And What about the Rest of August?

Well, after my enjoyable flight from Prague to Atlanta, things didn't continue to be so rosy.  I hurried from Customs to recheck my baggage.  Then, I scurried to my terminal and ate a nice, American meal at Chilli's before heading to my gate.  

I arrived at my gate with plenty of time to spare.  I was still quite elated about my experience earlier with Yoga Master Marcus.  Plus, I was feeling satisfied about my travel ease and priding myself on being such an excellent and independent traveller.  

The gate was packed with people waiting for the same flight to Nashville.  Since no chairs seemed vacant, I used this as an excuse to buy a Mint Mocha Chip Frappuccino from the company I loathe, Starbucks.  Feeling only slightly guilty for my traitorous actions and eating such a high-caloric treat, I sauntered back to my gate with only 15 minutes to wait before boarding.

Then, the loudest clap of thunder roared and the vibrations rattled the walls.  It was so loud that people eyes wide and frightened, looked out the window and all around as if expecting to see that a bomb had just been detonated.  Seconds later, a steady downpour began and only flickering lights could be made out on the tarmac, and a group sigh of disappointment could be heard. 

The flight was delayed by one hour.  Then, 15 minutes, then 30 minutes, then 15 more minutes.  By 11:00, most of us realized that it was just a matter of time before they cancelled our flight.  

A lady I was sitting near had given me the time a half-hour before.  Her, another man, and myself had made some comments about the delay, and kept asking each other if we could make out the latest update on the board across the gate.  A few minutes later, she turned to me and asked, "This flight is going to be cancelled.  You wanna go get a Bloody Mary with me?" 

I didn't even think about it, "Sure!" I exclaimed hopping to my feet.  I was aware this was slightly odd and not really something I had done before, but I didn't have much else to do.

Her name was Sandie, in her fifties, a professor from Martin, TN, but originally from Florida.  I ordered a glass of wine and she had a Bloody Mary and some potato chips.  We made small talk about our lives, jobs, and travel.  Then, I asked if she had any kids.  

A wave of sorrow and pain flickered through her face, and then she told me six weeks before her son had died unexpectedly.  He was 26 and had just finished his Master's degree.  Her eyes were filled with tears, but I could tell she was holding them back with the strength of a fighter.  

I can not think of a worse person to put in a situation like this.  Especially considering, it had only been six weeks. I am wretched in moments like this.  I faintly remembered my mom's friend who had lost her son when he was 19 years old saying, it made her sad because no one ever talked about him.  They were always worried it would upset her if they mentioned him, but it got to the point that it was like he never existed to anyone but her.

Trying to decide what to say, opposed to many "awwww"s and "omg"s as seems natural,  I said, "I am so sorry. What is he like?"  

Her face brightened up and she began to talk about her baby boy with pride and love.  She told me about his degrees and how he use to wrestle, and about the two cats he had rescued, which now she had inherited.  She told me he had travelled all around Europe, and that she met him in London, and they had an amazing time.  They had even planned to go to Paris this fall.  She continued to share with me.  I had no idea what to say when she stopped.

I think sometimes people are so scared of silence.  I know I am.  Normally, I would start speaking frantically, try to be clever, try to lighten the mood, but sometimes, I think people just have to feel uncomfortable, to grieve, to be sad and just feel what they are feeling.  I sat there for a second, trying to choose my words wisely and not be selfish by just spitting something out to make myself feel less awkward.  But really, nothing seems appropriate or comforting in a moment like this.  The truth was, I had no idea how she was feeling, and I really had no inkling of what to say.  

Just a few days before, I had been thinking about the loss of loved ones.  I was thinking about if I lost a friend or family member untimely, how I really do not think I would have the courage and strength to go on.  I just don't know how people cope with such a loss.  So, I said to her something true from the heart. "I'll bet you found strength you never knew you had?"

She tossed her head back and rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh, "You have no idea," she said.  She ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair.  "It's one of those things that you are just waiting for it to kill you."  She took a swig from her drink, "But, here I am."

Our flight was cancelled and due to the time and amount of passengers, we all were shuttled to the front of the airport to rebook.  By 1AM, Sandie and I were still standing in line to rebook our intended 8:30pm flights to Nashville.  After we overheard the airline employees telling well over a hundred people they were on stand-by for the first flight in the morning, I decided I should try a new route.  Sandie was kind enough to let me use her phone to call Andrew, who was expecting to pick me up in Nashville.  Sandie got several of my phone calls from my family that night, and we joked that next time I came home, she would be sitting in the kitchen having coffee with my mom. 

Sandie is what got me through that night.  If I didn't have someone to talk and joke with, I would have gone stark-ravening MAD!  My anger and exhaustion would have overwhelmed me. Having someone to share the misfortune and vent to was a life saver!  Luckily, I had been able to rebook a flight directly for Tri-Cities Airport the next morning at 7:30. 

With small tote bags provided by the airline tucked under our arms, we went in search of a vacant concourse to rest our weary heads.  We decided on the Concourse C.  It was free.... and freeZING.  Up until this point, I could still laugh everything off, and for the most part deal with the circumstances. 

 I didn't sleep a wink that night.  On top of the Arctic temperature and pathetic make-shift bed of rigid chairs, it was so very loud.  CNN was blasting from monitors suspended from the ceiling.  On loop every 10 minutes was an announcement about escalator safety.  Something like, "Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport is proud to announce it is the busiest airport in the world.  We would like to remind you to be careful with soft sole shoes when entering and exiting the escalator.  Serious damage can occur if not careful.  Children should always be escorted by a parent when entering and exiting the escalator.  From all of us here at Hartsfield International, we would like to thank you for choosing Atlanta." 

By 4 AM having not slept in 20 hours, I was near screaming, "Let the bloody escalator eat all the bloody children and bloody morons who don't know how to ride it! AND curses on the one idiot that had this accident, thus making it mandatory to play this %$#@% announcement!!! AHHHH!" Then, going on a rampage busting all the monitors, and the vending machine, and gorging on Starbursts and Kit-Kats.  

Around 6:30 I said my goodbyes to Sandie, and we exchanged addresses and vowed to be pen-pals. I went to my concourse, and then my gate, and then I boarded the aircraft, and then, the airplane was 30 minutes into the flight, when the pilot announced we would be turning around and heading back to Atlanta due to left engine problems. 

 I couldn't laugh any more.  I couldn't shrug it off as one of those uncontrollable situations that happens when traveling.  Unlike Mother Nature, which truly is ungovernable, some lazy oaf didn't do their job properly.  They could have caught this problem before we took-off, fixed it, and I could have been home in my comfortable bed.  BUT NO, because some fool, some cretin, some IMBECILE I was returning to the Atlanta airport, also known as Hell!

 I had to rebook my flight... again.  This time at 12:30pm.  I was really on my last ounce of patience.  Then, just because I suppose, that flight was delayed another hour and twenty minutes.  It took every morsel of control remaining in my body to not break-down and cry at Gate 78.  I was so frustrated, but more than that, completely exhausted.  

Life held no joy at that moment.  I can't tell you the wrath and hatred boiling at my surface.  Nothing could make this situation worse... oh wait... retraction.  >Enter<>

This horrible, miserable creature spoke loud enough for everyone to hear her.  She propped her guitar on crossed legs, and strummed what seemed to me a few basic chords and began to sing her horrible, miserable song.  After her unwanted display of ummm.... talent?... she strutted over to where some boys were sitting with their legs sprawled out onto the chairs across from them.  She seductively climbed over them, and laid on her side, resting her hand in her palm as her shirt rode up exposing her pelvis and stomach, and said, "Hey, I'm Horrible Miserable, what's your name? Are you going to Johnson City? I go to ETSU.  I am majoring in music," with a slutty twinkle in her eye.

 I have never wanted to strangle a stranger so badly! (Well, actually, I am sure I have, but she is most recent.) If I had a choice, I would have preferred to bludgeoned her to death!  I hope her horrible, miserable, powder-pink cowboy hat was crushed under an 18-wheeler as she drove down the highway, obnoxiously singing to Kenny Chesney and putting on frosty, powder-pink lipgloss.

So, after 20 HOURS in Atlanta airport, where I could have driven to Kingsport and back, TWICE, I finally made it home. I was home for three weeks.  I think it is safe to say it was not the most notable three weeks of my life, but it was so very pleasant.

Most of the time, I was visiting family, catching-up with friends, rejoicing in not having au pair duties, and relaxing.  I am so thankful that I got to go home.  The time off could not have come at a better time.  It was great to see my family and friends after 9 months!

 And what about Sandie, you ask? Well, I have written Sandie a few postcards from various places I traveled, and I received one from her when she was in Florida.  I am so glad I met her.  I don't know how, but I think I was put in her life for a reason and vice versa.  Maybe just to send her pretty postcards of places her son has been or wanted to go.  I hope that every time she gets one, her heart is a little lighter, and a broad grin forms on her face.