Tomorrow evening I experience something I’ve never done before – I fly on Thanksgiving Eve.  I get neurotic in airports.  I must have been a refugee in some reincarnation, some poor sod trying to escape before the last plane or heliocopter departs. For nothing squeezes my adrenals more than the notion “I will miss my flight”.  This anxiety includes the possibility I may be bumped and/or the flight canceled.  “Being stranded” in some faraway airport is even more upsetting than not making a flight.

I don’t think I’ve ever really had any of these what-ifs realized, but it doesn’t help.  I get wound up in airports.

Flying on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is my equivalent of someone with a water phobia being pushed into the deep end and told to swim.

What the hell.  I am going with the idea if anything in the obstacle course makes me miss my flight*, then I will be OK – the trip was not to be.  As is my wont, I defer all travel arrangements to Someone. I let my eyes glaze over and I passively do as I am told. I remind myself we are not in South Vietnam in 1975. Cocktails help. As does checking a bag so I don’t have to mind it.

So wish me luck.  I’ll tell you if I get to Seattle with all my marbles (and my luggage), or we are left behind in Phoenix with Mac and Cheese for Thanksgiving.

 

*these include:

Not getting out of work in time.

Traffic delays getting to the airport.

No parking.

Lines so long we miss our flight.

A cancellation.

TSA arresting me for having packed a bottle of water.

A sudden walk out strike by the airline staff.

Mass insanity.

A bomb threat.

So much negative karma my mind melts.

 

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