I know what you’re doing right now… you’re counting down from week one to two to three to um… six?    Yes, I know how to count and no, I did not bump my head and go into a coma for two weeks.  Nor did I contract swine flu and spend the last two weeks in bed (although lord-a-mercy the thought of two weeks in bed just sounds so good right now).    Weeks 4 and 5 are coming!   They are, in fact, being written right now, at this very minute, while you sit here reading about this week, week 6.  So finish shaking your head and throw in a few “ohnoeshedi-ent”s and then get over yourself.   Because if I can get over myself after this week, so can you!   Just sayin’.

I’d like to start by admitting that I have not gotten very far on my 101 things in 1001 days list.    However, I have managed to avoid soda consumption and when you read what the last few weeks have entailed, you’ll sit there in amazement and be tempted to comment “YOU GO GIRL!” all over this blog.   So while I haven’t learned how to ride a bike, booked my trip to South Africa or started French lessons (as opposed to that crazy Provençal dialect I actually do use when I’m pissed but trying to pretend that all is fine and dandy and NO I DID NOT JUST CUSS IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE), I have been busy and productive and stuff.   And you can read all about that in the next post.

Because this post is about the Thanksgiving that did not happen.   Yes, that’s right.  Thanksgiving.  Did.  Not. Happen.  At least, not the way we planned and I have Northwest to blame.    Actually, I blame Delta for buying a horrible little airline carrier and then letting them keep their crappy customer service instead of forcing them to capitulate and raise their customer service standards from lower than pond scum to something akin to the mold that hangs out under lily pads but that provides nourishment to frogs and fish alike.  It’s still nasty but it’s not useless nasty.

Drue and I are supposed to be in Alabama right now.   No, you did not misread that.   If you missed the part about me being Southern, then you won’t ever miss it again.   A nice chunk of my mom’s family lives in or hails from Alabama.    We haven’t seen them in awhile and Drue and I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my cousin’s wife or my other cousin’s twins so we were going to fly in to Birmingham, drive down Prattville via Sylacauga and spend Thanksgiving with my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, and their families and spend a nice two days with family.   Drue was extremely excited about this trip.   Her mental picture of Alabama is more Amazonian than Alabaman, which may have something to do with my trip to Alabama circa 2005 with BASF whereupon I spent five days trucking through wet, swampy vegetation in 90 degree heat plotting data points on moldy paper and dodging mosquitos the size of my fist.  This was during my tenure at BASF working as a project manager for the Vegetation Management group and part of my job was going to really wet parts of the south and determining how well we were managing vegetation.   And let me tell you, Alabama was kicking our vegetation management ass.    I’m glad Drue remembers my trip as something akin to an adventurous trek through South America as opposed to the way I described it – sheer, unmitigated hell.    I’ve had to live a lot down in my family but I don’t know how long it would take everyone to get past Drue asking them why they live in Mommy’s version of hell.   And I’m not sure anyone would find it funny if I replied, “No honey, hell is on the other side of the state and it’s owned by BASF.”

Anyway, we woke up at 5 AM on Wednesday morning, threw ourselves in the car and headed off to the airport.   A wreck on 495 turned our most direct route into a parking lot and it took us an hour of twisting around a few back roads to make it to the airport by 6:30 for a 7:00 AM flight.   No biggie, right?   I had checked us in the night before and all that was left was to print our boarding passes.  It even states on my check in confirmation that I have to be at the gate 15 minutes prior to departure and I have an entire 15 minutes to get through security and walk 50 feet to the gate.    No other passengers are going through security, I can see the plane on the tarmac and with confidence, I swipe my credit card, enter my Skymiles number and… nothing.     I swipe my card again, this time pulling out my Skymiles card in case I entered the wrong number.   Still, nothing.   Drue and I look at each other and I start to wonder if I’m losing my mind.   Then the machine beeps and gives us the message, “Please check in with the ticketing agent”.  The time is 6:34 AM.

Drue and I proceed to the Delta counter, a mere 15 feet from where we are standing.    There is no one there at the counter.   We start looking around and finally spot someone sipping a latte, standing near the arrivals and departures board, wearing a sweater that has “Delta” emblazoned across the front pocket.  I walk up, explain our predicament and that we’ve already checked in.   All I need is a boarding pass and the ability to walk 50 feet to that plane right there on the tarmac.   The woman sighs, walks over to the computer and types something in.   She informs me that this is a Northwest flight and I have to speak to a Northwest ticket agent to get my boarding pass.  I ask her where the Northwest counter is and she points behind her to terminal A.  We’re in terminal B.    I ask her for help to get to terminal A.  She laughs.  I ask her to call terminal A and let them know we are coming so we can make our flight.   She picks up her latte, shakes her head and says “honey, you’re not making this flight.”   The time is now 6:40.

Drue and I run to terminal A.   Drue is upset with a capital UP.   Because terminal A and B are a big semi-circle we can still see the plane on the tarmac.  It’s still about fifty feet away.   We get to the Northwest counter.  The time is 6:43.    I explain to the lady what happened, ask for my boarding passes and ask if she can call the plane.  We hear the final boarding call.    She types something into her computer and says she has to get a supervisor.  She disappears down a corridor.   The time is 6:45.   The plane is still on the tarmac.    The gate to get on the plane is back in Terminal B.    Delta lady was right.  We are not getting on this plane.

Ten minutes later, the Northwest ticket agent comes out without a supervisor.  The final boarding call has come and gone.   So I ask for options.   The plane is STILL ON THE TARMAC but I’ve accepted there is no way we’re getting on that plane.  So far, no one has actually helped us.   Instead of answering me, the Northwest ticket agent asks me why we got there so late.  I explain about the accident and traffic.  She then asked me what I was thinking traveling the day before the holiday.    I don’t answer – instead I silently remind myself that I like having my clearance intact and I do not want Homeland Security to arrest me the day before Thanksgiving.  Those two thoughts are the only reason I am not throwing myself over that counter, intent on bodily injury to this woman and any other Northwest employee within my reach.    Instead, I hiss “WHAT. ARE. MY. OPTIONS?” at the woman who finally starts typing away at her computer.

“I can get you on a 2:30 to Memphis”, she tells me.   Great.  Memphis was the first leg of our trip but what about after that?    Oh well, after that it seems we’re on stand-by for a 7:30 flight out of Memphis to Birmingham.    There are no guarantees that we will actually be on a plane out of Memphis and did we mention it will be $150 to change your ticket?    At this point, I’m not sure if I’ve turned dead white or Immakillyou purple, but the Northwest ticket agent took a very large step back and then handed me a customer service card with a 1-800 number on it.   “Call them.  They can help you.”    So I gather my dignity, my bags and my child and we call the 800 number.  And we talk to three people who, in fact, cannot help us, will not help us and there is no supervisor to escalate to because it is the day before a holiday, you know.  YES.  I KNOW.

So I call my mom.   Drue is sobbing by now, head in hands, in the airport.   A few Northwest employees walk by, one tsking under her breath.   One dares ask me what happened and I reply “Your godawful airline RUINED THANKSGIVING.”   Then I notice it is 7:20 AM.   And guess what – the AIRPLANE we could be on RIGHT NOW is STILL on the TARMAC.     So I call Delta and get someone on the phone who is nice and sympathetic but who admits there is not one darn thing she can do.   Delta bought Northwest, but Northwest still operates under its own customer service guidelines and rules and regulations.    And even though the plane is right there, sitting on the other side of this glass, she cannot get me on the plane.  Only Northwest can do that and Northwest won’t.

So we go home.   And Delta calls me back and lets me know that they will verify my check-in time and that I accessed the kiosk at the airport before 6:45 but that to do that they have to request the information from Northwest.  And if Northwest will give them the data and if it checks out, Delta will waive the $150 change fee and give me one year from date of travel – as opposed to the one year from date of purchase Northwest will cover – to use the tickets.   So we’ll see what Monday brings.   I’m not holding my breath.

So instead of going to Alabama, Drue and I spent Wednesday napping and reading and napping some more.   Why did we sleep so much?   Well that’s covered in the next post.    And Thursday dawned and we hit the Silver Diner for brunch and decided to have a snacky, lazy kind of Thanksgiving.  So we grilled burgers and hot dogs, and watched Transformers and talked to folks in Alabama and had dessert and went to bed early and slept some more.     Because we’re just crazy like that.    And while we’re sad that we aren’t in Alabama hanging out with family, we’re glad we’re here and not stuck in Memphis trying to get to Alabama or trying to get back here.   And while it is not the Thanksgiving we planned, it was a nice Thanksgiving and Drue and I spent it together, which really is what matters.

And whether it’s the Thanksgiving you wanted or the Thanksgiving you planned or a Thanksgiving alone or a Thanksgiving gone all awry, find something good in it and be thankful.  Because whether the turkey turned out well or not, whether you made that flight or missed it, whether it’s three of you or ten of you, it’s your life and so long as you’re living it, that’s pretty good stuff.   Happy Thanksgiving all.