I am currently sitting in the airport in Dayton, OH, after a weekend full of training for my job I will start this summer. This airport is quite underwhelming considering I am in the birthplace of aviation. This has made me reflect on some of the experiences, the good, the bad, and the embarrassing, I have had in airports.
Airports have never really stressed me out like they do most people. I grew up with a dad who had to be at the airport at least 3 hours before it was time to board. We are those people that have to see the gate to make sure it exists before getting food, using the bathroom, etc.
I believe I was never stressed while traveling because my dad carried the stress of our entire family.
To this day, I still get very excited to go to airports. My sister says she could hang out in an airport without even taking off on a plane and normally I think I would agree. However, this past summer I grew a love/hate relationship with these places.
I am so grateful for how much I was able to travel around Europe this summer working for a travel agency. It just got a little hectic at times.
For my birthday, two of my co-workers turned best friends, and I traveled from Florence to Paris to see Coldplay in concert. It was, with no exaggeration, the best time of my life. I was living. It could not all be perfect though. We had a direct flight to Paris and flew into Orly. Ella and I, however, tried to save a few bucks on the way back and bought a flight from Ryanair with a layover in Bologna. As instilled in me by my dad, we arrived at Orly for our flight to Bologna 2 hours before we needed to board.
It was 6 am, we were exhausted, and Starbucks was closed at the airport. Our morning was already to a rough start and we had 2 hours to spare, we thought at least. Also instilled in me by my dad, I told the girls we needed to find our gate before we walked around the airport to look for something other than Starbucks.
Ella: "Ummmmm guys why is our gate number not on this tv?"
Me: "That is weird, let's find someone who works here."
Me: "Excuse me, sir, do you know where our gate is?" Shows him my boarding pass*
Airport staff: Makes the biggest, scariest gasp ever* "We do not have Ryanair at this airport anymore."
He told us that our flight was actually out of a different airport that was an hour and twenty minutes away... our flight departed in an hour and thirty...
Long story short, after using my own google maps as directions for a taxi driver, almost getting hit by a transfer truck getting on an exit we almost missed, being dropped off at the wrong terminal, sprinting to the right one, getting in a fight with a TSA officer, and by the grace of God, we walked on our flight with 0 minutes to spare.
The last story I will bore you all with is from when my unreal summer was coming to an end. My flight from Florence was around 5 am so I left for the airport at 3 am. keep in mind throughout this story, because I was not able to fit my boots or my hat in my suitcase, I looked like this...
I arrived at the airport around 3:30 with my, I could already tell, very overweight luggage. The doors did not even open until 4:00, so this gave everyone already there enough time to notice me in my ridiculous outfit.
As soon as the doors opened, my anxious dad in me rushed inside with my 80 lb suitcase and my carry-on. For some reason, check-in at the Florence airport was on the second floor. I decided it would be quicker to hop on the escalator rather than wait for the elevator, right? So I hauled all of my stuff on and within the first 10 seconds, I was already feeling deep regrets.
My 80-pound suitcase started tipping over and I was going down with it. I started doing forward rolls over my suitcase and could not stop. This poor old man behind me tried to help me as his wife was yelling at him not to help, and I ended up toppling him over too. So both of us unable to stop, continued to flip down the escalator until the airport turned the whole thing off.
"DOCTOR, DOCTOR, IS ANYONE A DOCTOR?"
I could hear coming from an airport staff member when I finally stopped tumbling. It seemed like the entire airport staff was at the bottom of the escalator trying to help me. Someone had pulled out a wheelchair, someone asked where my parents were and someone asked if I was under the influence. Meanwhile, I could not stop laughing at myself and nobody was there to laugh with me.
I just kept thinking about if my airport stress-induced dad or sisters were with me and how even more comical that would have been.
Somehow, other than the embarrassment, I was totally fine and only had a scratch on my knee.
There are two morals in this blog. One, always check your boarding passes and make sure you go to the right airport. And two, if anyone knows how to get the security footage from the Florence airport, most of my family and friends would pay enormous amounts of money to see it.
With love,
MLC
تعليقات