Save your sanity: Drive, don't fly

"When it rains, it pours" has never been more true. Yesterday was one of those days where, after one thing goes wrong, you know fully well that some other disaster is soon to follow.

I returned home to Indiana for my sister's 13th birthday. For the most part, I love flying. I enjoy hanging out in airports observing people, reading, writing. I enjoy being miles high in the sky. I don't enjoy the ear-popping and the deathly terrors, the turbulence and the overly cheery flight attendants who think 6 a.m. is special special happy time.

The flight into South Bend wasn't bad at all, except for all the stops in between - Philadelphia to Pittsburg, Pittsburg to Cleveland, Cleveland to South Bend. I looked on the bright side, however, and thought about how great it was that I was able to visit all of those airports in one day and sort of scope them out for the next time I happen to travel through them.

I had a great time visiting my family and hanging out with one of my friends. Unfortunately, my mom had come down with a nasty cold or flu or something and was sick the whole time. I spent time with my sisters and we all watched movies and ate meals together.

The airport in South Bend is very small, so I thought that I could get away with arriving half an hour before my flight. The sign says that you must check in half an hour before, anyway, so I assumed I would be safe. Dad and two of my sisters woke up horribly early in the morning and took me back to the airport yesterday. Well, guess what. I missed my flight. By two minutes. The part that really upset me is that South Bend is horribly small and the flights are never full. The plane hadn't left yet - I was only late to check in - but the luggage had already been loaded onto the plane.

"Well, unfortunately, you've missed your flight," says the man behind the Continental Airlines counter. "Let me see what I can do." He turns his attention to his computer and tap, tap, taps on the keyboard, then says, "You're gonna have to call U.S. Airways since the last portion of your flight is through them. Unfortunately, I don't have access to their records."

So I call U.S. Airways. "I'm sorry," the lady on the other end says through static and noise, "you're going to have to call the Continental headquarters to get on a new flight."

So I call Continental. "I'm sorry," he says. "You're going to have to call U.S. Airways."

"But they told me to call you," I say.

"No, you definitely have to do it through U.S. Airways."

So I call U.S. Airways. Again. "I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to call Continental or speak with the representative at the airport."

"But I already did that SEVERAL TIMES and was told that I needed to speak with YOU."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I just can't do anything. Thank you for calling U.S. Airways and if there's anything we can assist you with in the future ..."

Click.

I return to the man behind the counter and tell him the runaround I was given. Tap, tap, tappety-tap. "Hm..." Tap, tap, tap. "Okay, well, I found something that leaves at 10:45 ... I can't book it yet. You're gonna have to call U.S. Airways and book the last portion of the flight, the Pittsburg, Philly connection."

Oh. My. Goodness. Why didn't he just tell me that in the first place? So I call U.S. Airways. Meanwhile, my dad is sitting in the airport with me, waiting. By then it's 6:30 a.m. and he needs to get to work, but doesn't want to leave me stranded at the airport. The lady at U.S. Airways finds a flight and gives me a price. "$150?!" I yell. Well, what choice did I have? I asked her if I could pay with two separate debit cards because together I had enough, but neither one had that much alone.

"No, we can only run one card at a time. They should be able to run it at the U.S. Airways desk at the airport."

Well, guess what. South Bend doesn't have a U.S. Airways desk. The man at Continental said, "Hmm. That's weird. They can too take two cards over the phone." I wasn't about to call them again, so I call Joe and ask him if he would pretty please call U.S. Airways and pay for my ticket with his debit card.

Finally after the last portion had been secured, the man behind the Continental counter gives me my first two boarding passes and "I'll just go ahead and waive the fees," he says. He takes my baggage, I say good-bye to my family then I sit and wait. For four hours.

I hit Cleveland around noon then I sit and wait some more. For four hours. I make it to Pittsburg, but this time I only sit and wait for an hour. By the time I arrive in Philly, I'm exhausted and cranky and I'm pretty sure it's me that everyone's crinkling their nose at. I make my way down to the baggage claim carousels and I wait for my bag to magically pop out of the hole in the center. And I wait. Then I wait some more. The lady who sat next to me on the flight appears by my side and she waits too. And she waits. And she waits some more. We wonder aloud what is taking so long. I stay there while she goes up to the U.S. Airways baggage center. A few minutes later she returns with her bags, so I venture up there and wait in line. There's a lot of waiting when you fly.

"Hmm... let me check," says the lady behind the counter. Tap, tap, tappety-tap. "Oh," she says with raised eyebrows. Raised eyebrows aren't good. I know this look. It's the same one the Contintental man shot me several times while he tapped and tapped at his keyboard. "It looks like the first airline never sent your baggage ticket through."

"Argh," I say. Or something like that. I had a feeling when I stepped off that plane in Philadelphia that I wouldn't have my luggage waiting for me. I just knew something else would happen.

So she takes my information then tells me that I should, SHOULD get my bag delivered to me tomorrow. SHOULD. By the time I call the taxi, it's already 8 p.m. I could have driven home and stopped at the grocery store and waited in line for an hour in the time it took me to fly. So that's why I think I'll drive next time.