Recollections from a barf bag

6:30 - 7:30 a.m. - woke up, showered in notoriously small cruise ship bathroom, packed, bolted from bro-filled ship. Sad to leave tropical beaches - not sad to leave group of approximately 2000 spring breakers, most of whom were wearing Greek shirts emblazoned with obnoxious sayings. ("I don't cruise control, I control the cruise," "Bitches, booze, bros.")

7:47 a.m. - caught shuttle from pier in Miami to airport in Ft. Lauderdale.

7:52 a.m. - sat quietly in shuttle with six other people while port authorities yelled at our shuttle driver for a. not having his pier ID and b. the fact that the shuttle company owed the port approximately $2900. Found out we were the first, last and only shuttle that would be allowed out today. Thank goodness - a cab to the airport from Miami would also cost approximately $2900.

8:23 a.m. - arrive at FLL for our scheduled 12:30 p.m. flight. Check in, grab coffee, settle in for an anticipated four-hour wait.

8:47 a.m. - find out flight is delayed to 1:10 p.m.

9:33 a.m. - find out flight is delayed to 1:50 p.m.

9:42 a.m. - bathroom break! Stopped by Broward County sheriff, who inquires as to whether there is a man in the woman's bathroom, as someone had reported a potential predator lurking there. Before he goes in and causes more chaos, he asks me to look in and see if there is, in fact, an XY in the XX pool. I peek in - the "predator" is an 80-some year old man wearing a cardigan sweater who is helping his 80-some year old wife (also wearing a cardigan sweater, hers emblazoned with embroidered flip-flops and palm trees) out of her automated wheelchair and into the handicapped stall. Ooh, scary!

11:03 a.m. - find out flight is delayed to 2:20 p.m.

11:40 a.m. - realized our food options in Terminal 1 consisted of Dunkin' Donuts and two vending machines. Out of desperation and the need for sustenance, we chat with an airport employee and are advised to broaden our search area. Apparently the only real food options at Ft. Lauderdale are in Terminal 3, a short shuttle ride and two escalators away. We opt to eat at Chili's To Go! in Terminal 3 - what's a short shuttle ride and a bit of a walk, we say? Speaking of to go - my GI tract will not thank me later.

12:53 p.m. - head to the airport bookstore to stock up on books and magazines. Calculate that we have spent more money on food, books, and entertainment today that we have spent the entire duration of the cruise.

1:30 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 3:40 p.m.

1:33 p.m. - check with Southwest attendant to see whether flights will actually be leaving today. Promised matching sets of Southwest jammies if we are delayed past midnight.

1:40 p.m. - crack up at the extremely gay attendant manning the overhead announcements: "Michael Shaw - if you want to go to Orlando today you had better run to gate B6 like you have never run before!"

2:03 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 4:20 p.m.

2:27 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 4:50 p.m.

2:59 p.m. - start to wonder whether Southwest is toying with us as part of some sort of sick psychological experiment. Try to be annoyed at Southwest, then realize that it's impossible, because a. I've never been delayed on Southwest, ever, and b. if Southwest is delayed by several hours, the poor suckers flying AirTran are probably delayed until Tuesday.

3:03 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 5:30 p.m.

3:17 p.m. - purchase Elizabeth Gilbert's book "Committed." Bookstore guy promises a 50% refund if I return it to an airport bookstore in 6 months. Reassure him that I will probably be returning it in 6 hours, as I will more than likely still be here.

4:03 p.m. - 80 pages into new book. Good read - highly recommended!

4:21 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:00 p.m. - flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:15 p.m. - flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m. Our fellow passengers are steadily beginning to wilt. Hair is frizzing, countenances are drooping, breath is getting bad. An air of growing solidarity descends upon the airport as we realize that we may, in fact, be sleeping here tonight. An un-reassuring statement from a Southwest employee lends to the sense of dread - "Don't worry, we'll get you out of here! Last night we had flights getting in until 3 a.m.!"

5:40 p.m. - flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:45 p.m. - confirm with attendant that flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:50 p.m. - decide to head to Chili's again for an attempt at dinner. Board bus to go to Chili's, located 2 terminals away.

5:59 p.m. - arrive at Chili's, have lovely conversation with Canadian man about their healthcare system, sit down, informed by harried waiter that food will take 30 minutes.

6:20 p.m. - On a whim, text to check flight status.

6:20:21 p.m. - Flight is listed as departing at 6:30 p.m. Surely not - call mom to confirm.

6:20:42 p.m. - Dinner, in the form of a cheesesteak sandwich only slightly less tired-looking than our fellow passengers, is delivered to the table.

6:21 p.m. - Mom confirms flight is boarding.

6:21:01 p.m. - Exclaim obscenities, throw cash at waiter, abandon sandwich on table, bolt.

6:21:30 p.m. - Last people to board bus at Terminal 3. Explain situation to driver, who makes a perfunctory swerve at Terminal 4 (to fulfill the requirement that he stop there) and then floors it for Terminal 1. En route, exchange less than encouraging story with man on bus who missed his last flight because they moved up the departure time. Man on bus - "Yeah, they can move up the flight times any time a plane gets in. That happened to us last time we were here." Me - "Did you make the flight?" Man - "Um. No."

6:21:31 p.m. - attempt to fight off feeling of hopelessness. Mentally check status of bank account to determine whether cab to hotel, hotel, and replacement airline tickets are feasible, or if we will have to remain permanent residents of Ft. Lauderdale with nothing but the clothes on our backs, four magazines, two books, and a camera to get us through.

6:23 p.m. - Arrive at Terminal 1. First people off bus. Hit sidewalk at a dead sprint. Husband's statement earlier in the day that "These flip-flops would be really bad for running," now seems to have ominous overtones. Husband and I remove shoes, run through lower level, take escalator two steps at a time, and arrive at security. Make mental note to be impressed later at husband's ability to hurdle an old lady's suitcase in a single bound.

6:23:41 - Make it through security. Two people in front of us allow us to cut. Security guard finds water bottle in purse. Conversation as follows: security guy - "Is this water?" Me - "Yes I forgot about it my flight is leaving now please just throw it away!" Security guy - "You're going to have to come with me while I search your bag." Me - "OK, just please hurry!" Security guy smiles evilly. S.G. goes through purse, insists on sending purse through x-ray again, then finally lets me go. Note to security at Ft. Lauderdale airport - your people are awesome at removing water bottles. But I would like to point out that my husband's pocket knife made it through not one, not two, but FOUR screenings. Maybe sharp objects aren't as dangerous in the hands of thirsty people? Meanwhile, Husband is flustered, and, in his hurry, neglects to remove his belt, cell phone, spare change, and wallet the first time he goes through the metal detector. Necessitates two more trips through metal detector before he is finally cleared. (Mind you, due to our eight-hour delay and constant ins and outs, this is his third time through security today, and the only time that he had a problem.)

6:25 p.m. - Finally clear security and begin mad dash to gate.

6:26 p.m. - hear gay announcer on overhead - "Erin Jamison and Andrew Johnson, we love you, but we're going to have to leave without you!"

6:27 p.m. - Husband and I's sprints take different trajectories, resulting in me getting tangled in his garment bag, tripping, and falling into the laps of two ladies. Jerk posing as a business man behind us says, "Way to go - nice one!" and then explains that he is heading to the same flight, and he sees no reason to hurry. Good for you, sir - perhaps your aversion to hurry is the fact that you weigh 300 pounds? Andrew, ever the gentleman, insists that he board the plane before us.

6:28 p.m. - With the flight attendant cheering us on, we skid into the gate, thrust our tickets at her, and run on to the plane, shoes in hand. After collapsing into our seats, we learn that we have made the last flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Kansas City for THREE DAYS, due to weather delays and sell-outs. I have never been so happy to be on a plane in my life.

6:30 p.m. - Cleared for takeoff. Kansas City, here we come - every last sweaty, panting one of us.

*Note - the title "Recollections from a barf bag" was inspired by the fact that this post is transcribed from scribbles on, you guessed it, a barf bag.