Moon over Arkansas

Last fall, I traveled from the northeastern post-industrial wasteland to Little Rock to do the dance that all budding academics must do - I presented a paper at a conference. The trip to Arkansas went relatively smoothly. The flight left the NEPIW on time, and my flight from Atlanta left on time.

On the flight from Atlanta, I sat behind a couple - a decidedly rotund couple. As we began our descent into Little Rock, the fellow started fretting. He got out his wallet and said, "I've lost my social security card and the card to get the car out of the parking deck." He continued to fret, working himself up to "I don't deserve to walk around. I'm so disorganized. All I'm fit to do is work 24 hours a day."

Finally - we arrived at the terminal and everyone got up. The fellow leaned forward and stood up. I stood up, looked over the seat and saw something that should never see the light of day. Let's just say that this fellow needed a belt. A very large belt. I won't provide the gory details, but I've sworn off men. Forever.

I arrived at the hotel after 10PM and immediately turned in, hoping my dreams would be free of moons, fuzzy animals, and anything else that would remind me of the horror I'd seen on the plane. In the morning, I ordered coffee and yogurt from room service. Why did I order room service when no one was reimbursing my expenses? Well, because this fine hotel with ducks that waddled through the lobby twice a day couldn't put coffee pots in the hotel rooms. I felt a bit like Jack Sparrow - "but why is the coffee gone?"

When I called room service, they informed me that there was a coffee shop in the lobby. I almost yelled, "But I need coffee before I can find the coffee shop! I am not allowed to interact with people before I've had my coffee! I had to look at a fat man's ass last night! Now, bring me my damn coffee!" Somehow, I managed to remain civil.

The day before I was to leave Arkansas, a big wind blew. I know, because I finally made it out of the hotel and nearly found myself in Oz. I walked about 2 blocks and gave up. That evening, I considered the possibility of getting home the next day, and after watching the Weather Channel, I became convinced that I should have let the wind blow me back home.

The next day was beautiful and sunny in Little Rock. I arrived at the airport in plenty of time for my flight. After leisurely unwinding from the conference, I walked to my gate, where I learned that my flight to Motor City had been cancelled due to high winds. No more flights that evening. I could pay to spend another night in Little Rock or try to get to a hub city where I had friends. I went down the list: Atlanta? Only if I wanted to fly to Dallas first. Washington DC? Nope, can't get there from Little Rock. Chicago? Ding, ding! We had a winner. Two hours later, I was strapped in, enjoying the irony of heading to the Windy City because high winds closed every other airport.

I spent approximately 10 glorious hours with my Chicago friends and headed back to O'Hare. I managed to get on the early direct flight to Syracuse. I was on the plane, strapped in, when the desk agent came on board and asked if I'd please give up my seat for a distraught woman who just had to get to Syracuse. I said, "No." The desk agent explained that because I was the last one to buy a seat on the plane, I was the first one to give up my seat in an emergency. I said, "I'm not supposed to be here at all. I was supposed to be in upstate New York last night. I bought my ticket 3 months ago. No, she can't have my seat." The desk agent repeated her plea. I said, "What will happen to me?" She said, "We'll get you on the flight to Philadelphia, then on to Syracuse." I relented, after she promised me a $250 travel voucher.

As I passed the distraught woman, she didn't even turn to thank me. No acknowledgement, no "kiss my ass," no nothing. She headed off to Syracuse, with my suitcase under the plane, and I headed off to yet another flight to yet another airport, where I would give yet another airline yet another chance to get me home. It wasn't until I sat down in a middle seat on the plane to Philly that I realized that I'd forgotten my book on the Syracuse flight. I hope that distraught woman found some comfort in Fellowship of the Ring, while I flew to Philly without Frodo, Sam, and Legolas to keep me company.

I finally landed in Syracuse, 28 hours after I'd arrived at the Little Rock airport. Grand total for the round trip: 6 airports, 3 airlines. Upon arrival in Syracuse, I went straight to the Delta ticket counter, relayed my story, and inquired about the frequent flyer miles that I should have earned on the return trip, had I been able to take a Delta flight. When the manager said, "Hmm, I don't know," I demanded frequent flyer miles. Without any argument, the manager gave me a very generous boost to my total miles.

And, with American's travel voucher, I'm returning to the Windy City next weekend for a proper visit with my friends. It's been a year and I've almost recovered from this travel adventure.