Philadelphia/Cleveland I

8/8/05, 2:42pm: I am not an expert traveler. I consider myself a seasoned traveler; always open to advice, the occasional lesson to be learned...basically anything that can help me deal with airline travel more enjoyably and more efficiently. I dress and pack appropriately so I can breeze through security and, though I have the additional baggage of an instrument to carry, I would say I do alright.

My last entry was written within the confines of the Philadelphia Airport. I awoke, fairly fresh, at 6am and was out the hotel door at 6:30 to make my 10:05 flight. Overkill you say? Until you’ve encountered the line for security at Phily (which I alluded to in my last report) you’ll  know that this is not a rookie move. Anyhow, all systems go, with plenty of time to sit in the terminal and do such mundane things as write for this journal.

Boarding call was made and I entered the plane and took my seat with the sense of triumph of a plan well-executed. Then, the wait began. 10 minutes on the tarmac. Fifteen. Twenty. Finally, in a voice all too clear, “Ladies & gentlemen, apparently a Frontier Airlines jet has had its brakes lock up and is unable to move off the runway.” My heart froze. My throat became dry. A diminished chord from some unseen movie score orchestra pulsed in my head. I thought to myself, “Why didn’t I get called for that gig?”. But I digress. Fast-forward to an hour later. Our flight takes off and we arrive in Cleveland at approximately 12:30pm. My connecting flight was scheduled to depart at 12:35. I hoped. I prayed. I chanted to unseen spirits. I grabbed my shit and bolted like a kid stealing a Tootsie Roll from the local mini-mart. At 12:40 I arrived at the gate -- not out of breath mind you -- only to hear the words “I’m sorry, the plane has already left.”

Fast-forward again, I’m here in Cleveland waiting for my 8:55pm flight. Seven hours to kill. (Actually, more than that when you take in when this all actually started.) So, with several whiskeys already under my belt and with even more hours to go, I submit to you this thought for consideration: All the experience in the world can’t prepare you for...what you think you’re prepared for.

I have also come to the conclusion that, with the right attitude, almost everything is bearable. Then again, that could be the whiskey talking.

Humbly yours,
--Adam