Ok. So I'm not a member of the million miler club yet or anything but I have seen my fair share of the friendly skies lately and it's gotten me to reminiscing. I've decided to share some of my favorite airport adventures.
My first memory of the airport is when I got lost in one when I was 5. I should have known then. It was back in the day when we could see off and welcome back loved ones at the gate (those were the days). We were sending my brother Karl on his mission and most of the kids got bored with the wait so we decided to play on the escalators. When it was time to go I pulled a Home Alone and chased the wrong person down the hall, thinking it was my sister. When I realized my mistake, my family was no where to be found. I found my way out to our big red van (aptly named "Big Red"), thinking they would find me there. After waiting for hours (probably only 15 minutes) I gave up and went back in to find my family coming down the stairs. That day I learned what an information desk was and I was forced to practice reciting my parents' first names the rest of the day.
For years, the airport was a rather unceremonious event. Then came my own mission. The flight home was an eleven hour trip that finally landed myself and 2 Elders on US soil in Denver where we then had to go through customs. For those not familiar with the process, you have to pick up your luggage at the baggage claim, take a form through a line where you have to somehow remember how much you paid for all of the stuff crammed in your suitcase, and promise that none of it is produce or drugs. Then you have to recheck your luggage, go through security and run to your gate. Some genius decided we could do all of this and still make a connecting flight that left 45 minutes later. Needless to say, we didn't make it. But we ran and caught a flight that left only an hour later. Our families, however, were told we wouldn't get on a flight for another 4 hours. When we arrived and came down the escalators looking around for the balloons and posters that would be there to welcome us, we saw nothing. We decided to check the bathrooms (I took the girls, they took the guys) to see if our families had decided to all use the restroom all at the exact same time. Guess not. A nice lady took pity on us and fed us red vines and bottled water while we waited. So, a couple of hours later they came running through the doors with wilted flowers, drooping balloons and wrinkled posters. It was the welcome I had always dreamed of.
Now that I travel with work every few weeks, I'm getting pretty comfortable with the airport routine. I have this thing down to a science from parking, to security, to boarding and back. Problem with routine is you can get overly confident. Enter drama. A couple of months back I arrived home on a late flight. I collected my luggage and caught a shuttle out to the parking lot. I got off on my usual stop (confident in my routine) and discovered my car was not in its usual row. I wouldn't normally panic but it was midnight and I was a girl all by herself in the middle of a dark parking lot. I'm a sitting duck. After wandering around for 30 minutes, a security truck that had passed me at least 5 times finally stopped and asked if I was ok. I explained my dilemma and he asked for my license plate number. He radioed it in and they spat back my car's location within 30 seconds. Cheers for airport security!
And my most recent adventure... I came back this week from an unusually stressful business trip very relieved to be home. I collected my luggage, caught the shuttle and jumped off my usual stop where I quickly found my car. I paid for parking and headed home (once again confident in my routine). When I got home I hopped out of my car and opened the back door of my car only to find my luggage missing. I quickly traced back my steps in my head until I realized that I didn't grab my luggage when I got off the shuttle bus in the parking lot. My bag was still riding around (hopefully) in circles in the economy parking lot. I walked in the door both hysterically laughing and sobbing. I finally calmed down and went searching for the phone book. After finding the airport number and getting transferred about 26 times, I got someone to call the buses asking if anyone had seen an abandoned black suitcase (I need to buy some unique luggage, I've decided). But amazingly enough, they found it and sent it to the Lost & Found. Scott trekked back up to Salt Lake with me where I picked up the luggage and finally made it home.
But I have to say, after all of that, I still love airports! Some of my favorite things about traveling (besides the destinations themselves) are the coffee smells at the airport, empty flights, a window seat with clear skies, turbulence (weee!) and people watching. Ah, good memories!
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