The plan: Drive back to Chicago from Detroit on December 26th, pick up truck on the 27th, movers come from 11am-1pm to pack said truck, Harry drives off with nearly all of our worldly belongings, we finish any last minute sweeping/cleaning, leave for O'Hare by 4:30, fly to Salt Lake City, fly to Medford, drive to Ashland, and arrive at new home around 11pm.
What actually happened:
The driving back to Chicago and picking up the truck parts were perfectly fine and went very smoothly. While the husbeard and Harry were picking up the truck, I finished packing and we were 100% ready to go at 11am when the movers were supposed to come. I even cooked the rest of the bacon and we had a bit of a breakfast.
11:05 - no movers. Not a huge problem, they're only 5 minutes late. I call the company, just to see what's up. Turns out, I hadn't booked them from 11am-1pm. I had booked them for two hours and they would show up sometime between 11am and 1pm. Simple mistake. After a little panic, they did show up around 2pm and loaded the truck in about an hour and a half. So, it was really just a small bump and everything was still going smoothly. We even took a moment to write a letter to the next inhabitants:
We left for the airport on time, even with me running back to take one last picture of our first home.
Security was a cinch, we boarded no problem, we even had fairly comfortable seats.
It was going too smoothly.
As we were about to land in Salt Lake City, the pilot comes on and says it's too foggy to land and since we've been circling, we're nearly out of fuel, so we're being diverted to Grand Junction, Colorado to refuel. And, of course, as soon as we land in Grand Junction, we find out the fog has lifted and we could have landed after all, but now we're really out of fuel, so we wait. For an hour.
Finally, we're in SLC. Just in time to find out our flight to Medford has been canceled. And the next flight they can get us on is to Seattle at 8pm the next day. After I make a hotel reservation (with no help from Delta, because it's weather related and out of their hands) and the husbeard yells at some poor customer service rep for a while (who does give us vouchers for Delta, so there's that), we end up talking to a really nice, helpful guy from Delta who at least pretended to care about our situation. And that's all we really wanted. A little sympathy. A little human emotion. He puts us on stand-by for the 11am flight direct to Medford and we trot off to our hotel.
Back to the airport in the morning! We knew it was a long shot that we'd get on the 11am flight, so we weren't shocked when that didn't happen. We figured since we were in SLC for the day, we may as well go exploring. We took the train into the city center and checked out the temple:
As well as the Dead Sea Scrolls, which happened to be in town. It wasn't a terrible day. It wasn't planned, but we made the best of it and got to explore a new city. We were still feeling pretty optimistic about life.
Back to the airport again, back through security for the third time in two days. I get pulled aside because my bag was too dense for them to see what I was carrying. We had decided the best way to transport the family jewels was in my purse, so we would know where they were at all times. Which means I had been walking around SLC all day with a really heavy bag. I asked the TSA agent if we could go somewhere private to root through my purse, so I wound up in a small closet enclosure thing with two agents, opening up every bag of jewelry in my purse. It was surreal.
Get on the flight to Seattle, make friends with the guy in our row, so far, so good. Land in Seattle...
Flight to Medford canceled. Again.
It was at this point that I became convinced that the husbeard's head was going to explode.
He finds the first Delta rep he can and starts yelling. As someone who has worked in customer service, I know that sometimes you just need to let people yell. They'll feel better if they feel like they're being heard - and if they let off some steam, even better. However, this girl did not do that. She immediately radioed for her supervisor and when the husbeard did not stop with the angry yelling, she threatened to call the police. Because why not escalate a situation faster than necessary?
Her supervisor comes over, let's him rant for a while, and then has her say. At one point he says something like, "Your company is impacted by the weather and you need to have other plans in place so you aren't just leaving people stranded!" Another Delta employee then says, "God's the only one who can control the weather!" and I saw flames in his eyes.
Basically, Delta customer service in Seattle is the worst.
Finally, Unhelpful Girl #1 sends us to the Alaska Airlines counter to see what can be done for us, since it was their flight that got canceled anyway. By the time we get to this counter, there's a line of people also trying to figure out how they're getting to where they need to be. The husbeard sees this and takes it upon himself to say, "Who was on the flight to Medford? Get them to refund your tickets! We'll rent a van! Let's go!"
It was a beautiful moment. It was a musical theater rallying cry that should have led to a spectacular song and dance number about how the little guy rises up against the man and wins. It was Les Mis.
|Do you hear the people sing?|
Instead, it was real life. Everyone in line turned around to look at the crazy bearded guy and then quietly turned back to waiting in line. I, unfortunately, was taken over by giggles and had to walk away. For the sake of my marriage.
Finally, after lots of back and forth, we wound up getting on a flight to Eugene, where we would rent a car with two other people and drive to Ashland from there. And so we were off to another hotel for the night.
At this point, we've been wearing the same clothes for two days - the clothes we finished packing up the house in, so they aren't the cleanest of clothes to begin with. I wound up washing our socks and underwear in the sink at the Ramada Inn.
Back to the airport again. Somehow, I'm not sure how, but somehow we wound up in the Pre-Check line to get through security. We didn't have to take our shoes and belts off. We didn't have to unload our electronics. We just had to have our hands swabbed for explosives materials and walk through a metal detector. It was a good sign.
And then... we were on a plane. To Eugene, but still, we were on it. It was one of those little prop planes where they make people move if the weight isn't balanced. Adorable and terrifying all at once.
After a beautiful flight over the mountains, we land in Eugene and I optimistically went to baggage claim. Now, the airport in Eugene is more of an air field where they roll the stairs over to your plane when you land because they don't have jetways and the plane is so close to the ground, it wouldn't matter if they did. I reported to Baggage Claim 1, which I found hysterical because there was only one baggage claim carousel, but if they want to number their only carousel, more power to them.
Shockingly, our bags did not make it to Eugene. They were in Medford.
Just let that sink in.
Anyway, the four of us hop in the car, drive through beautiful mountains for three hours and finally - finally - arrive in Medford. Drop off the rental car, pick up our bags, hop in the truck, and head HOME. Just in time for the husbeard to rush off to the theater to finish focus.
No one can say we live a boring life.