Guess who's in LA??????

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TeaBeforeWar's avatar
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NOT ME!

Come now, and hear the tale of Kim's wonderful day of Everything That Could Go Wrong... DID.



I have a flight from Portland to LA at 10:30, so I leave at 8:05.  The shuttle service I called takes twenty minutes to get to me, and half an hour to get to the airport, making it a) retarded, and b) 9:00 when I get to the airport.

I then find that both of my bags, which had been previously weighed to be about 45 pounds each, had mysteriously put on some weight during the interim; one of them was four pounds over the 50 lb weight limit, which constitutes and extra $100 charge.  Cue frantic shoving of crap into already shoved-full carry-ons. (Mostly the difference was made by sticking my fucking Gamecube in my laptop bag somehow.  How did it still close?  Magic.

Then spend 45 minutes wondering if I'm in the right line, THANK YOU SIGNS WITH RELEVANT DESCRIPTIONS.

Then end up at the automated check-in, and fail miserably.  Spend another 15 minutes waiting in the YOU'RE A FAILURE SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP line.

Reach professional help for failure.  Find out that your plane is 15 minutes earlier than you thought it was, and thanks to failing at the automated check-in, you have just missed the allowed baggage check-in time.  Since your bags cannot go to LA with you, OBVIOUSLY YOU CANNOT GO AT ALL.

Get sent to gate anyway, with a standby on the next flight.  GET RAPED BY SECURITY. (Got selected for the extra - read excessive - search, although I don't think they liked me either after I started pulling massive amounts of technology, including multiple game consoles, bags in which they could barely fit).

Spend ten minutes trying to re-shove the insanely shoved bags, THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME AFTER YOU WERE THE ONES RIFLING AROUND.

After getting to and spending two hours at the gate, find out it is the wrong gate, because even the digital displays are FILLED WITH CRUEL LIES.

Four and a half hours after getting to airport, DO NOT GET ON PLANE.

Eat apple and carton of chocolate milk.  Apple has creepy spots inside; throw half-eaten apple away. D:

A further three and a half hours later, making it 7:08 and ten hours after arriving to airport, DO NOT GET ON PLANE.  This is the LAST PLANE.

Get guy to give you a ticket for the first plane the next morning.  Find out only now that to get on a plane, the credit card that purchased the ticket must be verified in person.  Realize the maternal bought the ticket her own credit card.  MOTHER UNIT IS SOMEWHERE IN CANADA, YAY.

(((Apparently I spent ten hours sitting in the airport waiting for a plane I COULD NOT GET ON ANYWAY.)))

Call mother unit.

Go to get bags.  Find out that they ended up in LA without you, BECAUSE SURELY IT IS LOGICAL THAT THEY CAN GO ON A PLANE YOU ARE NOT ON BEFORE YOU, BUT NOT AFTER.

Get call back from mother unit.  Find mother unit spent half an hour screaming her way to a supervisor (and this is a mother unit who we have never heard scream at anyone once) only to have to pull out the ultimate threat: WE WILL NEVER SET FOOT ON YOUR PLANES AGAIN.  This threat is relevant and most menacing, because the paternal unit's frequent flier card has over a million miles on it.  This threat works.

So hopefully I'll actually be able to get on a plane today.  If not, I will buy and shovel AND PRETEND THEY ARE PINATAS WITH DELICIOUS CANDY ORGANS.  And it will be completely worth it.

THE END. :noes:
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Rushifa's avatar
I enjoy the image of your mother cussing out airport phone people. Anyway, I hope by now you're actually in LA...