SPD->ATL->DCA

The countdown began during the Missouri vs. Oklahoma State Cotton Bowl Championships when my mother-in-law thrusted the pending forecast in my face: the Polar Vortex would likely change our travel plans. With home leave coming to an end in Springfield, we still needed to conquer 2 flights before landing in Virginia for language training. United Airlines, true to their low-level standards, they cancelled our flight and kept Mark on hold for several hours before getting disconnected due to phone-line overload. They stopped taking phone calls altogether. In the end it was Delta that took us under their wing and tentatively booked us for the following afternoon.

Waiting. And waiting some more.

Mark sure knows how to play his cards right. After getting our family on the standby list for an already four hour delayed flight, Mark predictably started chatting up fellow travelers. He spoke openly about our last two months of transit, his job, and his obvious adoration of his children. It just so happened that the couple he spoke with were Platinum Elite members with Delta who promptly walked up to the desk and requested we take their place in the standby list. It if weren’t for their generosity, we’d have missed the flight, but the best part was everyone ended up getting on the plane when Mark geniously suggested we give up Margo’s seat and put her in my lap. She howled like a banshee for most of the trip, but it was worth it. I think.

Landing in Atlanta, all other flights were delayed so it seemed we might actually make our connecting flight! Until we sat on the runway for 2 hours. The airlines were reinforcing an 8 hour work limit for all employees which meant no one could move. Seeing the terminal from our tiny windows was a little bit cruel, especially when we lurched forward, only to circle back and wait. I felt the blood slowly stagnate in my ass, feeling the loss of circulation creep down my legs as I stared at Margo who finally passed out in my lap. I didn’t dare move.

Thanks to record cold temperatures, the world’s largest airport could not function properly: the madness continued in the terminal with massive cancellations, leaving people confused, cold and stranded. Luckily we re booked the last leg of our journey for the following day but were left to our own devices to procure a hotel. Delta apparently gave away all their vouchers. 250 bucks and 8 hours later, all four of us rallied from downtown Atlanta back to the airport.

Deets literally begging for a nap.

Finally boarding onto the DC bound plane, we thought for sure people would be champing at the bit get going. Like slugs in molasses on a cold Tuesday morning, the passengers painstakingly took their seats but I particularly enjoyed the 82 year old woman in my row. She made cat noises at a gentleman who blatantly ignored the already stressed out flight crew as he repeatedly shoved his over sized carry-on into the overhead compartment. “Amatueur,” she said. When commenting about the cold she quipped: “These people think they know what cold is?! Ha! In Wichita, these temperatures are downright balmy. They need to buck up and deal with it.” Since my own best friend lives in Williston, ND with routine temperatures of -20 F, I’m inclined to agree with her. But I couldn’t stop my own teeth from chattering as I longed for warmer days.

Margo NOT screaming!

I don’t know how Mark did it, but the children slept the whole way. Finally, we landed in DC and proceeded to baggage claim to pick up most of our suitcases. In the end, Mark’s clothes didn’t make it out of Atlanta which is half funny since our Romania-Virginia air shipment did not contain but a single pair of pants of Mark’s. It might be my fault since I panicked about going overweight when we moved out of our house in Romania, he packed the majority of his clothes in the boxes that would arrive in Brazil (Nov 2014). Subsequently, he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past three days. Good thing he has a wife who’s already experienced that and could offer up fashion tips.