How many airport maintenance personnel does it take to change a lightbulb?  At last count, six, if you include the two who just passed by in neon yellow vests carrying clipboards.  So far Air Jet Flight 4859 had been delayed one hour and fifteen minutes. The intercom announcement to the confused travelers explained one of the overhead cabin reading lights was no longer operational. Thus began the delay.  One exasperated couple turned and headed to Customer Service muttering something about missing connections.   Meanwhile, a harried flight crew of three came rushing in as replacement staff for those who had timed-out.  The uniformed pilots looked at each other wondering why they raced through the yellow light narrowly missing the group of teenagers in the intersection.  One glance at the female flight attendant and you could practically hear her shout, “I just woke up!  I’m going on board anyway.  I need to apply make-up and fix my hair.”  Forty minutes later, the next report came blasting overhead.  “The guys are checking out the repair now as we speak.”  With that bit of refreshing news I couldn’t help but wonder…..don’t they just flip the switch like we do at home?  Before I knew it, an impatient ticket holder with arms flailing charged forward and pummeled the desk attendant with derogatory comments.  With glaring eyes and flared nostrils, he demanded a logical explanation to these cryptic announcements.  An elderly man of faith stepped forward placing his hand on the abusive man’s shoulder.  He spoke in a calm, steady voice, “Easy Son, these things take time.  Safety first.  Let them do their job. You’re not ready to face the alternative if they’re wrong, are you?”

Rambling Rasheed was our courtesy driver during the mid-winter trials of an unexpected layover.  I say “rambling” because from the moment we exchanged greetings during the blizzard of 2015 until we departed for a final last-ditch departure flight, he never stopped talking.  He was more than happy to shuttle us from airport to restaurant to hotel and back to the airport again.  His slim tattooed body blended well in a city ranked third in the nation for ‘Most Tattoo Parlors’ per 100,000 residents.    Richmond boasts 14.5 total. That’s a lot of artistic expression and personal stories being told.  And Rasheed?  Well, he moved here about six months ago after working third shift at a factory job in Jersey.  It was okay for awhile since he could schedule appointments with doctors, dentists, and the occasional traffic court during the daytime hours.  Oh, how he loved the taste of Southern Comfort.  And Cheetos, as evidenced by the half-eaten bag propped open on the console between the bucket seats.  But now he was ready for a fresh start in a new city. Things were going to work out just fine.  He had a good feeling about this. 

The airplane’s propellers buzzed farewell like a thousand dragonflies circling a murky pond before taking flight.  Once airborne, the express “Puddle Jumper” put on an aerial show of flexibility dipping and swaying on irregular cloud puffs like the wooden roller coaster ride at Coney Island.  My stomach was left behind. 

“Are you stranded here as well?”, inquired the attractive flight attendant poised outside the automatic sliding doors to the hotel lobby.  She took a long drag on an extra-slim cigarette signifying beauty and elegance.  “No one is going anywhere. Everything’s grounded.”  She was clearly disappointed since her overnight stay was beginning to look a little more permanent than she had hoped.  The steady rain was already slinging frozen pellets creating an icy sheen on the vacant cars lined together in rows.  It was only a matter of time before the parking lot could become a skating rink risking injuries further compensated through insurance claims.  

“Sparta dumped enough snow  on us a couple days ago to carpet brick walkways and cobblestone paths. Y’all can keep that hammer of Thor.”  It was the talk everywhere in Colonial Williamsburg.  “People come here to experience walking tours, soak up the atmosphere, relax at an outdoor bistro table, and shop at the fabulous boutiques in Merchants Square.”  This quaint Virginia town, wrapped in a world of Revolutionary War history, is a step into the past coupled with time-honored traditions.  Aromas of freshly brewed cappuccinos and mouth-watering pastries awaken the senses wherever you go. And the samplings of hand-dipped chocolate temptations tease the sweet tooth without mercy.  Oh, my!  

“We removed the closet door until you check out. Please let us know it there’s anything you need. Thank you and Enjoy your stay!!”  Charles, from hotel maintenance, left this cordial message taped on the door to our newly carpeted king suite while we were out grabbing our first meal in over twenty-two hours.  It had been a long day of travel challenges between flight cancellations due to crew rest, jumping airlines, maintenance issues, alternate routing, and de-icing procedures. By the time we rented a car and drove another 45 miles to our destination, we were a little frazzled and mildly exhausted. You can only operate so long on a Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha from the terminal kiosk and a bag of complementary airline pretzels. Once we wheeled our luggage through the hotel lobby and up to the fourth floor, it took only a few minutes to unpack the belongings and settle in.  Upon closing the closet door, it popped off the upper track and leaned dangerously close to the bed.  Now let me explain something. I am married to the most amazing man who is an engineering marvel. And I adore him for his problem-solving skills. However, after a day of testing my patience level by racing through airport terminals, I was more than eager to “Call the Guy!”  Still ignoring his exhaustion, he gave it a valiant effort before succumbing to the alternative.  Minutes later, we headed out the door and left our worries behind in pursuit of Southern Hospitality. 

“‘Have a glass of champagne for me, and a safe flight.’ With that being said, Gigi turned toward Concourse B, flung her red monogrammed canvas bag over her shoulder, and took two steps as Robert kissed her on the cheek.  Walking away was never easy, especially blinking back the tiny tears at the corners of her eyes.  Here she was, at midlife, starting over again.  It’s one thing to chase a dream at the age of 20 when the possibilities seem endless.  It’s quite another to imagine those same unfulfilled hopes at 44.  ‘Isn’t that what life is all about?’, she could hear her daughter, Jocelyn, whisper in her mind.  Gigi reminded herself those were words easily spoken from a younger version of herself sitting comfortably in her happily-ever-after life married to her childhood sweetheart.”

“Are you two catching the next flight to San Francisco?” We both looked up simultaneously to the uniformed man standing before us. “If so, it’ll be awhile before the ticket agent opens up so I can check your luggage curbside,” he continued with a grin, “if you’d like.”  There was something strangely familiar about this middle-aged man who approached us in the open-air terminal. His thinning hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and dimpled chin caught me searching my mind in general recognition.