Liminal Serenity
Facing the second hurricane of the year, Mexico began delaying flights for an hour. Then several. Then, the airport was shut down and flights were rerouted. Whatever peace I found at my all-inclusive resort in Cancun slowly washed away as I stared at my arrival time tick by on the clock while I hadn’t even departed.
Stranded in cancun, knowing I was missing my connecting flight, I hunkered down with my ball of yarn and knitted for the required amount of hours before I could actually raise hell. I knew all I needed was a copy of their terms online, a stopwatch, and a patient demeanor. There is no better weapon in your travel arsenal than being informed.
Was I surprised when my flight was delayed by two hours? No.
Was I surprised when the line at Customs at O’Hare airport was three hours long and I was surrounded by families with small children who were more frustrated and less able to regulate themselves? Also, no. Karma has an interesting way of working.
Was I surprised when I became friends with several people in my immediate vicinity and spent time discussing points of interest in Cancun and where we should travel next? Well, yes!
Airports are liminal spaces. Once you pass those TSA gates, there is literally no telling what could happen. Predictably, planes are late, and in my case, grounded because of unclear skies. By the time I touched down in Chicago, time had crawled to a complete stop, as I stared at the hundreds of people ahead of me trying to cram into the narrow Customs gates. As I scanned the dejected faces of each TSA agent dealing with a distressed parent, I resolved to take my frustrations and write them out. Scribbling furiously into my Traveler’s Notebook, I vented my frustrations from the past nine hours and emerged from my pages with a big, empathetic smile.
With barely a nod from the customs agent, I waddled forward to the concierge, ready to beg for a rescheduled flight. Instead, I was met almost instantly with a hotel room and three meal vouchers, enough to cover me until my flight home the following evening.
Was my smile contagious?
Walking downstairs to search for my dinner in the quiet Chicago streets, I ran into a slew of people that were either conveniently just arriving in town for a convention, or they had just experienced the same special hell I had. Thankfully, I was already settled in my room and ready for dinner. Not my circus. Tomorrow was another battle. I pushed through with an order of Chinese food large enough for a family, but only eaten solely by me.
Twelve hours and free weed later (Chicago dispensaries have better deals than New York ones), I was 30,000 feet above the ground as I settled in for my flight from Chicago to New York. Settling into my narrow middle seat, I was graciously asked to switch seats with someone who wanted to sit next to their grandmother, as a 6’3 man I could only jump out of the middle seat fast enough. This next part is a dream. Settling into my new seat, receiving a call from an unknown number, I was told that there was an open seat in first class, and I was receiving a complimentary upgrade. A common occurrence, the timing here couldn’t be any more blissful. Aisle seating, expanded room, and free drinks. Oh My!
My smile must be a plague!
I try to be mindful of my facial expressions when I’m stressed out. My facial expressions are so visible that I almost overcompensate with smiles and long sentences; Thankfully, airport staff seem to love over-courteousness. Whenever I travel, I flash my brightest smile before I walk up to any check-in desk or ask any questions. Airports are overwhelming and our job as travelers should not be to exacerbate those problems for them. Don’t be afraid to flash an extra smile or two, you never know where you’ll land. Maybe I’ll run into you in first class one day. 😌
