Are the Frequent Flyer Miles Really Worth it?

What do you think caused the most stress on my summer vacation?

I have two words for you: United Airlines.

However, I will admit that, since my recent jaunt to the Midwest, I've heard an overwhelming amount of horror stories involving, not just United, but most of the major airlines in our country. Boy, does that make me feel better to know that it happens to everyone, that it wasn't just the way I was dressed or the way I smelled or the way I talked that provoked the airline to treat my husband and me with such blatant disregard.

Actually, our airline experience was really such a side-splitting, humorous event that I don't even know how I'm going to contain myself as I write this post.

First of all, imagine Dan and I running through the Denver airport, trying to make a connection that was sixty gates away, after our flight out of Boise had been delayed thirty minutes due to a problem with the radio transmitter. And when we finally reached the gate, five minutes before the plane was supposed to take off, we were told, "The cabin door is already closed. We can't let you board." Hysterical!

Then we were directed with an ambiguous wave of the hand to "customer service." After wandering aimlessly around the gates for a few moments due to a lack of clear directions, we ended up at two rows of computers underneath a sign that read, "Customer Service Kiosk." Dan felt right at home. I, on the other hand, wanted to talk to an honest-to-goodness, sympathetic human being.

So, we were booked on a flight through Chicago, the very flight we had intentionally avoided when buying our plane tickets because we didn't want to deal with the delays out of O'Hare. Hilarious!

We headed to Gate B37, only to find out our flight had been moved to B45, a gate we had already passed on our way to B37. I mention this only because my engineer husband, who always strives to travel the shortest distance between points A and B, became extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of backtracking in order to make it to our flight. I managed to get him there, however, though it proved to be a very traumatic experience for him.

At the gate, I asked the airline worker if our bags had made it on our original connecting flight to Cincinnati. She looked at me as though I had antennae growing out of my head. "Well," she said indignantly, "of course, your bags will fly with you."

Our bags never made it on the flight. In fact, when Dan's suitcase was delivered to our hotel in Cincinnati at three o'clock that morning, the couriers left me Mr. Hacker's suitcase from Batesville, Indiana and took my suitcase to none other than Mr. Hacker. What a riot!

I did finally receive my luggage, after being left on hold with United for two hours, talking a couple of times to a woman in India who was tracking my suitcase in Indiana, and hyperventilating and crying uncontrollably over the phone to a dispatcher named Lynn at Priority Couriers. If all else fails, play the crazy woman card.

The High School Reunion

Disclaimer: This post does not reflect on Michele, Jesse, or Dan, the three attractive, kind, and successful people who accompanied me to my 10-year reunion.

Happiness is the balding, overweight 20-something jocks who still don't know your name, and you don't care anymore.

Happiness is when the three wild guys who would show up drunk to homeroom every morning avoid the bar and walk around from table to table with a cult-like vacant stare, not really remembering anybody from high school but trying their darnedest.

Happiness is when the drunken party girl is still drunk, only now instead of being funny, she's just pathetic.

Happiness is knowing she must have a lot of time on her hands to deal with the hangover she's going to experience tomorrow.

Happiness is laughing at the guy who tells everyone, "I don't know how to break this to you peeps but - uh - I'm kind of a big deal in Boise."

Happiness is having lived in Boise for over a decade and never having heard anything about that guy. But did you see that huge article that featured me on the front page of the Idaho Statesman a few months ago? (Okay, so it was a teaser on the front page and a full article on the front of the Life section.)

Happiness is knowing that most of your clothes from high school are too big for you now, and you can see that most of the people in the room wouldn't be able to say that.

Happiness is the fact that you are not one of the two crazy girls in the corner asking everybody, "Where's Craig? If Misty comes, we're still going to kill her." Huh? Who are those people?

Happiness is knowing that the guy who used to sexually harass you and make fun of your body is now bordering on obesity and has a nice set of man boobs.

Happiness is knowing that the other guy who used to sexually harass you is now a born again off-the-deep-end End Times fundamentalist who lives his life in guilt-ridden repentance.

Happiness is knowing that you have only been married once in the ten years since high school, you are still married, and if you ever have kids, they will all have the same father, not five or six different ones.

Happiness is appreciating the few sincere people who do remember you from high school and say to you, "I was so sorry to hear about your mother."

Happiness is not knowing, remembering, or recognizing most of the people at your 10-year reunion.