Learn to fly.

Well, it’s that time of year again when we step on a plane and likely all hell breaks loose. Graeme and I have some pretty shitty tales of flying because who even knows why, so I’m just gonna throw out that ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS ZERO INTERRUPTIONS AND SHIT VIA FLYING. Please Santa, be a bro. Be the hero we need.

We leave tomorrow to go to Phoenix to visit my parentals. I’m sure I’ll have a shiny new garbage story about our flights whence we return, but until then, I share with you our shitty story of flying home from our honeymoon this past February.

Carolyn before flying.

Do you know what I hate?
The Miami airport, shitty flight attendants, and shitty airlines.

Edmonton to Phoenix, February 2nd, 2015.
Our flight was delayed. No reason. It just was.
For an hour. No big deal. I’ve had worse.

We get to the airport, it’s been delayed for another hour. Ugh. Fine, whatever, I’ve had worse. But I would like to go NAOW because we’re meeting my parents in Phoenix for dinner.

Update, flight is delayed another hour. KAY. FUCK YOU.

Update, flight is delayed another hour.
I WILL CUT YOU.

We finally arrive in Phoenix at 9:30pm. It’s too late to meet my parents since our next flight leaves at 11:30. Le sigh. Oh look, all of the restaurants in the Phoenix airport are closed. That’s cool, I’ll just starve. We walk all over the airport to find a tiny deli open 24hrs. WHY? We eat shitty sandwiches and get on our flight to Miami. Arrive in Miami, it’s 7am or something.

Miami to Curacao. FINALLY. GOD.

The honeymoon was fantastic and wonderful and blah blah blah. That’s not what this entry is about.

Curacao to Miami, February 14th, 2015.
Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.

Our flight was delayed.
Not cool. Our layover in Miami is only an hour and 45 minutes.
Our flight was delayed MOAR.
We now have 30 minutes to get to our next flight.
Then I realize we have to go through customs. PERFECT.
Announcement comes on, they canceled the second delay. Wha..? Okay.

Finally board the plane. Near the end of the flight I noticed the flight attendants didn’t hand out declaration forms. So I ask one of them for one.

Chick: Sorry we don’t have any.
Me: What? How do you not…have any? We’re going from a random country into the States….
Chick: We were told everyone was given one in Curacao.
Me: Yeah no. And you don’t just…have any?
Chick: Nope!
Me: Neat. So we have 30 minutes to get from this plane to our connecting flight, is there any way we can fly through the aisle when we land?
Chick: Well…I don’t know if it will help…
Me: Well we’re gonna try! We have to pick up our checked bag too.
Chick: No you don’t….
Me: Yes we do…going through customs, we have to bring our luggage through….
Chick: No no, it just goes through automatically, at customs they’ll show you a picture of it, you identify it and you keep on going through.
Me: Huh. That’s….new. Alright! Good!

GUESS WHO WAS WRONG.
That. Fucking. Chick.

So, we’re up the second the seat belt sign turns off. Graeme is basically pushing me down the aisle INTO PEOPLE STANDING THERE. I tell him to stop pushing me, he tells me to fucking go, I tell him I CAN’T RUN THROUGH PEOPLE BECAUSE I’M NOT A GHOST SORRY. So we’re stuck. Graeme is being Graeme and telling people to get out of the fucking way and I’m apologizing for him because #Canada and GOD it was a nightmare.

Finally we get off the plane. SPRINTING. GOOD. I LIKE SPRINTING. WHAT IS SPRINTING FOR FUCK SAKES.

PS: The Miami airport is confusing. Not Chicago confusing, but Jesus Christ, DO YOU EVEN OWN SIGNS.

Everyone we pass who’s working at the airport is like “woooahh, slow down…” NO. We just run past. Fuck you. You’re not my real mom. All of a sudden, we arrive in customs. And the lines aren’t long but Graeme’s patience is currently at zero percent. I’m standing behind someone. Graeme runs over to the next line and asks the lady, who’s about 75, if she has a connecting flight. She starts raising her voice at him and I don’t really hear what she’s saying but Graeme just walks away with his hands up like “OKAYJESUSIWASJUSTASKINGFUCK” and runs away.

So we finally get through customs and start running.
Apparently you shouldn’t RUN AWAY FROM A CUSTOMS AGENT.

We’re told to stop running. Graeme yells “WE’RE TRYING TO CATCH OUR FLIGHT KINDA GOTTA RUN.” Sure. Running from the law. YOLO. Thankfully, the officers didn’t bother running after us.

Now we’re in baggage claim. We run to the other side of baggage claim as I see a “connecting flights” sign. Only…we can’t seem to get to the actual exit. So we run back a bit and see people who were on our flight exiting another way.

Me: Uhhh, do you notice that EVERYONE has their bags??
Graeme: Maybe…they’re all….staying in Miami….

We can’t seem to get to these fucking people because everything is blocked off. So we keep running and run past someone working there and she’s like “what are you looking for??” and Graeme promptly yells “THE FUCKING EXIT.”

Like. Full on screams at her. And she’s like

And I yell ”sorryyyy…..”

At this point. I’m now getting to Graeme’s level of rage. Where the fuck do we go. It’s all CLEAR to me now that we could have stopped running and ASKED. I AM WELL AWARE OF THAT NOW.

So we finally did.

Dude was like “you need to get your luggage…”
Me: What? Our goddamn flight attendant told us we didn’t.
Dude: Yeah….she was wrong….
Me: Jesus goddamn ACTUAL CHRIST.

So we go and wait for our bags WHICH HAD TO BE ONE OF THE LAST FUCKING ONES TO COME OFF THE FUCKING BEKLMJNALEGBFL;SJD. Rage. RAGE LEVEL COMPLETE.

Graeme grabs the bag.
We sprint to the exit.
See a line to RE CHECK THE FUCKING BAG.
Dude checking our passport says “yeah….you missed the flight.”

Me: YOU’VE GOT TO BE JOKING.
And Graeme just shook his head and threw down our UNCHECKED BAG in defeat.

Such happy, many wow. We had plans in Phoenix (11 hour layover, buh) to see our friend Kiran. She was going to pick us up, bring us back to her place and hang out. She even bought beer for us. But now that was scrapped.

So we’re waiting to get new flights booked which takes 45 fucking years to do. By this point, we’re both starving, sweaty and extremely tired. So the flight the dude booked us was at 6 fucking am. I asked him to book us on Air Canada or West Jet because I was done dealing with American flights. He said “I can get you on Air Canada from Toronto to Edmonton, but Miami to Toronto has to be AA.” Still in my rage induced coma, I politely-ish said “Jesus, I’d rather walk to Toronto BUT SURE.”

Dude: Woooo I thought Canadians were NICE!
Me trying to be an asshole: I thought American’s….y’know…knew…THINGS.
Dude just stares at us: That was a good comeback.

This guy managed to turned our attitudes around completely. I mean, what could we do. Being so hungry and over tired, everything became hilarious. He was hella calm and realized we were rage-y but never let that bother him. He was top notch.

Dude books us into the Best Western and gives us food vouchers. Fucking rights he gives us food vouchers.

After 20 minutes waiting for the shuttle, we’re finally at the hotel. It’s about 9:30pm at this point. I just want to eat my pillow I’m so hungry/tired. We get out of the shuttle and there’s fucking weird ass roosters just chillin’ in/around the entrance. I can’t even so I start laughing as I watch one of the workers try to shoo them away and the roosters are like NO FUCK YOU, I’M A PAYING CUSTOMER. And then Graeme knocked a painting off the wall with our luggage and fuck. Just. Let me DIE.

Before the ass crack of dawn can even moon us, we’re off. CHECK our BAG, go through security, all that shit. We board the plane to go to cold as fuck Toronto. We are not sitting together. We are stuck on the plane without it going anywhere for 45 minutes because GOD HATES TANNED PEOPLE.
Finally, we leave.

“Oh Canada, how I missed you.” – SOMETHING THAT RARELY COMES OUT OF MY MOUTH.

THEN FOR SOME FUCKING REASON, WE HAD TO GET OUR BAG AGAIN. WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT IN CHECKING A BAG IF YOU HAVE TO PICK IT THE FUCK UP AT EVERY FUCKING POINT IN THE WHOLE WORLD. I did not understand this one bit. On the way to Curacao, we checked our bag in Edmonton and didn’t pick it up until Curacao. WHY CAN’T IT BE LIKE THAT THE OTHER FUCKING WAY.

Do you know what’s the best?
Air Canada.

We got food, we had our own TV’s to watch (I watched The Emperor’s New Groove because obviously), and landing the plane didn’t feel like my ass was going to go through my nose. Smoothest. Landing. Ever.

I had never been so happy to see Edmonton.
Seriously.

OH, so the reason our flight was delayed from Curacao to Miami was because THEY LOST THE PLANE. They just couldn’t find it. And then I made the incredibly poorly timed joke “how the fuck do you lose a plane, what are we flying with, AirAsia?”

Waits for laughter…..

Carolyn after flying.

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2 thoughts on “Learn to fly.

  1. Liz

    I’m laughing. That was fucking hilarious, because I know the exact level of rage you’re talking about and I have almost killed and eaten a desk attendant while attempting to catch the fourth flight of the day.

    Reply

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