Cherry-Poppin' in Springfield - Part one

[b]The leaving there part...[/b]

I’m sitting in a chair facing this computer with the blank page syndrome hitting me in the face with the power of an upper cut. The last few days certainly have yielded their share of surprises – some quite good and some… well, not so much - and there is just no way to begin this without telling the whole tale. I guess you guys are in for a long read. Some of you dislike walls of text, and, for that, I’ll apologize in advance. Not that I know how long it’ll be before I type it all, but I’ve a feeling I can’t quite grasp this story, one involving a pump, a stupid holiday, a customs agent and a wonderful lady, all within ten well thought out lines, so bear with me, as it all started this past Saturday morning in Frankfurt, Germany.

A mere four hours after finally hitting the sack, my iPhone started the cricket wake up dance I hate so, but that’s a formidable motivator to get the hell up from the comfy covers and throw that cell phone off the 38th floor. Yeah, it was too early, perhaps, to start the day pissed off, but I figured there was no one else to see it and, well, why the heck not? It’s the company’s phone and they’ll probably want it back, but since I’m here, I could tell’em I was mugged by an ex East-German swimmer gone hooker in rich financial-district hotels and that she took it. Meh. Too complicated.

Mornings in Germany at that wee hour looks pretty much like the rest of the world: empty. Save for the late night messed up skaters going to their third after-hour party, or the odd chap looking for consigned bottles to turn in, the rest of the city sleeps. That’s a fair picture from the backseat of a cab whooshing its way on the autobahn at 180 km/h: I got to look on things, but not for long. It is 5:06 and I’m thinking I’ll be so alone at the airport I’d better find my book and read. I was obviously wrong, of course, as we approached the departure level, the sheer amount of cars and people made me smile. Yup, the world truly never sleeps. I’m getting my arse in line to the United Airlines (UA) counter to check in my baggage some three hours before departure and, guess what: yes, there are more than fifty people already in line!

It appears that the lot of them decided to go on vacation all at the same time: kids, parents, old, young and their dogs in leash, ski equipment and loaded credit cards followed the many, many suitcases. Whatever happened to “travel light”, one could only surmise that it faded into myth. I usually do as well, but since I’ve been hauling myself all over the world for the past 10 days, I’m reluctantly carrying 3 pieces, since my computer MUST follow too. Long story short, 45 minutes later, I’m off to the plane and back to America, on my way to Kansas City.

Now, before this story continues, you have to know a few details. Bobbette Daugherty and I had been planning on going to see the boys down in Springfield, MO for a while. Since it was going to be my SD concert cherry-popping venue, might as well do it with all the toppings: VIP tickets, Meet & Greet, swag to sign, etc…. So I booked my trip to leave on Saturday morning, head to Kansas City where she’d pick me up and drive down to Springfield, spend two nights then drive back, since I had to spend the week in a conference. Well planned indeed, because sitting in my tiny airplane middle seat, squeezed in between the biggest Aunt Jemima and the starting Center Guard of some NCAA team, I felt that it had better be tweaked to the details, since I’ll have held my breath for ten hours plus whatever time we waited for take off…

And we waited for completing boarding, and we waited for the luggage to be loaded, and we waited for the cargo to be secured, and we waited… and waited… and waited… for 90 minutes, we waited. And then the news: Flight cancelled. Really? Damn right, really. The starboard engine’s fuel pump decided to grow an attitude and went on strike, and required replacement. Of course no one was happy and everyone had plans, but, hey, that’s part of travel: things can go wrong, right? Besides, I was kinda glad they found out about it while we were still on the ground, because I want to visit Reykjavik someday, but on my own terms, and certainly not on my way to Chicago.

So we got off the plane and a representative from UA came and beckoned us to go this way while the business class customers went that way. Being in the zoo compartment, I obviously followed the crowd leaving the gate and into the little area they provided for giving the spiel of “we’re so sorry but…” and, sure enough, we got it, but not as expected. It appeared that they had arranged for hotel accommodations (to the same bloody Marriott I was for the past week!), meals and some expenses to be taken in charge by UA. Good, but that’s clearly not what I had in mind. I needed to haul my ass back in the US. So I asked the guy – out loud – if they would find us alternative flights and if we could go about our business. And the answer was a loud, unequivocal “NO”. “What do you mean, “no”? Surely there’s…” And he interrupted me again, this time, with obvious displeasure and a dose of impatience “There is no flight in and out of Frankfurt for you”. I laughed. “Sir, this is Frankfurt. The largest Lufthansa hub in the world – you Star Alliance partner – there’s like 2000 flights a day leaving from this airport and you’re telling me that there isn’t a single seat available?” That would, in my opinion, make history. Without hesitating for a second, the rep smirked malevolently “ It’s German spring break”. Talk about coïtus interruptus. Yeah, more importantly, talk about bad luck. That explained, all of a sudden, the many people, cars, long lines at 5:30 and the hotel reservations as compensation.

While text messaging madly to Bobbette about events unfolding, I desperately fought my way to the UA counter and tried everything we could to get out of there: Moscow, Helsinki, Oslo, Paris, Amsterdam, and Johannesburg, even… Nothing! Nothing was available and all the flights were full that day. Four hours later, the only confirmed flight I could get my arse into was UA975 the next morning. I was then a little aggravated since that was messing up my plans, but, more to the point, that of my Illinois friend as well. Since I couldn’t get access to my luggage so I decided to head back to the hotel, and think. After a well deserved nap, and several messages exchanged with Miss B., she found over the internet a flight out to SGF (Springfield, MO’s airport code) from ORD (Chicago O’Hare’s airport code) on American Airlines and it would take me there by 3PM, on time for our plans. Curiously, I went on the web, too, and found a SGF flight leaving some 65 minutes later than planned landing at ORD, the following day, which would be ample time in any given airport, but O’Hare. And that’s exactly what I pressed upon the UA representative that met us in the hotel lobby, that night. As I presented my case and my flights, I told him I was confirmed on the ORD flight and needed to get booked on the SGF flight, he simply said: “book it!”. Fine. Whatever… I was done in three minutes calling UA’s headquarters in Chicago. So, I called my boss (who was still in Frankfurt) and we went for dinner. As I came back to the hotel, I had decided to make sure I’d be up and asked for the front desk for a wake up call at 4:00 AM, so I could sleep for 4 hours. “Three hours” the lady smiled. I laughed and said “It’s only midnight. In four hours I need to be up. So please wake me at four.” “Three hours sir. We’re coming back to standard time tonight, at 2 AM”. Great timing, as usual.

So, obviously, the following morning resembled the previous like a twin staring idiotically in a mirror, only this time, I wasn’t squeezed between football team mates, my seat was a window and I could hope for some sleep despite the twelve children under 2 flying along (you know how I find that to be moronic), and there was an actual timely lift off. Funny events often unfold, however. After two consecutive nights of pretending to get a decent shut eye, I’d have thought I’d at least get a few hours on the plane, but, as expected, the kids kept crying and the ride felt like downhill bumpy slope ride from turbulence. Instead, I had to listen to some Shinedown and shut out the rest of the world. Not such a bad punishment, mind you. Tonight was going to be the night.

TBC'd