My morning started off fine. Up at 5:15, ready to go at 6… but then I started forgetting things and couldn’t figure out how to pack up my suitcase and before I knew it, it was 6:35 and I had a seven o’clock bus to catch downtown. Yup, you guessed right. I missed it. Literally a block away as I see the bus pulling away from the sidewalk. I didn’t panic or start to cry, which honestly surprised me—it’s a typical emotion for me when things start to fall apart. But I must have put my big girl pants on this morning because I just turned around, walked back to my car, and sat there until I figured out what I was going to do.
A quick check on Southwest Airline’s website and I had my game plan set—a 10:40 flight out of Minneapolis to Midway for as cheap as I could get it. I was prepared to beg the counter lady at the airport if need be. My friend Katie had already sent me a text, asking if I had made the bus okay. The mom in her, she said. I laughed, because while that was true I tend to be the most irresponsible one in the group so check-ups are a must when we are all traveling together. No, I responded quickly, adding that she shouldn’t worry and that I will be there to meet her in Chicago.
The train was actually pretty quick and before I knew it, I was at Lindbergh Terminal. Lindbergh, big. Humphrey, little, I reminded myself as I stepped off onto the platform. I hurried through the tram and up to ticketing where I stood for a good five minutes trying to find Southwest’s counter. Delta, United, US Airways, I read over and over again. No Southwest, seriously? A quick check at the Information Booth and I was redirected over to Humphrey Terminal—the little one—by a very sweet white-haired lady who never once made me feel like a failure for going to wrong airport, bless her heart.
I had plenty of time to kill, since my bus left at 7 and my plane didn’t leave until 10:40 so I stopped in the ladies room. Found $23 on the floor. No lie. I thought it was just a dollar bill folded up, but when I picked it up it was actually a huge wad of cash. So it’s only 8 o’clock in the morning and so far I’ve missed my bus, gone to the wrong airport, and found $23. Seriously?
I made it to Humphrey, which is not nearly as fun as going to the big terminal. There’s no hustle-and-bustle or bad fast-food places to enjoy. In fact, it was so quiet I was actually able to take a nap in the hard metal seats. My alarm went off right before they started boarding so I quickly got in line right as my dad started calling me.
Whatcha doing, he wanted to know. I whispered that I was on my way to Chicago and that I would call him when I got there. Are you driving, he continued unaware that I was trying to keep the call short and to the point. Yes, I lied. How was I going to explain to my parents that I missed my bus and was now taking a one-way flight to Chicago just so I could make it to the Twins series? Well, be careful, he cautioned. My mom quickly got on the phone and reminded me of all the things I shouldn’t do when I’m down there. Don’t walk alone, don’t go anywhere with strangers, don’t get arrested because you know your father will not drive down to Chicago to bail you out. Check, check, and check I assured her.
Unaware that Southwest now has what I like to call ‘general admission seating’, I spent a good five minutes looking over my ticket again and again trying to find my seat number. You just sit anywhere, a guy behind me offered as I expressed my concern for not finding a seat number. Oh. Another red mark to add to what was supposed to be a pretty uneventful day. So now it’s 11:40. I’m sitting next to a couple sporting University of Michigan attire and a nun. In full dress. The flight attendant is being extra nice to her, no doubt trying to score some extra points with the big guy.
We’re starting to descend. I’m being told to put my computer away. But don’t worry, I’ll be able to finish this at Midway. I’ve got about nine hours to kill until Katie’s plane arrives in Chicago. At O’Hare. Yup, that will be the fourth airport I’ve visited today. But it’s all in the name of love. For the Twins, of course. All of this will be a distant memory when Big Jim hits a home-run on his old turf this weekend—sort of a little ‘hi, I’ve missed you’ present for Ozzie.
