With my flight cancelled, I devised a new plan: pick up my luggage and rent a car. I went to baggage claim. I avoided a long, seemingly unmoving line. Instead, I asked an employee who stood off from a distance. She told me that no luggage, even for a cancelled flight, would be on the baggage claim conveyor belt. It would go to its destination on the next available flight. Had I not had travel brain, I would’ve figured that part out without having to ask.
I declined a courtesy hotel voucher for earliest flight on TUESDAY.
Since there was no car rental place at the airport, I hopped on first shuttle. I had no idea if any cars were available. I’d already told sister that there was no need for my nephew to pick me up if he wasn’t going to drive me to NC.
The first rental place had no available cars. I fast-walked across the full length of the parking lot around 10 PM by myself on the outer perimeter of a high fence to a second place only to be told that they would not rent me a car if I didn’t bring it back to their location when I was done.
All day long, I had been annoyed at myself because I had worn my neck fan. In the dead of night with all that power-walking, I enjoyed the cool breeze from the fan.
I was in such a mood, I would’ve whupped any ass who wrongly crossed my path if they’d mistakenly thought that a lone woman walking at night was helpless.
Instead, I received a team of angels.
The first was in the form of a soldier who had been scheduled on the same flight to RDU as me. My plan at the second rental place was to pay another person renting a car for a ride to RDU. The soldier stepped forward, stating that he was in the same situation.
Instead of getting a lift, we both fast-walked to a third car rental, which was a good clip away, just like the distance of the second place from the first. That place had the longest line of them all. Plus, without a reservation, there was a slim chance of availability.
Reluctantly, I called my sister again. Time had ticked past midnight, yet she picked up the phone. My pitch: have her son pick me up from the airport, I’d drop him back home, then borrow his car. They had a few cars at home and could be without one until the weekend when they attended her in-law’s family reunion.
My nephew was dead asleep. Instead, two more angels joined my cause: my sister and her husband. They drove separate cars to the airport, so I didn’t have to drive anyone back to their house. Meanwhile, the soldier and I took a shuttle back. On the way to the airport, I asked him for his driver’s license. He readily gave me both his license and military ID. I took a picture and texted it to my sisters and mother.
He was 22, and gave off good vibes, but I believed in both trusting and verifying.
He had flown to DC to rendezvous with his girlfriend and her family for the weekend. He also had not taken advantage of the Tuesday rebooking with hotel and meal vouchers since he had to attend an Army-sponsored class at 7:30 AM on Monday.
He could hardly believe the solution I’d pitched to my sister.
Once my sister and her husband arrived with their son’s car, two bottles of water and a rather large snack bag, the soldier shook his head in disbelief at his good fortune that we’d met.
My family took off in their car as we’d left in my nephew’s car. The soldier noticed that the remote key indicator light was on. He called my sister because I was still on the longest hold for the airline since I’d chosen not to stand in that nonmoving, long-ass line at the airport.
Fortunately my family wasn’t too far away. They pulled over on a highway shoulder and I parked behind them. My brother-in-law gave us a key and they took off.
Again, the soldier noticed that the indicator hadn’t turned off with the presence of the key. I’d been too distracted on the phone since an airline agent had FINALLY picked up. I’d not left the roadside shoulder since I was arranging the delivery of my luggage to the house or to the nearest airport.
The soldier inspected the key and discovered it was the wrong make. My brother-in-law had given us the spare key for the car he and my sister were driving. So, I still had to go to their house. His key to the car that we’d borrowed had fallen out of his pocket. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the opportunity to use their bathroom. The soldier received another bottle of water.
FINALLY on our way, we made brief stop at a fast food drive-thru for coffee. I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but on rare occasions, when I needed to stay awake, I’d use it for the drug it was.
To simplify things, we both ordered two iced coffees with a french vanilla shot. Just like the beginning of my Ghanaian journey, service wasn’t fast and had us questioning if anyone was working. I did myself a favor by ordering a small.
In retrospect, I should’ve done myself an additional favor of ordering plain black coffee. No prediabetic, such as myself, needed a high dose of sugar, which made me incredibly sleepy. I hadn’t originally wanted him to drive, but we would’ve lost time if he had to wait for me to nap.
After a power nap, I needed to use the bathroom and the car needed gas. The soldier exited for a gas station in a podunk town. Although the station was closed, we still gassed up.
In that eerily quiet atmosphere, we kept warning each other not to speak into existence the horror movie ambiance of the gas station. We skedaddled after filling up.
He drove to a nearby truck stop, bustling with activity. I was so focused on getting to the bathroom, I didn’t notice the strong marijuana smell the soldier had detected.
I felt refreshed enough to drive. Not only were we both careful drivers, but we believed in going at least five mph above speed limit to keep up with the the flow of traffic. I was determined that he would make it to class on time.
After dropping him off at long-term parking, I got a large water and canned coffee with 12g of sugar. That was the lowest sugar content out of all the canned coffees. I paced myself, sipping a little every five to ten minutes.
I cruise controlled while singing along with the radio. Two things my 16-year-old car didn’t have.
The good things about not having my suitcase were not unpacking and starting a big laundry job. Of course, I still had plenty of things to do as the day unfolded after arriving home at 6:38 AM.
The airline luggage delivery links didn’t work. Then, I had to do some extra bullshit to get a refund for the last leg of the flight. Once I actually spoke to a live person, I fumed that they weren’t going to deliver my suitcase to my house for free. I had to pay $75 COD.
I knew there was no way I’d return to Raleigh for my suitcase. Plus, I had to work the next day. I didn’t feel like hitting the road after work. I counted out the $75 in cash, cursing the whole time.
At that point, my other angelic sister stepped up. She stated that she’d pick up my suitcase, then reached over, took $20 and told me to save the rest of my money.
More than fair. She’d been visiting with a friend in Raleigh on Sunday while waiting to pick me up at the airport. I’d texted her every two hours or so when my last flight kept getting delayed. She was still on that glorious summer vacation that was so long, most teachers forgot what they dreaded about being in the classroom.
On Tuesday morning, while I zombied my way through work, my sister traveled to Raleigh, went to the baggage claim area with a vague description, including the pale yellow cloth that was tied around each handle, and found my suitcase.
Not only did she text me a picture, so I could make a positive ID, but she also posed with the fifth angel: the airline worker who had patiently sorted through some additional bureaucratic gymnastics to locate my luggage.
Note to self: next time I fly anywhere, take a picture of the luggage in addition to tying cloth around the handles. Also, keep praying because God will send angels.