(...continued from yesterday's post)
So I'm standing in JFK airport, having just learned that the last flight to O'Hare airport - that is, between two of the largest international airports in the world - was at 3:45 in the afternoon. It's 4:10. The ticket lady explains my options.
"There's one more flight to Chicago at 7:00... out of LaGuardia airport. There's no connecting flight to Bloomington though, so you'd have to wait until morning there. Or, you can wait here overnight and catch a flight out first thing tomorrow."
Never been on a desert island before. But now I get it. And sitting here on the beach won't do. It now appears that my subway experiment to avoid cab fare has ultimately staged me to catch a cab to LaGuardia. Wherever that is.
"How far is LaGuardia?"
"About 20 minutes. There's a bus downstairs that will take you there for $15." (My first good news of the quest!) "Good luck."
4:20. I emerge from the lower level of the airport in the ground transport area and do a good enough job looking like a tourist that an official-looking guy approaches me. "Bus to LaGuardia," I elaborate. He points me to someone walking about who by my reckoning is a member of the Jamaican national basketball team. With a sing-song voice he hands me a ticket, and walks me directly to a spot on the curb where he claims the bus will arrive.
4:21. A bus! My bus? It pulled up about thirty yards past me. Jamaican LeBron is nowhere to be seen. No reason to lose faith in him yet. Probably not my bus.
4:40. I'd been the first at this curb spot. Now there are about twenty. A bus appears with an insignia that matches LeBron's jacket. Fantastic! I hustle out toward the baggage compartment of the bus as the driver emerges and the crowd surges forward. "LaGuardia," I offer. "This bus no LaGuardia" comes the reply. So back to the curb I trudge like a spurned puppy at a pound.
5:00. My ride appears. My stint of nearly three straight hours of standing comes to an end. How do hookers do this nightly in high heels?
5:30. The Freakonomics book does wonders for dissolving the time. It even negates the dramatic exchange between bus driver and passenger who tried to sneak too many kids onto the bus. Getting lost in reading is a pleasant diversion for a body that's consumed nothing but a salty pretzel at noon and little water since.
6:30. Not much time to take in the scenery around me, but despite the fact that exactly one body-scanning machine was operating, I reach the gate with a few minutes to spare before boarding. I'd had the foresight way back at the spa to give Dena a buzz and let her know that I might get home later than the 8:30 plan. I thought I might have enough time to either charge my phone or find a phone to give her an update, but I have just enough time to grab a bite to eat and spill some overpriced bottled water all over my seat before boarding. Another reason it was a good idea not to dash off for a phone is that technically I was on standby, and I needed to be in the area when they called my name. In a sense, then, I was lucky that the munchies won out, otherwise I may have found myself with plenty of time to take in that LaGuardia scenery after all.
7:00. Homeward bound! We make incredibly good time, covering the distance in twenty minutes less than advertised. Still the flight gives me time to ponder next steps once I reach Illinois soil. Nothing is certain, and all have costs. Stay at a hotel for $200 and catch the morning connecting flight. Catch a cab to Mom's house in the 'burbs, and then back in the morning to catch the flight home... $100? Rent a car and drive home. Amtrak? The option I like best is to catch a Peoria Charter bus for about $35, which I once used to get home from O'Hare years ago. That is, assuming it's still running at 8:30.
8:30. Originally, this is when I'd be sinking into the La-Z-Boy in the living room. As it is, I've covered a half-mile through O'Hare to reach the bus station. Thankfully, there is one more bus leaving tonight. At 10:15. Which will put me home at about 1:00 a.m. at the Bone Student Center at Illinois State University. Time to call Dena with the news that I will, after all, make it home tonight. Oh, and that it would be REALLY great if she could play night owl and pick me up at ISU.
9:00. In case you were wondering, yes there are still public pay phones. Probably more than necessary, in fact. Thus it makes sense to charge $1 for a four-minute call. Turns out that I only need 30 seconds anyway, 'cause Dena's not answering her phone. Since it's relatively important for me to confirm with her that she'll be waiting for me at ISU, I leave all the details on her machine and explain that I'll call back in a half hour.
9:15. More tidbits for the traveler: There's a Hilton hotel attached to O'Hare airport. I wander over to see if there might be wi-fi in the lobby so that I can whittle time away on the computer. The bad news is that my laptop's sufficiently low on power so as not to function. The good news is that a nattily-clothed man hands me a free copy of the Onion newspaper and then begins giving me an infomercial about a local soup kitchen before. I'm overcome by the urge to go hang out back in the terminal, and off I go.
9:30. Success! Dena and I make arrangements to meet at ISU. There's a late night snack shop open. And Larry King is on the T.V. in the waiting station. Two out of three ain't bad.
10:15. The bus rolls up, and six of us roll aboard. I expect that I'll nap most of the way home, but I'm unexplainably jacked up. I engross myself in a book on Abraham Lincoln.
11:30. Hey, why aren't we on I-55? We're past Joliet but on some back road. This is the right bus, isn't it? The weary brain eventually deduces that we started far enough east that we can just shoot down Route 47 instead of the old familiar interstate. Still, it's comforting to know that my capacity for confusion is still high. Plus my imagination for scenarios like subduing the driver and hijacking the bus.
12:55. Right on time, except... why are we headed to the north side of town and not toward the university? We're at... the... airport. Turns out that another passenger on board had requested the special accommodation. Meaning that my own special accommodation, who much prefers the term "Dena," has sacrificed a couple decent hours of shuteye for nothing, and in fact will become quite confused shortly when we don't arrive. I'm facing the choice of staying on the bus, arriving safely with it at ISU a bit late, and causing her to drive us back across town to the airport to get the car. Or I can get off, find my car, and race at breakneck speed across town so that Dena's not mystified when the bus arrives without me. Better go conservative and take the first route. What's an extra half hour of sleep lost at this point? Mental note: Bring a tack to sit on at all work meetings tomorrow... er... later today.
1:00. If only my phone was char... HEY! It's got a sliver of a bar of power! Just enough to call Dena and tell her she can head home. Thanks God...
1:05. The long-lost feel of the trusty Saturn. So good to navigate my own transportation, as fast as the cover of night will let me.
1:30. Hugs, kisses, a cliff notes version of the epic tale, and off to bed, leaving unpacked bags to sleep in the kitchen while I snuggle in the place I oughta be.
The final totals: Eleven hours, five of them unplanned. One plane. One train. One automobile. Two buses. One majorly creeped-out 13 year old. One Freakonomics book. One free Onion. $50 savings by taking a subway instead of a cab. $55 in total bus fare for missing my flight.
But I'm telling you, it was a really good massage...
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