After we landed, our genius captain, clearly a great leader of men, came back on the speaker. "Well folks, we'll be back up in the air as soon as we can, there are a few other Delta flights stuck here too and it's pretty much first come-first serve." The endless row of fire engines and men in silver Haz-Mat suites were not a comforting scene; however, as I looked out the window. One of the airliners on the tarmac in front of had somehow spilled jet fuel all over the runway. But hey, at least my new friend Jordan, who had silently sat next to me for the last couple hours, brought me a pack of cookies. "Here you go, they gave me two."
Sweet, at least I wouldn't starve to death on this doomed vessel. We introduced ourselves and then I invited her to look out my window. "I don't think we're going anywhere for a while."
As the temperature rose inside the cabin, one sprightly young man took his guitar out of storage and started playing some music and singing a song he had just wrote in his head. I was actually very impressed. The captain again came on but the whispers of mutiny had nearly drowned him out. He mentioned something about there being jet fuel on the runway, not enough people to get us out to the gate, and him having to go outside to inspect the plane before we take off. OK, no worries, we'll be in Atlanta soon and I'll be on my later flight to Providence, Jordan will be back in her own bed, and everything will be right with the world after this little hiccup.
The End.
Except when the captain re-boarded the plane and indicated that we had a landing gear tire that was dangerously close to blowing out because it was so bald. OK, I could deal with the thunderstorms, the critical low fuel level, the gas spill on the runway, the rising temperature inside the fuselage of the plane...but WHO THE FUCK CHECKED THE LANDING GEAR BEFORE WE TOOK OFF?? I mean, did we really land on a messed up tire? Who is regulating this shit??
We finally exited this apparent death-trap of an airplane and made our way to the gate, where we met my other new insta-friend, Jeff, who was clearly the most intelligent individual passenger on the plane, and had already called ahead to Budget Rental Car. After a small debate, it was determined that we three strangers would abandon our luggage and get the hell out of there to make the 2 hour drive to Atlanta, where I would (hopefully) catch the last flight home to Providence. We were on a mission. After leaving bumf**ck Alabama with Jeff at the helm, me co-piloting, and Jordan providing food and beverage from the backseat. We had some fun conversations, especially the one where it was determined that we would somehow get me home that night, come hell or high water. At one point Jordan thought it was a good idea to call her Dad and tell him that she had met two strange men at the airport and was currently in a rented car on a rural highway. Jeff and I thought this might be a bad idea, but she assured us it was cool. The funny thing was, after we all realized that we wouldn't kill each other, (see quote from part 1), it was like we had known each other forever. The nightmare of a travel day turned into a great adventure to get me home to my fiancé and in my own bed for some much-needed TLC. As it turns out, this type of thing is actually commonplace for Jordan, who runs into this type of shit all the time, and she travels a lot for work. This entire mess was clearly her fault, but Jeff and I forgave her.
Luckily Jeff knew the mega-airport very well, dropped my ass off right at the gate, and I made it through security and onto my plane home with about 4 minutes to spare. Yes I was in the middle seat between an old woman and a large guy who had bare feet, smelled something awful, and snored...but I was happy all the same.
This was one flight where I wasn't watching the aisle wondering just who would be in my row. I figured I had exhausted my good luck for the day, and was just happy to be on my way home to my girl, and my bed.
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