On Flight Delays and Volatile Emotions (Blog #511)

What a damn day.

This afternoon I drove to Tulsa to fly to Washington, DC, for a swing-dance event. HOWEVER, after boarding the plane and sitting on the tarmac for nearly two hours while a mechanical issue was being worked on, I and all the other passengers were informed that SOME of us would not only miss our connecting flights, but would also ultimately NOT arrive at our intended destinations until tomorrow. And whereas I was originally NOT one of the people who would be delayed overnight, by the time the whole thing was said and done, I was.

“You can either spend the night in Tulsa and fly out at 6:30 in the morning,” the smiling gate-agent said, “or spend the night in St. Louis on us and fly out at 9:00 in the morning.”

Of course, dear reader, you know I’m not a morning person.

“I’ll spend the night in St. Louis,” I said. “Will my checked bag be there when I arrive?”

“Yes,” she said, “yes it will.”

At this point, I really wasn’t the slightest bit put upon or pissed off. I mean, I’ve never had this overnight-delay thing happen before with an airline, but I HAVE been delayed before. Shit happens. Hell, my entire life feels like it’s been on layover for over a year now, so what’s one more day? As I’m just going to the dance event as an observer (in order to offer feedback from a business consultant’s perspective), it’s not like I HAVE to be there this red-hot minute. And whereas I was recently ticked off by an American Airlines flight that was delayed and was (in my opinion) handled poorly, this afternoon I was actually delighted by the way today’s airline–Southwest–dealt with everything. First, they gave me a voucher for the hotel, then they gave me $200 in flight credits that I can use anytime within the next year. And get this shit–when the guy next to me ordered an alcoholic drink during the flight that FINALLY took off for St. Louis, they wouldn’t let him pay for it.

“Don’t worry about it,” they said.

Talk about customer service. I’m such a bitch about these sorts of things, and they handled the entire situation like complete pros. My only objection: I wish I’d known about the free drink thing BEFORE I ordered a Ginger Ale. Still, I thought, This could work out. A free night in a hotel (I like hotels)–a good night’s rest–travel vouchers!

Arriving in St. Louis, I de-boarded the plane and found my way to baggage claim. This is the point in the story where things start to go downhill. After an hour of waiting, my bag still hadn’t shown up. So I checked with an agent. “Oh,” she said, “the computer says it never left Tulsa.”

“That’s not cute,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” she said.

“Well,” I said, “what about the fact that now I’m going to have to pay for a toothbrush and toothpaste and such?”

“Well, since the hotel has those things complimentary,” she said, “we can’t reimburse you for that.”

“Okay,” I said.

But here’s the thing–when I got to the hotel, they said those items WEREN’T complimentary and that I’d have to pay for them. Well, that I’d have to pay for them IF they had them, since they had toothbrushes but were OUT of toothpaste, and–OBVIOUSLY–a toothbrush isn’t much good WITHOUT toothpaste to put on it. So now my mouth is going to taste like a bag of assholes tomorrow morning.

And that’s not cute either.

Now I’m downstairs in the hotel at TGI Friday’s eating dinner and trying to drink enough beer to not give a shit about this frustrating situation. I keep telling myself, This isn’t personal. I’ve met several nice people who are in the same predicament as I am. And I’m safe. If I want to, I can Uber myself to Walmart to buy toothpaste and a clean pair of underwear (on my dollar). But what’s the point? Why spend money I don’t HAVE to when I can just rough it for the next twelve or so hours and hopefully be reunited with my stuff? And considering that I have to be up early tomorrow to do the whole airport security thing again, why stay up later than I have to?

How can I rework this?

How to conclude this? Currently I’m awash with emotions. And whereas normally I give myself a hard time anytime I’m frustrated, pissed off, or anything less than gracious (you know, I AM from the south), this evening I’m giving myself more latitude to feel worn out and upset. I mean, I am. That’s the truth. One thing today did provide was a lot of time to read my book about alchemy, and it said that volatile substances or emotions are actually what you want if you’re interested in transformation. In other words, it’s okay to get upset or angry or whatever because, as an alchemist, you need some type of base material to work with, some sort of lead you can take into your laboratory and turn into gold. Like, here’s a situation that’s currently weighing me down. My flight’s delayed. I don’t have any toothpaste. Now how can I rework this so that it becomes a positive instead of a negative, a reason to be grateful rather than a reason to gripe?

I’m working on it.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

[In case you didn’t notice, check out the girl who photo-bombed today’s selfie on the plane. When I spotted her just a few minutes ago, I laughed out loud. So that’s something.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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The Beauty of Life’s Presence (Blog #376)

8:19 AM | Dallas Airport

This morning I woke up at a quarter to five, normally the time I’d be going to bed. And whereas I can’t say that I sprang to life, I managed. After eating breakfast, I was miraculously able to fit all my clothes, electronic devices, and toiletries (including all my creams, pastes, and lotions for my various skin issues) into my luggage. My dad drove to the Fort Smith airport, and the check-in process was quick and seamless, one of the few advantages to living in a small town. Well, there was one snag. My granola bars, all twelve of them, were individually wiped down and checked for explosives residue by TSA. The guy who performed this health-food pat-down actually did so with a serious look on his face, as if he, like Sherlock Holmes, were going to uncover some ill intent of mine by fondling my raisins and nuts with his blue-gloved hands. It took everything in me, including my faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, to not roll my eyes.

Like, I’m not going to hijack the plane, sir, I’m just watching my waistline.

The flight here to Dallas went well. The plane itself, operated by American Airlines, was a puddle jumper, but since the seat next to me was empty, I felt like I was flying first class. The coffee was lukewarm, like those Christians God wants nothing to do with. He and I had the same thought–I will spew you out of my mouth. The miniature pretzels came in a bag that said, “It’s crunch time.” Cute, right? The Biscotti biscuits, made overseas, didn’t have a calorie count on the back of the package, so I made up my own–zero.

Now I’m in Terminal B at the Dallas airport, drinking hot coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts and charging my phone. The flight to Memphis should be boarding soon. As I’m typing, my hands are shaking from lack of sleep and the fact that they’ve been shaky a lot lately. It’s probably “just one more thing” or–more likely–an inherited condition. (Thanks, Dad.) I’m sure the coffee doesn’t help. Earlier I made a lap around the terminal to get the lay of the land, and no one–including the hot TSA agent with biceps as big as my thighs–looks happy to be here. I know we take things for granted, but come on, y’all–we’re flying!

3:56 PM | Memphis

I spoke too soon. Earlier when I said, “We’re flying,” I meant to say, “We’re sitting on the runway for two hours!” Y’all, our plane had a problem with the steering mechanism, which I guess is important. Anyway, it took a while to fix, then we had to wait longer because someone got pissed off (I assume) and wanted to exit the plane. What do you do? In my case, I tweeted American Airlines about it, suggesting they give everyone on board free alcohol. Believe it or not, they responded, like, we’re sorry you’re having a bad day.

But no free alcohol. (For a link to my Twitter account, which I’m trying to use more often, click here.)

Also, I found out I was wrong about the number of calories in Biscotti biscuits. The correct number is 120, not zero. What a drag–what a serious drag.

When I arrived in Memphis, the public relations firm I’m working for this week transported me and a few other journalists to our respective hotels. Arriving at the Hotel Napoleon in downtown Memphis at one, I decided to kill some time (that is, eat some pancakes at the Blue Plate Cafe) until the official check-in time at three. After the pancakes, I walked Main Street, stopping at a used bookstore and the National Civil Rights Museum (the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King was assassinated). The museum itself was closed today, but there were still a lot of people outside looking up at Room 306, where the murder took place. It felt like sacred ground, everyone quiet or speaking in hushed voices.

Now I’m settled into my room, and y’all, it’s swank. There’s a sliding barn door between the sink area and the shower, and a mirror with a built-in light that makes my skin look radiant. The hotel is new (a year and a half), so everything is up-to-date and modern with USB wall plugs and shit like that. I’ve got the room to myself and a couple hours to kill before dinner (our first official group activity), so I’d like to catch a nap. It’s been a long day, and I imagine it will be an even longer week, albeit a fun one. More later.

10:45 PM | Memphis

OMG, y’all, I’m stuffed. After my nap, I met the group for dinner at Blues City Cafe, and it was SO good. (Everyone else had ribs and catfish; I ate steak because I’m that guy.) Also, I’m not just saying that because I’m sort of being paid to promote everywhere I’m going. I’m doing that elsewhere (and meaning it), but this is still my blog. But seriously, so great. There was live music, and just, well, the south and its food. Also, the waitress gave us a handwritten note, thanking us for being there. It said, “The beauty of your presence was my pleasure.” This reminds that each person truly is beautiful, if we only stop to notice.

After dinner I wandered around Beale Street and visited with some of the folks who work for the company that brought me here. One of them was even kind enough to walk me back to my hotel when I was ready to leave so I wouldn’t get mugged. Talk about a gentleman!

So far everyone I’ve met has been really great, kind, interesting. I was stressed getting here, but now that I’m here, I’m thrilled. It’s good to be out-of-town.

It’s like white people who clap on the 1 and the 3.

Earlier this evening I got the results of my latest blood work, the blood work the immunologist ordered. I’m not doctor, but everything (except my tetanus antibodies) came back within range. When I told my dad, I said, “At some point, I wish they’d find SOMETHING wrong.” But what do I know? Some of the levels were right on the line, so maybe there is something to “fix.” I should hear from the doctor in a day or two with his interpretation. But it is frustrating, not feeling well and seeing test after test that says I’m perfectly fine–on paper. I swear, it’s like white people who clap on the 1 and the 3. You know just as well as I do–something ain’t right.

While looking around Beale Street, a necklace I often wear, a spiritual necklace of sorts, broke. Specifically, the chain broke. I felt it give, then the pendant on the necklace just rolled across the floor like one of Elvis’s records, bumped right up against a display full of shot glasses and t-shirts. According to the group that gave me the necklace, this is supposed to mean something (not good), like–I don’t know–stay away from booze and rock and roll. More likely, if it means anything, it means I could pay more attention to my spiritual life, which I’ve admittedly had “an attitude” about this last year. I truly do believe that the beauty of life’s presence is everywhere–in a good meal, in the face of a stranger, in the sound of the blues. All of this is sacred ground. There’s not a square inch of the universe, including you and me, that isn’t. But I know that when I don’t feel well, when life is “challenging,” that’s when I lose that connection. That’s when my chain breaks. That’s when I don’t see life for what it actually is–love, baby, love.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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