missing the plane

After an idyllic week doing all kinds of perfect nothing in Chicago, I arrived at O'Hare in plenty of time for my 3:25pm flight, made it to Gate F-14 with 10 minutes to spare before boarding, and decided to send a few texts to friends to pass the time. And so time passed... and passed... and it finally occurred to me to wonder why we weren't boarding yet, and, like one of those mind-warping turning points in movies, I realized with horror that I was sitting at gate F-14, while my boarding pass clearly stated that my departure gate was F-12. I grabbed my bag and In Style magazine and booked it across the corridor to the Very Closed Door of F-12, in front of which stood three United Airlines employees, chatting away without a care in the world. I walked up to the Asian one and asked (already knowing the answer, but trying my best to look innocent) "Is this the Tulsa flight?" to which she responded with a quizzical expression at me, a confirmatory look at the closed door, a validating glance at the flight information monitor, and a final condescending first-grade-teacher scowl back at me: "Tulsa's gone. Where were you?!?!" and I pointed sheepishly over to the seats at F-14. I attempted to excuse myself with flakiness. She dismissed me to the customer service desk attendant, who informed me that not only was the next and final flight already oversold, so were all four flights for the following day (stupid PGA). I had no choice but to accept a stand-by ticket, find a lonely spot in the lobby, and hope for the best.

Well, screw that. Rather than sit around another four hours to find out if I may or may not get on the 8pm flight home, I hopped on the train back into the city and slinked sadly (not really) back up the steep steps to Cathy's condo, where they welcomed me with open ridicule. I was already thoroughly exhausted from our week of entirely too much fun, and so we popped open a few cramp-your-stomach-sweet Smirnoff-Ices and ordered Chicago Pizza, which really made the whole ordeal worth it.

So there you have it. I'm in Chicago one more night (possibly two, if I can't make it onto any of tomorrow's flights). It is now 8:24p.m., and rather than letting me crawl back onto the lumpy sofa-bed I so deeply desire at the moment, Cathy is literally pulling at my sleeve to go with her for one last shopping romp. But how can I say no? She's so freaking cute.