Don't Go Away Mad, Just Go Away Pt. 3

Implementing De-Escalation Strategies in Airports: The Dec. 29 Saga Continues

I went through the security checkpoints successfully and entered the airplane feeling excited and jubilant to be heading back to Albuquerque. "Woodstock," one of my all-time favorite comfort movies, was playing on the television. It was only at Country Joe and the Fish's first performance, which meant that I could still see Arlo Guthrie; Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young; Ten Years After; Country Joe McDonald solo; Santana; Sly and the Family Stone; and Jimi Hendrix.

I just recited those performances from memory. It's obvious how many times I watched that movie in middle and high school, until my dad confiscated it, afraid of re-living his youth.
Granted, his youth was spent in Swedish boarding schools, and he didn't come to the U.S. until the 1970s, but this was the excuse I was given.

Maybe my parents felt that pot-smoking hippies were a bad influence for a middle-schooler. Maybe they felt that Jimi Hendrix's performance of the Star-Spangled Banner was unpatriotic. Maybe they felt that these white upper-class kids (currently called Trustafarians) weren't doing anything worthwhile or productive for the minorities being persecuted or the men drafted for the war. They were just listening to gentrified bands like the Grateful Dead singing songs about drugs, then selling out to the Yuppie Party of the 1980s. Sound familiar?

I then had a three-hour layover in Denver. I spent the beginning hours checking email in the airport, then eating spinach artichoke dip at my favorite airport bar. They carry Stella Artois on tap, after all.

I sat at the terminal chairs doing random free writes and listening to CDs for the next half hour. The flight sign was finally saying "Albuquerque." I smiled and zoned out for a while. I look up again. Now the sign is saying "St. Louis."

St. Louis? It was like a bad horror movie....or worse, a Jennifer Lopez movie.

I look at the Departures schedule, screening for a-l-b-u-q-u-e-r-q-u-e. "Flight cancelled." I was about to cry....again.

I go to the desk to calmly ask what happened. I decide to utilize some de-escalation strategies instead of crying or sounding like an irritating asshole customer. She tells me I can take the next Frontier flight...which means I have to wait another three hours, and I wouldn't get back to Albuquerque until 11 or so. I calmly mention that I saw a flight leaving through a competing airline. Could they reimburse me for the flight if I was to fly standby? She directed me to the main Frontier desk. I calmly left....and ran (BRITTSPEAK: walked slightly faster than usual) to the desk, where I collected a *free* United ticket.

I had to go from one part of the airport to the next while having a severe anxiety attack and trying to maintain my fragile composure. Somehow, I was the only one who was flying standby on the flight. Other people must have more patience than I have.

Then I was informed that there was a problem with the airplane. Was I ever going to get to a city I was comfortable in, or was I to live in a crappy airport for the rest of my life?

Somehow, I made it to Albuquerque in one piece. I was tired, but that night we went to Martini Grille, where I had some of their infamous mayonnaise fries. All was well. Happy ending to a long-winded story. Yay.