I’m on vacation. And I’m supposed to be in Seattle in four hours. But right now I’m still stuck in New York, two and a half hours away from even taking off to Denver. I already know I’m going to miss my connection and the next flight I can get isn’t until the next morning, which means the Denver International Airport will become my bedroom for the night.

This is not how my vacation is supposed to start. I’m off to Seattle and then Portland for a nine day vacation, perhaps the most extravagant gift I’ve given myself. I’ve been wanting to visit the Pacific Northwest for two years, ever since Natalie went to Portland for the first time and kept texting me updates about how much fun she was having and how much I would love it. I’ve idealized both places as cities I want to live down the road.

I’ve tried passing the time by reading my boss’s circulating copy of Twilight, but I’m too tired to read and and feel more like a nap. I can’t calm down enough for a nap because I’m too nervous about the hordes of people encircling the Frontier desk. Even though they’re flying Spirit, I’m still nervous by their presence in front of my ticket counter. I finally caved into my hunger and bought an Auntie Annie’s pretzel. I remembered them having salt and tasting much better. Now my stomach feels like I ate Thumper. I would wander to find something better, but the LaGuardia airport really doesn’t have any decent dietary options and I’d risk giving up my seat. People are already crowding floor space and I’m not interested in playing musical chairs.

In light of my circumstances, I’m staring at people and eavesdropping. I’ve sat across from a polished businesswoman discussing a potential job move. She’s been a senior consultant for three years (apparently that means something). I don’t know what she consults, but the fabric content of her blouse and skirt is entirely too shiny; she’s wearing leopard print stilettos; and she is the fake color of tan, so I probably wouldn’t trust her to consult me on anything.

Another woman is having highly personal conversations about how she’s freaking out in life. She just had her last day at an international bank and left to pursue real estate. But right now she’s going on vacation too. The man to my right has held frantic phone calls since he sat down, repeating words like “clients,” “investors” and seemingly meaningless acronyms. He left a voicemail that said he’s freaking out in life and is having an emergency. He’s discussed state media, PR campaigns, the downfall of AIG and the repercussions for his clients. I have yet to figure out what exactly he does. I’m a little overwhelmed at how many people in this small vicinity are having crises.

My check-in gate continues to crowd even more; no one is sure what’s going on and no one bothers to address them. The airport is starting to remind me of one of my top three favorite TV shows, LOST…a group of passengers are stranded and looking for guidance, a leader, food that won’t kill them, and just wanting to get to their intended destination. The guy on my left keeps looking at me as I write this, so I cover the other side of my notebook. Um, privacy please.

The trip has gotten off to a pretty horrible start. Besides the delay, which will result in sleeping on an airport floor, spooning my luggage for fear of theft, I had to go through security twice. I was actually escorted out after my luggage was screened because I’d forgotten that my water bottle still had a couple sips in it. And no, the security screener could not just pour it out. And no, she could not just let me drink it. And no, she could not just GIVE IT TO ME. Only after she walked me out and I had left the gate could I get it back.

I hate her. I hate the line that has doubled. I hate the weather for causing so many delays. And I hate my luggage for somehow breaking the lock I borrowed from my cousin. My face and hair are already grimy and I’ve still got 12 hours before a shower is even a possibility (although I don’t have any shampoo or conditioner now because I abandoned them at work when I decided to carry on my luggage after learning about the potential of an extended layover.)

I try to be patient despite the noise and the crowd and Thumper in my stomach and children running around screaming. It’s not working. I text message angry updates to my parents, and it’s only after my dad reminds me – twice – that I’m on vacation and don’t have to go back to work on Monday that I force myself to relax and to remember that I’m more annoyed about my plan being thrown off than anything else. That I’m lucky I’m in a position to give myself this trip. That I can deal with this, even if it’s unpleasant, and it’s not worth getting so worked up about. That soon I will be landing in Seattle, drinking more coffee than my body can handle, going to book lectures, exploring neighborhoods and taking a trip to Mount Rainier to reconnect with nature. If ever there was a time to focus on when the end justifies the means, this is it.

2 Responses to “Vacation all I ever wanted…”

1. Alice Hill Says:
   October 15th, 2008 at 12:12 pm

   Oh, Jacky! I already know what you thought about Seattle and will be happy to see the happy report. You definitely have a few of your grandfather’s traits. Patience is not part of his makeup.

   I’m looking out my window at the pretty trees that will soon be all naked.

   I want you to know that I look forward to reading about your life. You make a dark day bright!

2. A Day of Sharing Words - FLAPJAC Says:
   November 20th, 2008 at 8:18 am

   [...] (Portland’s Rose Garden. October 2008) [...]

Leave a Reply