Northwest in and out of Cedar Rapids has proven to be the riskiest leg of any trip to Dubuque. Perhaps it sits within a vortex of evil and goat sacrifices are required? More likely it is just a crappy airline. Airlinks to regional hubs are not high on the priority list of any airline. People in the fly over states are well and truly gripped by the balls when it comes to choice and convenience where air travel is concerned and the airlines know this quite well.
Arriving at the airport we felt fairly confident. The boards were reading that our flight was on time. It wasn’t pouring rain as had been threatened, and we had all the check on/carry on sorted and duly packed. At check in counter however we were greeted with the sadly predictable news that our flight was delayed an hour and a half, which put our connecting flight to Edmonton in jeopardy. Even worse, and pathetically less surprising, came the revelation that should we miss the connection, we couldn’t be accommodated on another flight home until 9:30 the following night. Welcome to Hellmouth.
Rob, of course, was unperturbed. Nothing about the indignities and sheer clusterfuckiness of air travel ruffles him in the least. He operates on the premise that since the world is populated mainly by stupid people, we should be more emotionally jolted by those things that do work and are fouled up. Shit happens most and anything else is a really good day. Since flying makes me nervous and, as I have mentioned, I am disturbed on a deep physic level by the TSA and all the other pseudo-fascist state things that masquerade as “protection”, any extra time “in the system” as Rob has dubbed it does not make my day.
We held back from going through security for a bit after the news, and I took Katy to the restroom for the third potty stop before boarding. It’s just easier to empty her out in stages. While we were in there someone several stalls down began moaning, groaning and god-damning the Lord before announcing to, the Lord I presume, that she had “diarrhea god-dammit”. Pretty sure that the Lord needed to hear that bit of information as much as I did. Yeah, I couldn’t get us out of there fast enough. Judging from her old lady from Phoenix attire when I spied her exiting not long after us, I imagine that her gastrointestinal distress was diet related because if she is anything like my folks (and she looked a contemporary except my mom’s attire isn’t as garish) her tummy is a dumping ground for any and all types of carcass, starch and refined sugars. However, on the off chance she was carrying some new variation of bird flu (vortex of evil, remember?), I wanted us washed and away when she emerged to – hopefully – wash her own hands.
By the time we cleared TSA ,where a guard actually gave Katy a dime (I know what you are thinking but clowns look friendly too) and got to the gate, our plane was know 20 minutes less late. We snagged a table near the only restruant/gift shop/newsstand/got you by the short hairs if you need anything shop, which was nice because there aren’t a lot of those (tables) to be found anywhere in most airports and we enjoyed the free wi-fi (vortex of evil, Carol Anne, stay with me and do not go near the light). As the later arrivals to the concourse arrived we received more than a few dirty looks for our comfy table. Mostly from old women. People of the “greatest” generation have a more acute sense of entitlement than any teenager I have ever known.
By the time we hit Minneapolis we were barely late at all. As Rob pointed out, our pilot from Cedar Rapids was “one with the plane” and we made our connection easily. On the flight, Katy slept and Rob and I finished the film Failure to Launch which not so ironic to us anymore, turned out to be a movie about a widower who was having trouble moving on and allowing himself to love again. We don’t even try to find these films. They just come to us. Was the world so loss focused before? We were so clueless then.
Customs in Edmonton was a breeze. One moment of pause when the officer asked Rob if he was Katy’s father. I had to tell him that Katy’s father was dead but fortunately didn’t have to pull out the death certificate to prove it. It’s always nice to not have to prove it.
2AM found Rob and I snuggled up, passed out from exhaustion in our own lovely king-sized bed. Home.