My dad and I went to Sarasota today. I had the brilliant idea of checking the departure time prior to leaving for our flight and discovered that the flight was 45 minutes delayed. Great, so we will just get to the airport 45 minutes later, right? Shit happens, at least we know going into this that we are going to be a little late.
Half way to the airport I decided to check one more time just to make sure it hadn't been pushed back a little later, but to my surprise, the flight was no longer delayed at all! Our flight was scheduled at 445, and we left from the Denver Tech Center at 330.
My dad was screaming at me to drive like an asshole, I was stressing about the fact that our plane was boarding in 20 minutes, and trying to navigate through pre-rush hour traffic. I pulled up to the economy lot at DIA and put my car in park at 410. Luckily, we don't check bags and had both printed our boarding pass already, so we could bypass almost everything - there is still a chance for us to make it!
The last time I ran, I'm pretty sure the year ended in a 9, I'm not even kidding. I haven't even jogged. I was wearing Doc Martens, these big heavy half boots, and had a huge heavy suitcase and my Google Chrome Notebook and was running like a jackass through a huge parking lot. By the time we actually reached the actual building, I realized this whole running business wasn't going to last much longer for me, but of course, in less I wanted to spend hundreds of dollars to change my flight, I was going to be running like a bat out of hell through the airport, also.
By the time we got to the security check point, I'm pretty sure I could taste blood in my lungs. Somehow we ended up making it to the gate while the door was still open, and there was a family who actually got on after us. It was a really good victory.
Sitting on the plane I started realizing the extent of the damage I did to my body. My ankle was killing me thanks to my boots and my shitty running; apparently I like to hit myself with my shoes. I could hardly breathe, and I legit wanted to die.
Whatever, we made it. Temporary feeling of death is worth making your flight and only leaving 75 minutes prior to the flight. Seriously, that's impressive. As we were sitting on the runway, the captain came on over the PA system and informed us that there is a minor delay.
"This is first officer whoever, we had a minor safety maintenance issue pop up just now, but it's nothing major. Actually, it's not a safety concern at a-"
There was this strange dinging coming from the background, I have no idea what it was from, but it sounded like a horrible alarm coming from the background of the cockpit. 5 seconds later, he came back on the PA system and informed us, "it's an easy fix, it will.... take... aah (at this point I am like, begging him in my head to say "about another 30 minutes, thanks 30 Rock) just a few minutes till where moving again."
Immediately half of the plane starts laughing and the words, TV show, 30 Rock, Tina Fey, and Liz Lemon were muttered by almost everyone, at which point I started to feel bad for the flight attendants that a TV show pretty much ruined delays for them for at least another month. Then I saw the gay flight attendant and stopped feeling bad. Not only was he fat, he was also a sassy asshole (but really, aren't they all?).
This morning, I woke up and my legs are killing me (probably from the marathon race I ran at the airport yesterday) to the point where I probably should never move again. :( It is pretty sunny here, though!
About Sundanlotion: Sundanlotion lives online in a creepy dark and sad corner where floppy ear bunnies go to die/rot for eternity.
