Guess Where I am! Hint: Not Elkhart.

Long story short, yesterday reminded me why I hate air travel. I was booked on a 5:15 flight out of Baltimore that would get me to Cincinnati at 6:55, and then an 8:55 to South Bend. To me, this was perfect, because that's plenty of time to cover the approximately 5 linear miles from the regular terminal to the regional terminal and still stop for some Gold Star chili (it's not as good as Skyline, but what is? Too bad there's no Skyline in the airport). Also, I always call "Gold Star" chili "Red Star." Like I think they're some sort of communists. Seriously- I typed "Red Star" then had to go back and fix it.

Well, the first thing I noticed was that the Delta ticket counter was mobbed. Their departure board was pretty much solid delays, and my own flight had been pushed back to 6:00. Whatever, I can get my chili 3-way and go, still making my second flight. It takes a good half hour to check myself in then get my bag tags, then I head through security. By the time I emerge, the boards list my flight as 6:30. Okay, might have to skip the chili. I find my gate, and it is just flooded with people. It's beautiful in Baltimore, but apparently the weather is prohibitive at every other Delta hub. So, the tarmac is littered with planes, but they aren't allowed to take off. Every once in a while, one of the planes would load up, sit there for an hour, then let everyone to come back in the airport because they knew they weren't going anywhere for a while. Oddly enough, we could see plenty of Southwest and American planes taking off and landing- apparently the weather was only affecting good old Delta.

By the time they announced that my flight had been pushed back to 7:00 I had made some single serving friends in the airport (because nothing brings people together like shared suffering). They were even making announcements I had never heard before: they were announcing that there were delays in the updates to the delays. Things like "We were supposed to have an update on the departure time for flight xxxx at 6:30, but that update has been pushed back to 7:15. At 7:15 we should be able to tell you when flight xxxx will be departing." Take a minute to process that: the airport was in such a sad state that they couldn't reliably predict when they could reliably predict how delayed a flight would be.

So around 6:45 I'm starting to be legitimately concerned that I wouldn't make my connection. On the PA they announced that the flight to Cinci that was scheduled for 4:00 is now boarding, and that there was no information whatsoever about my flight. Yes- they announced that they now knew less than ever about my flight. One of my new friends was waiting to fly standby to Cinci (which was home for her). She was supposed to fly tomorrow, but her meeting finished early so checked out of her hotel and headed for the airport, and was now thoroughly regretting her decision. Anyway, at the last minute they called her name for the flight. She jumped up and cheered, we all clapped for her (I'm serious), and off she went. But then I thought, "Wait, she's just going to Cincinnati. Let me take this flight so I can make my connection, and she can fly later tonight!" But whatever. All's fair in air travel.

A quick call home confirmed that that 8:55 is the last flight from Cinci to South Bend, so if I ever do get out of Baltimore, I'll probably get stuck in Ohio for the night. I took the plunge and got in line for the ticket counter, making me customer number 26 waiting for the one agent. After about 15 minutes in the line (around 7:15), they announced that my plane would be leaving Cincinnati "soon." No times, just "soon." About 20 minutes later they posted my flight for an 8:20 departure, confirming once and for all that I was not leaving tonight.

I stepped up to the agent right at 8:00. After 2 or 3 minutes of furious key strokes, he confirmed that there was no way I was getting home tonight. Keep in mind that because the delays were due to "weather," the airline doesn't owe you anything. No meals, no hotels, just a fake smile and a "sucks to be you." As a bonus, he also pointed out that there was no way I was getting there tomorrow (Friday). The best they could do is Saturday morning, departing at 6:45 a.m., arriving in South Bend at 1:30 p.m. For those keeping score at home, that means I get to leave my house at 4 a.m. at the latest, and I'll have like 3 hours to go home, shower and change, then get back to the reunion (which is also in South Bend). That's a recipe to look my best, especially on a likely 5 hours of sleep.

And here's the kicker: God knows where my bags are. I had the option of letting the airline hold on to them, then check them on my flight Saturday (uggghhhh) or go to the baggage desk and try to get them back tonight. Remember, it's 8:15 at this point. I had this conversation with the guy:

Me: How long will it take to get my bags back tonight?
Guy: They're pretty swamped down there. We have a lot of delays.
Me: So what, like an hour?
Guy: Um, it could be a while.
Me: Are you talking more like two hours?
Guy: Uh...yeah...it could be a while.
Me: [nearly choking on the words] Just check 'em through for Saturday.

We are now taking bets on whether or not I will ever see those bags again. But, I just wanted to get home, and I made a snap decision. I'm sure I'll pay for it later. I called home to let them know the deal, and Jim says "Why didn't you have them send you to Chicago, then take the train to South Bend?" Yeah, wrap that idea up and mail it to 8 hours ago. I'm adding that to my mental tally of future plans: Just fly to Chicago and take the South Shore Line. It's probably cheaper, as well. Oh, and never fly Delta again.

So here's hoping I make the reunion! This puts a minor dent in my vacation, but I've had worse. I'll let you know how it turns out.