The end of an at-best "all right" trip had come to an end. The assignment from the editors of Pacific Gold was to review on the carnage, change, and color of the locals of Fort Myers 3 months after the hurricane. The title of the piece was already chosen: "The Best of What's Left." On day 1 of the visit, I drove about an hour south, all the better to drink "Passion Fruit Splash" with "some" rum while sitting in a hot tub. He then said to me "Hey, did you see all those people stuck on Southwest flights?" I hadn't, but I did see the line at LAX the day before, and that might have been the first indication of a massive fuck-up. And no matter where I went in the early parts of my research, this issue was all the talk.
Half of the visit was just downright shit weather, and it made some of the locals surly. Almost surly as I was considering it was 80 in Dealville and had I not been eating grouper and Key Lime Pie at a rapid rate, I'd have been...well, worse?
On return day, the editor texted to check in. I said that we're almost back: that I wished the non-stop flight hadn't been cancelled, but the notes are there, the story will be sent on Thursday, and hey how about that Sun Bowl? The editor, again, brought up Southwest's stranded folk. I could only see cancellations on the board, but that must be in another terminal. (BTW, Denver's airport is just one big-ass hallway. Dogshit)
And then...I waited. And then it started snowing. Then I got on a plane. And then I waited and waited some more. I waited so long, I was told the unfortunate news: sorry, you're staying here. It's Colorado, it's a blizzard outside, have fun!
The only other time such an event has happened to me was, looking back, life-altering. In January of 1999, my futile attempts to return to Boston covered nearly 48 hours, Northwest Airlines, flying over (but not landing at) airports, a shared cab ride with 4 other grown men I'd never met in my life, and a handful of hours of sleep at a motel in Ann Arbor. The temperature was -1 when we arrived. Nearly 24 hours later (after being on 4 cancelled flights), I flew eastward. Those of us on that flight who survived the ordeal were literally hugging and dancing in the aisles. The flight attendant asked why we were so happy. Before I could answer, a middle-aged man said, "because we're never flying this airline again!" I'm proud to say I never did. And on that flight, I looked out the window the entire time on a clear, cold night. In the distance, I saw small towns every few minutes. I made a promise: next year will be the last winter. During that time, we will move to Dealville (or somewhere) where there will be nothing like what forced this experience.
This very play started to screen in my subconscious as I was in the passenger seat of a compact car, being driven in this hell storm, snow so thick there were no lanes, just vague remembrances of rules and laws. I'd never been to Aurora, Colorado before. Now I have. It took a little over an hour to make this trip, the entire time my adrenaline flowing because there are cars on the side of the road, abandoned. I saw one car slowly push another up a hill. It's a tough feeling, having to accept a fate you so doggedly work to avoid.
Now, you see, this is the kind of shit that is likely all too common to many people the world over. But I have strived and strived to avoid it, and in reality, I had nothing to do except "deal with it" until the next day. But there was no way I could sleep. I laid at first, still shivering, extra towels on top of the blankets. The adrenaline wouldn't let go. I was on full go-zone gonzo while I could look over and see The Big Scoop herself, someone who, in a pinch, could fall asleep anywhere.
As I returned to the airport the next day to wait some more, I spoke with some fast friends from the last flight. An active senior couple who lived in town up and slept on the floor of the airport, forgoing any free sleepin' "That turned out to be a bad idea" he said. "I didn't think they'd close everything, but they did. Only the bathrooms were open. We couldn't even get water." I asked if, in fact, he did sleep. "Probably not."
Upon landing in Dealville, everything else came easy. (Except the drive back, but I've never been happier to sit in traffic) Not that I needed the reminder, but having endured what it was, it was another reminder of why this is home. Despite (gestures) it all out here, I don't think I'd have it any other way.
