If I'm on your flight, run away.

If you ever see me in an airport, start following me to my gate to make sure I'm on a different flight than you.  And if you are unfortunate enough to be on my flight, hop over to Customer Service and get yourself on stand-by for a different one.  You don't want to fly with me.

Two weeks ago, my flight up North was so delayed (and I was so tired of lugging a toddler and "carry-ons" around the terminal) I had Nate pick me up so I could get on a flight the next morning instead.  Which did take off without a hitch except for the ungodly hour of the flight.  Which is itself was a hitch.  Coming home?  Laura and I were so delayed, we took ourselves to the bar to wait it out.

This past weekend, I was so sure of a smooth flight: we had Nate with us!  Naught could go wrong!  We got to our gate, at the way far end of the terminal.  The flight was showing on time.  We parked ourselves and let Laura roam.  Then the PA system announced a gate change: we had to move all the way to the gate nearest security.  So we schlepped ourselves back up to Gate 3.  No problem.  The plane was there and was showing on time.  But how could a flight of mine be on time?

Mechanical issues.  Two hour delay.  Before they even finished the announcement, I looked at Nate and said, "I GOT THIS," and ran to customer service to get on stand-by for the next flight North.  I was first in line, with forty-five other travelers behind me.  I walk really fast.

So with some extra time to spare, Nate and I moved back to the very far end of the terminal to the THIRD gate, and sat at the bar.  Where Laura fell off a chair.  Onto the tile floor.  Face first.  There was blood.  Thankfully, she just bit her lip and everything else was fine.  But it was just typical of my flying experiences.  We finished our beers and hauled our stuff over to the gate for boarding.

"Excuse me, but have they begun calling stand-by passengers yet?  Oh, you already called us?  [sad trombone] Wait, you can still squeeze us on?!  WE LOVE YOU!"  So we got up to Boston without (further) delay.

And then my dad got lost driving up to the reunion/funeral.  Because everyone has a  funeral months later in the middle of a reunion, right?  Oh, just us.  But we were lost, and it was all because I was in the car, tempting the fates of the travel gods.

Last night, I could hardly believe it: our flight was on time.  I refused to call anyone to let them know we were at the gate because I didn't want to jinx it.  We boarded on time.  We pushed back on time.  OMG WE TOOK OFF ON TIME!

And then Laura became that baby on the plane started screaming.

I'll be sure to warn you the next time I'm heading towards the airport so you can be sure to avoid me.