and I'm never going to travel again and this is the worst day of my life and I..."
Me: "Listen. We're a few miles from a bank. Can you send me a text message with your checking account number and my dad and I will go there and put some cash in for you?"
FF: "Huh? [sudden cheerful, hopeful tone] Uhhh, I think I can send a text from here!! I can try!!!"
Me: "Okay, send me the text. We're going to head toward the bank and try to get you some cash right away. Stand by and I'll call you back when we get there."

We hung up, she sent the text with the account number and I ran into a Bank of America branch in a town that I would otherwise never have known existed. It ended up being the easiest bank transaction I have ever made. I filled out a deposit slip and explained the situation to the teller. I asked her when she would be able to access the money with her debit card. The teller said that since it was cash, she would be able to use her card right away. I handed over some cash I had gotten for Christmas that I really wasn't happy carrying around anyway. The teller verified the name on the account, made the deposit, handed me the receipt, and we were out of there within five minutes. I called my friend back.

Me: "Okay, it's done. You should have enough to pay for the hostel and get you home."
FF: "Ohmigodthankyousomuch. Bye!"

So, Dad and I get back on track to Midway airport and I arrive with plenty of time to spare. The rest of the afternoon in the car and in the airport, I could not stop thinking about how simple it all was and how difficult and painful it would have been even just a few years ago. Before cell phones, before GPS, before greedy national banks... who knows how long she would have been stranded or where she would've turned for help. What would have been a huge ordeal a few years ago, can be fixed in this day in about twenty minutes if you have a cell phone and a resourceful friend. It really is quite impressive.

When I finally made it back to DC, I logged onto my friend's facebook to see if she had made any updates about her trip or to see if I could find any information about how things worked out after I had talked to her. She had only posted one update in the previous three days. On December 28th, half an hour after she called me to tell me about how horrible her life was and how her holidays had been ruined, she posted this facebook status update:

I love Munich! The airport is awesome, have a overnight flight, finding a hostel to stay in. :)

There was no mention of the dilemma that had consumed her just minutes before. In fact, there has been no mention of it between us, nor do I think she told anyone what happened to her on that fearful day in Munich. As far as the rest of the world knows, there was nothing but smiley-face emoticons the entire trip.

What a difference $180.00 makes!

When in DC, do as the tourists

I took a late lunch today and walked up to the Farmers Market in Penn Quarter. While the walk itself is only about 10 blocks, it's not a straight shot. The walk across the mall can be like navigating a racecar driving video game. You're going really fast, but you have to zig and zag across the sidewalk just to stay out of someone's photograph. Within one block I saw four different photos being taken right in front of me and at least three different languages being spoken. The best was the woman getting a photo of her friend with the capitol building in the background. When she had the camera on her, the woman smiled and said "whiskey!" She had a huge grin on her face.

That's when I stopped and decided to take my own picture. The photo itself isn't that impressive, but it is all part of why I am so in love with this city. I can walk a few blocks from my office on any given day and this is what I see. Just in one lunch hour I took in the capitol building, the Washington Monument and WWII Memorial in the distance, the Navy Memorial, Archives and the Smithsonian buildings. I moved here in May of last year, and after 16 months I still find this city as breathtaking as ever. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with this city. Sure, it's not perfect and it's expensive as hell. But there is nowhere else I would rather be right now. Thanks to the whiskey tourists for reminding me not to take it for granted.

I'm Drenched. Life is Good!

I took the Metro home tonight and when I got to the top of the escalator, I ran into a crowd of people standing around. Some of them were reading a newspaper or looking around nervously, but most of them were just... standing. They were waiting for the rain to stop.

It was raining pretty heavily, but it's warm outside and 8:00 at night. It's not like these were people on their way to a business meeting or anything. Cleveland Park is not known for its Tuesday nightlife, it is very probable that wherever these people were headed they would be in for the night. I'm making assumptions, but no kidding - there were like 15 people just standing there waiting for the rain to stop so they can go on with their lives. Fifteen umbrellaless soles gathered under the shelter of the Metro entrance - reading a newspaper, checking their watch, all contemplating a big decision. It's raining. What to do?

I can understand not wanting to get rained upon. When my naturally curly hair gets wet I look like Lamont from Sanford & Son. I'm sure this unusually large crowd of people had their own reasons for not wanting to go out in the rain. But to just stand there and wait until it lets up? There was no lightning, no thunder, no wind or severe weather indications. Just heavy drops of rain. I'm really really perplexed at the number of people standing there putting their lives on hold because of rain.

While the huddled masses waited around, I looked up to the sky and challenged the rain to do its worst. I splashed through puddles and let the cool rain drench my entire body and it felt good to be reminded me why I refuse to grow up. At what point in life do people give up the fascination and excitement over the little things? When you're a kid, the only reason you can't go play in the rain is because your parents won't let you. I'm not suggesting adults should go back to splashing mud puddles and having snowball fights every day. It certainly wasn't on my schedule tonight to splash through the rain and walk drenched into my cold, air-conditioned apartment but when life hands you lemons, play in the rain!

I'm baffled by the number of people held at bay by the rain. Grown-ups are boring. The world would be a better place if everyone took the time to play in the rain again. Rake the leaves up into a pile in the yard and them jump in! Take off your shoes and run through the grass until your toenails turn green! Remember what it's like to be a kid! So what if you have to wash your own clothes and wipe your own nose now? Just because you have a mortgage and a career doesn't mean you can't appreciate the little things in life.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!!

I may come back later and edit this post with a list of all the things I'm thankful for, but if I wait until I have time to do that it may not be until Easter. For now I just want to say Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. Right now I'm thankful for a couple days off of work and a visit from my Dad. He surprised me a couple weeks ago and said he was thinking of coming up to Washington for Thanksgiving. We made all the arrangements and his plane gets in a couple hours from now.

The most commonly asked next question seems to be: "Are you cooking Thanksgiving dinner for your Dad?" The answer: "No way. I love my Dad too much to do that to him."

Originally I was going to spend Thanksgiving with some friends who are not going home for the holiday. Now that Dad's coming in, all five of us are going out for a Thanksgiving feast. Sometimes you can find family where you least expect it. I love bringing people together.

That said, I wish I could bring all of us together - an all-inclusive holiday with all of my friends and family back home. I'll be thinking about all of you and I will be back home next month for Christmas and New Years. I have a few comments to make about the trip home too, but more about that later.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I'm home; my luggage is still on holiday

My boss walked into my office on Thursday afternoon and said, "Are you running away from home?" It was a logical assumption considering the giant green suitcase by my desk (J has renamed the day-glo color"Random Bag Check Green.") Yep, I packed up Wednesday, left work at 5:30 on Thursday and headed to the airport for a depressingly short trip back home. Since then, my RBC Green suitcase and I have parted ways.

This is not going to be another slam like the one on Delta recently. Delta still sucks, but Northwest Air (or, NWA as the kids say) turned out to be my favorite of my four recent airline trips, despite the fact that my suitcase is still travelling the globe. (If you're keeping score that would be #1: NWA, #2: United, #3: American Airlines, and #1,024: Delta.)

Because nothing can ever go smoothly for me, here's how this trip worked out:
I booked the cheapest flight I could find which included 2 layovers on the return trip. Moline to Detroit, Detroit to Newark, Newark to DC. I made it to Detroit without incident, but the Newark flight was delayed an hour. Fearing a reprise of the Delta situation, I asked a representative for help and was told, "Your connecting flight leaves at 5:05 and we're due in at 4:35. 30 minutes is a legal connection time." I expected to spend the night in Newark tonight. Luckily, the flight was delayed again and the arrival time was 5:07, 2 minutes after my next flight leaves. I don't know the rules, but surely -2 minutes would be an "illegal" connection time. She conveniently disappeared, so I called the 1-800 number.

The lady at the 800# was very nice, and after I spent a few minutes on hold, she had me booked on a flight directly to DC, boarding in the next 20 minutes. That was awesome! Because of the layovers I wasn't due in until 6:30, this got me home 3 hours early. Of course, my suitcase didn't get the memo and was sent on its way to miss the connecting flight.

When my Detroit-to-DC flight landed and there was no suitcase, I was told that it was headed to Newark but they'd send it on the next flight to DC, then they'll deliver it to my apartment. Then she gave me some paperwork that had coupons for $25 off my next flight, 1,000 bonus miles, and $10 off from an airport vendor. (you had me at $25 off!)

As it turns out, my connecting flight is now delayed and isn't due in until 8:46 pm. Thanks to good timing and NWA's customer service, I made it home at 3:35. If I hadn't made the phone call, I would have my luggage but would still be in the air right now. Plus, I'd have to carry it home on the Metro instead of having it delivered. So, let's recap - I'm home 3 hours early, my luggage will be delivered, I'll save some $$ on my next flight, and I made it home before it started to rain an hour ago. Not a bad deal for having to wait a few hours for my dirty clothes.

It was a weird experience altogether. In Detroit I walked by a woman whose carry-on was meowing. (Can you really carry on a kitten or is TSA screening really inadequate?) On the flight from Detroit, there was about 5-10 minutes that were so turbulent, my Pepsi can almost jumped off the tray and into my neighbor's lap. If I hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, it would've been me in his lap. It was a crazy bumpy ride. I've never had an experience like that before. Well, I take that back, I had a similar experience in my brother's boat when it was windy outside and the waves were tossing us around. It would've been kind of fun had I not been sitting directly in front of a screaming infant. (Common courtesy, people - if you bring an infant on a plane, you have to bring enough pairs of earplugs for every other passenger on the flight!)

So why have I written all about the flight instead of my trip home? My flight is much less depressing. I still had some things to take care of at my apartment, so I shelled out $385 for a flight home so I could see my friends and clean up so I can get my $500 deposit back. I spent most of the weekend cleaning instead of hanging out w/friends. I arrived Thursday night just before midnight and had scheduled carpet cleaners at 8:30 Friday morning. Stayed up all night cleaning & vacuuming, slept all day, woke up late in the afternoon and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom all night. If I had stayed in DC, I could've been watching fireworks over the Capitol. I chose poorly.

It wasn't all bad. I had breakfast w/Keisha, Tom & the kids; my dad showed up and took Jenna and I to Amana & Williamsburg; I got to see Angie and J and Pops; and even though I didn't get to meet Anthony's new lady-friend, I did get to have ice cream with him. Plus, I spent $20 on products that would cost me $50 out here, changed my watch battery for $5.00 and found two pairs of work pants at Kohl's for $10.00. That helped curb some of the anxiety of the high cost of living out here. I just wish I could've spent more time w/all the people I miss. It felt wrong to be ignoring them to try to get my security deposit back. Lame. I will definitely have to make up for lost time in September - wherever the Brewfest ends up being held, my friends and I will be there!!

Update: As of 8:00 EST, the flight status on the Newark to DC flight is "Departed Gate 2 hours 19 minutes late, taxiing to runway (Departed Gate - takeoff delayed due to taxiing time)" Wow, I'm home in my jammies and my luggage is driving aimlessly around a runway. New ETA: 9:12 pm. Did I mention I made it back by 3:35?

Don't Do Delta

I'm back home in DC after my long week. I still have two apartments - one in DC and one in Coralville, both are barely habitable. I've been going at full-speed, racing around non-stop since about March and I finished it off with a horrendous trip tonight. As I write this it's nearly 2am here and I've only been home for about a half hour. My plane was supposed to arrive at 10:10. Well, I suppose it probably did arrive on time, I just wasn't on it.

After meticulous planning, I booked an afternoon flight out of Moline, without arriving back in DC too terribly late; I do start my job at 9am tomorrow (today!) So, I went with a Delta flight out of Moline (departing 4:35pm) to Atlanta, then Atlanta (departing 8:20) to DC with a layover of just under an hour. I knew there was trouble when I looked out the window in Moline. Instead of boarding the flight at 4:05, the plane was just pulling up and people were getting off the plane when I should've been getting on. We took off more than 30 minutes late and pulled into Atlanta at 8:00. The woman next to me had a connecting flight to Birmingham leaving at 8:15 and my departure to DC was 8:20. We got nervous around 7:30 and asked the flight attendant (or hostess or whatever the hell they call them these days) for more information. She couldn't tell us where our gate was, couldn't tell us if our flights were on time, her only advice: "Run!" and she asked the rest of the passengers to let us get off first. That was nice.

So, run I did. From the far end of terminal D to the opposite end of terminal A. That's not quite the full length of the airport, but pretty darn close. It was 8:05, I pushed through the airport with my carry-on bag spanking my backside with every stride. The bag started to rip, I didn't care - just grabbed the entire end of it and ran, Forrest ran.

I walked up to the terminal at exactly 8:20, thrust my boarding pass at the person behind the counter, and she couldn't care less. She said, "It's gone. You have to go to the ticket counter."

I was wearing layers of clothing, sweating and panting after running for my life through the airport, and she couldn't even tell me where the ticket counter was. When I finally wheezed the question at her, another guy told me it was at the other end of terminal A. Of course it was. Why would it be any closer?

So, I walked up to that counter and explained the situation between puffs off of my inhaler. She said I was on a waiting list for the next flight out at 9:40, if I couldn't get on they'd put me in a hotel and I'd catch the flight at 7:30 the next morning. I explained - in my not so nice voice - that I had just taken the flight attendant's advice and run the entire length of the airport because my DELTA flight was late. Meanwhile, I considered how I would explain to my boss that I had to call in on my first day of work and because I was in Atlanta - even further away from DC than I was when I started! I had already been through a tearful goodbye in Moline, and this was not helping my emotional well-being. Or my lung capacity.

As it turned out, I was number 5 on the list of 11 stand-by passengers and I made it on the flight at the last minute. The 9:40 flight ended up being a 10:10 flight after delays, which brought me back to DC at midnight. I had booked a shuttle for my original itinerary, but when I called them from Atlanta they couldn't guarantee they'd still be operating that late. I was not thrilled about wandering around the airport at midnight, but there were 139 other passengers arriving with me. Luckily some of us got a shuttle from a dispatcher who appeared to be having an even worse day than I was.

I've been doing a lot of air travel lately, I've been on United, American Airlines, and now Delta. This is the first time I've had a problem. I'm glad I didn't have to stay overnight, though. That would've been horrible to call in on my first day. I think that's the key to Delta's customer service. By the time they're done screwing with you, you don't even care anymore - you're just so damn happy to be on the ground. Angie was right - I should've expected this when I found out their slogan is "Go F--- Yourself."

I'm going to catch about 5 hours of sleep then start my new job. Good night everyone. Come and visit me. Don't fly Delta.