It all started with a phone call...

It all started with a phone you ever have one of THOSE days? A day where you feel like that kid from "Charlie Brown Comics" that has that little dust cloud following him around? Yeah, that kind of day...Yesterday I was getting ready to leave for Galveston for our company's professional seminar when my printer just would not print. I couldn't get my  email to send, either. And on top of all that, I was late meeting another female agent who was driving us down to Atlanta to catch our flight. So I was already frustrated when I got in the car. We hadn't gone five miles down the road when her windshield wiper started making a weird bopping sound. We stopped for lunch and had burgers to go because we were running late. Finally got the email sent, but was having difficulty concentrating because every three seconds we kept hearing "bop," "bop", "bop"...This soon ceased to annoy me because a new problem presented itself...the aftermath of a greasy burger, road trip and IBS. For those of you who don't know what IBS is, Google it. You will learn more than you ever wanted to know. Suffice it to say, the need for finding a bathroom became immediate. We finally found a bathroom and got back on the road. 

I was not familiar with the Atlanta airport, having been approximately 20 years since I boarded a plane. There is a reason for this...I am terrified of flying. Terrified. Did I say terrified? Anyway, we finally found the airport, but couldn't find a place to park. We drove. And drove. And drove. We finally found a spot which I am sure was 15 miles away because I was dragging my carryon behind me like a dead body when we finally reached the terminal. I would like to say this was the end of our walking. But no. The Delta terminal was all the way on the other side of the airport. So we walked another 15 miles. And all the time, it's getting later. And later. And later. Finally got in line, and it was looooong. Nine tiers long, and moved like a snail eating marshmallows. When we were about half way there, I turned to Monti and said, "we are going to miss our flight." But like the two road weary lunatics we were, we kept inching forward. When we finally get to the security clearance contraption, I go through the gate, and it beeps. They send me back through and it beeps again. I didn't bother to tell them about the two gold crowns in my back teeth because I didn't want to run the risk of having my teeth yanked out by an overzealous security guard. Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, because by this time, we had missed our flight, the guard pulled me off to the side and tested me for bomb residue. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, bomb residue.

Apparently, they decided I wasn't a threat to national security, so they motioned me through the line, and then I lost Monti. Since, by this time nothing much could have surprised me, I stared hoping they would just take me to jail where I could at least get a peaceful nights sleep. While I was getting bomb tested, Monti was having a little adventure of her own. They had evidently flaggged her computer and pulled it out of the line and temporarily lost it. Eventually they found it and we were cleared to board our flight which had already departed 15 minutes earlier. 

We were fortunate. There was another flight out at 9:00pm. Thinking our luck had finally taken a turn for the better, we treated ourselves to a pedicure and dinner at Carrabas. Never knew the airport had spa services, but we needed it last night!

We headed back to the Delta gate to board our flight, flip flopping with our newly painted toes, and I dropped my carryon on my big toe. I would have screamed but I remembered the bomb residue thing, and since it was beginning to look like I might actually get to leave the Atlanta airport while I was still alive, I stifled a scream and limped into the plane.

Our say it was bumpy would have been an understatement. Let's put it this way...between the lightening, rain and turbulence, I've ridden mechanical bulls that bucked less. I was praying, "Dear Jesus, just let me get on the ground and I will never get on another plane again after I get back home!"  

Well, we landed. I had a pilot tell me once that any landing you walk away from is a good one. So we did walk away and I suppose that was good enough. We found a taxi and started the 45 minute drive to the hotel.  

Our cab driver...very large man and it's 11:00 at night and we are on this road leading into Galveston. At one point, Monti leaned over to me in the cab, handed me an ink pen with panic in her eyes. I'm thinking, "what does she want me to do, write him a letter?" She made a little stabbing motion and it dawned on me, she was using it as a weapon! Thankfully, despite getting lost with GPS directions (yeah, I didn't believe it, either), we got to the hotel. 

At the reservation desk, there was (big surprise!) trouble checking in. Finally got that fixed and headed to the room. We were both exhausted, that leg massage from the pedicure long past gone. We were headed down the hall, and Monti asked me what room we were in. I looked down at the key. The room number, I kid you not, was 666. And I thought the day couldn't get any more strange. I was wrong. 

When I finally fell asleep last night, I didn't dream. Too tired. But I have to fly back out on Friday...