Losing the Race

Have you ever pretended you were on the Amazing Race while flying? Perhaps I'm the only nerd out there (though I doubt it), but it can make the torture that flying has become tolerable if I imagine I'm competing against my fellow passengers to get to the terminal/baggage claim first...anything to make it all more interesting than the more realistic experience of being chattle directed to the next chute.

For months, my four sisters and I have been looking forward to a weekend getaway that includes a shared hotel suite, great food, a show and the U2 concert. Travel is fun, right? Except when things go wrong at the airport, which every Amazing Race contestant, real or pretend, can attest to.

Last night, my connecting flight in Phoenix to Las Vegas was cancelled. You'd think that there would be plenty of alternate flights connecting these two desert towns, but, apparently, that is not so. There were no other flights out of the airport that evening, and they created a new flight for all us stranded passengers at 6:00 am the next day.

Those kinds of announcements brings out the competitor in everyone, and soon, hoards of people were running down the airport terminal to the customer service desk to get a spot in line to receive the vouchers for our next flight. I kept my hustle to a speed walk and was in the top 20, which, when I looked behind me at the sprawling line of disgruntled travelers, felt like a good place to be.

The customer service people were efficient, swiftly issuing me a voucher for a night at the Fiesta Inn and my choice of a seat on a 6 am flight or 7:45 am flight. As part of the weekend includes general admission tickets to U2, and getting in line early to get wristbands that provide the golden ticket into the coveted inner circle, I chose the 6 am flight.

The hotel voucher would have been better appreciated had some two-hundred some other people not also had the exact same attitude and destination as me. Like drag racers, we were all eying each other and jockeying for position at the baggage claim (had to pick up our luggage and re-check it in the next day), outside North Side Door #5 for the hotel shuttle (not enough room for everyone in one van) and then again from shuttle to hotel lobby where another line of all-too familiar looking people surrounded me.

I will boast that my Amazing Race skills are advantageous and had good position for each of these challenges. But then it happened: the random dose of bad luck.

There are some contestants on the Amazing Race that don't deserve to win. They constantly get lost in cities, forget details on their instructions that incur penalties or have emotional issues that keep them from being able to successfully complete tasks. To them, I say, "Good Riddance."

I do, however, feel bad when someone gets sent home for something beyond their control. A really bad taxi driver, for instance. Or problem with flights. Even though life never is, I hate it when things aren't fair.

With a three am alarm clock awaiting me, I tossed and turned all night. My subconscious was paranoid that the alarm wouldn't go off and I'd miss the 6 am flight so when it did finally beep at me, I felt relieved that the waiting was over.

I jumped in the shower which never produced a drop of warm water, which is miserable at any time of day but is especially unpleasant at three am. I attempted to de-frizz my hair with the hotel's pathetic excuse for a hair dryer and was in the lobby by 3:45 for the airport shuttle.

The van was full, since the hotel was disproportionately filled with Phoenix to Las Vegas air travelers, and another long line awaited me at the US Airways check-in desk. I knew, thanks to everyone in line having the same problem, what bad news awaited me.

The 6 am flight is cancelled.

So, now I wait. I, along with about a hundred other passengers, sit here at Gate A29 hoping for a standby seat on the 7:45 am flight. If I can't get on that flight, I've got a supposed seat on a 10:15 flight. Either way, I'll be sandwiched into the middle seat, which is not a pleasant place to be when you've got hips like mine. There is no possibility for personal space.

It's out of my control. US Airways has cost me the race, time with my sisters, and probably an inner-circle spot at the concert.

Yes, my competitive spirit has been broken. I am resigned to being chattle.

Now, to go and get me some overpriced and unappetizing breakfast.