Greetings from the sky, I am currently flying across the country for a wedding. I had a whirlwind evening on the Jersey shore, (shoutout to the Parker House, my home away from home, ilysfm bb) came back in the early hours of the morning, and left my apartment around 730am for a 930am flight. I’ll be the first to admit, I should have left earlier! Forgetting that getting from my west side apartment to JFK on a Friday morning in the summer would undoubtedly take more than an hour, because we live on an island full of incompetent morons who can’t get from A to B without taking their thumbs out of their asses, was something I wish I did not forget! Nevertheless, I made it by 9am, boarding time.
Except, oh, whats this? I had planned on checking a bag? Uh oh! You have to be there at least 45 minutes before takeoff to do that, American Airlines politely told me! “Can I please bring it through security and check it at the gate?” I begged, to which they replied “No! You fucking idiot, no you absolutely cannot do that!” Sigh, a new dilemma has formed. I have a large bag, with a very, very small amount of things in it, and it is stopping me from boarding this plane on time.
(I was checking a bag because I plan to check it on the way back, so I can buy lots of weed in California. I’m not sure if this is legal, but if its not, I’m just joking.)
The suggestion was to put me on the next flight, which would have been at noon. Would this have been the end of the world? No. Would it have ruined the carefully planned day I have ahead of me, inconveniencing my friends who will be waiting for me with a rental car to drive the two hours to Santa Barbara after I land? Yes. Would it have stood in the way of wine tastings we have planned? Also yes. In the way of my scheduled mani pedi? Without question. Taking the next flight was simply not a viable option. What is a girl to do when everyone tells her she can’t do something she wants to do?
You start crying. You put on an Oscar worthy performance. “But IM IN THE WEDDING!” “Is there really nothing I can do with this bag?” “It barely even weighs anything! I don’t even care about the bag!”
Bingo. “I don’t even care about the bag.” The magic words. Hearing this, the baddest bitch I’ve ever met, said “Okay. Let me get you a tote bag, do you think you could fit your stuff in it?” I replied yes, hoping this was true. Luckily I was very hungover while packing, and I did a horrible job. It was the first time I’ve packed a suitcase and didn’t have to sit on it to close it.
My girl returns with one of those reusable TJMaxx shopping bags. She helps me throw all of my shit in it, and told me to RUN! I did, plowing through security, leaving my suitcase in the dust. I sprinted to the gate, the last one on the plane. For 30 minutes or so, I sweated out all of the Spring Lakers I drank last night, and then I fell asleep.
I like to believe in karma and fate and all that. Foe weeks now I’ve been bitching about having to make this trip - I’ve been traveling so much the past few months, the plane tickets were expensive because everyone’s traveling again, I’m missing a full weekend at the shore, blah blah. So, because I was talking so much shit, karma came for me to teach me a lesson. It made me sacrifice my suitcase and brought me to the verge of death with physical activity while I’m grossly hungover. I apologize to the airport gods, I thank you for allowing me onto this aircraft in one piece, with the most impractical travel bag of all time.