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How to spend most of a week flying home
By Marguerite House
This document was published online on Monday, January 05, 2009
When last we visited I was “Sleepless in Salt Lake City.”
My post-Christmas trip home from Denver was in its second day, and I was downright done-in by the whole experience.
Thankfully, I was able to snatch a room for the night at a nearby hotel. From there, I could see the Salt Lake planes coming and going “ if and when they were ever to come and go again.
The fluffy, comfy bed was straight from a TV infomercial, and I cautiously pronounced my luck “changed.” I settled in, prepared to catch the long overdue ZZZZs, and started to drift off to sleep.
As you may recall, that’s when the smoke detector began to beep, which means it’s time to change the battery. I recalled the sad truth: No smoke detector worth its electrodes can stop beeping until a new battery is in place.
To add insult to injury, I called the front desk and discovered I’d have to wait for the shuttle driver to return from the airport to change the battery “ an hour later.
And I was so darned tired.
The next morning, as I munched a bagel from the hotel’s meager breakfast fare, I checked the status of my flight home. According to the airline Web site, it was on schedule and it looked like I’d actually make it home this time. Dare I hope?
Since I now held an “interrupted travel” ticket, I was not able to check in with the electronic kiosks at the airline counter. Of course, I didn’t know this until I was face-to-face with the kiosk, attempting to print my boarding pass. I made my way to the “you don’t have what you need” line which, I can tell you, was far more difficult than it sounds.
Never have the words “sea of humanity” been more appropriate. The ticketing area was jammed with travelers and not a rope and stanchion in sight to corral the masses. No sooner had folks positioned themselves near a kiosk or check-in when a traveler with skis and three duffle bags announced, “Hey, we’re in line here.”
At that, I said to myself, “If 11th grade geometry serves me correctly, this mass of humans bears practically no likeness whatsoever to any line I’ve ever seen.”
Eventually, though, I made my way through the “you don’t have what you need” line and proceeded to the even longer line marked “security.” It stretched far beyond the immediate security area, but I happily took my place at the end of the line. Yes, there really was a “line,” not to mention ropes and stanchions, too.
We were entertained by big screen monitors with instructions how to make the process go faster. The film was hip “ complete with a contemporary soundtrack at ear-shattering volume. If I can’t hear an “important announcement” from the airport intercom, that darned video was too loud. (I know: When can one ever hear an important announcement in an airport?)
The video began with a demonstration of the finer points of removing anything metal from one’s person before passing through the metal detector. After seeing the presentation about 30 times while I snaked through the labyrinth of ropes, I thought, “I’m missing something here.” There had to be a snag in those instructions to remove all the metal. Why else did so many folks need to take three passes through the metal detector?
I headed to the boarding area near my gate, excited to be that much closer to home.
But I stopped dead in my tired tracks as I stared at the screens above the agent counters. Literally every flight was tagged “delay” and you’ll never guess why.
The saga continues next week ...
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