Is there anything that makes you feel more helpless than being at the mercy of the airlines? I know that the “holiday travel is the worst it’s ever been this year” story is second only to the “whatever toy is hot right now is hot right now watch these moms fight over one” footage, holiday-news-coverage-wise. But man, nothing sucks worse than getting stuck. It’s like once you fall off the path your ticket indicates you should be on, you’re already a statistic and all bets are off.
Perhaps you recall my decision to bring my cat home with me to Texas? Well, yesterday my door-to-door travel time was 16 hours. Which was fun. Nobody has seen hide nor hair of my suitcase, which of course has all my clothes and toiletries (no liquids or gels on the plane!) and my gifts for my family. I guess I should count myself lucky even to have made it—originally the airline wanted me to stay at a hotel in Memphis for the night, somehow, with my cat.
Three flights, some tears, a cokehead seatmate that had to be medically revived by the stewardesses after passing out, and a weird lobster red stress rash later I finally got home in one piece. Probably maybe someone will find my suitcase someday. Same old story, right?
I bring this up because a very good friend of mine was recently broken up with by her very long-term boyfriend. They lived together and had registered as domestic partners, so there will actually be paperwork necessary to dissolve their union. Nothing is more fun that filing break up forms with the city. And she is, understandably, miserable. The whole thing is messy and awful and poorly timed.
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