I thought I’d write a bit about the act of going home; its peculiarities, its necessity, how unattainable it can be. Little did I know how much I might have to say.
I’m in approximately my 26th hour in the airport. The one I’m in now is Phoenix. I spent last night sleeping on the floor of the Las Vegas airport. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time that I’ve slept overnight in an American airport waiting for a flight.
My flight back to Eugene from Orlando didn’t start well. When I got to the gate in Orlando, I found out that our plane was delayed just over an hour for maintenance. Not to worry – my layover was long enough that I would make it to Las Vegas in plenty of time. I wasn’t looking forward to the 2:15 arrival, but I had a cab already called and I knew I’d be just fine.
Las Vegas proved to be much worse than Orlando, though. Already, by the time I arrived on the scene, the action had started. Our flight was canceled, and the crew reassigned to another flight. Almost immediately, though, our flight was reinstated. Without a crew, though, we were stuck on the ground until a new crew could join us. They’d come quickly from elsewhere in the airport … no, they’d come flying in from Tuscon … no, the plane from Tuscon was missing a part, so they’d arrive in a few hours after the part was installed … no, the flight was cancelled.
Strung along through the night, my 62 fellow travelers and I had set up camp in the A terminal of McCarran airport with thin blue blankets and pretzels past their expiration dates. I found a secluded spot with a plug, plugged in my computer and set my pillow on top of its warm cushioned form, and created a little nest of blankets and woolen hats and bags. I tuned out the slot machines and drifted in and out of sleep each time a new announcement came over the PA.
With the final announcement of the cancellation and a hasty handing out of meal vouchers, we trudged down to the ticketing counter, moving in the opposite direction of the first early morning passengers. In line for another hour and a half, we overheard stories and exchanged rumors; we tried not to stare at the man going to visit his dying sister and the man about to miss his son’s wedding; we wondered what we would do if we were stuck in Vegas for two days, when all the hotel rooms in town were probably booked.
Then, with the good news that there was some space on the 1:09 flight from Vegas to Phoenix that would connect with the 5:56 flight from Phoenix to Eugene, the waiting began. Since then, I’ve pretty much been sitting, or, on occasion standing in line. Now, the cheer has just gone up: We’re Going Home!
Boarding is about to start for the final flight of the journey, so I’ll have to report on the outcome and give a more meaningful ponder to the more existential aspects of going home once I’ve arrived there. For the mean time, I’ll say that I flew through The Road, which was weirdly appropriate reading to have with me. I appreciated that my request for a lunch voucher was filled by the counter agent with no questions. And, I enjoyed some of the moments of conversation with my fellow travelers quite a bit, although perhaps not quite as much as I enjoyed conversations with longtime friends over the phone. I’m going to get on the plane now (only 45 minutes late this time)!