AirTrash / The Arrival

For the record, I haven’t liked traveling via AirTran since I graduated from my 20’s and started attaching value to my time. However, I had…

by j. brotherlove

For the record, I haven’t liked traveling via AirTran since I graduated from my 20’s and started attaching value to my time. However, I had an unused credit from my post-911 Miami trip with Ex Lover and I won’t have vacation time until December.

I should’ve asked for a refund, instead.

It wasn’t pretty, but I managed to get home, pack, make a few CD’s for my trip and have Ex Lover drop me off at Hartsfield an hour before my flight. Or rather - an hour before my flight was scheduled to depart. Airtran is infamous for its delayed flights. By coincidence, Dont was on my flight (vintage readers may remember him from the backseat incident a couple of years ago), and we killed time together for the next 90 minutes until our flight was ready.

The flight was quick and uneventful. I made the mistake of choosing a seat in the back of the plane, though. Listening to a roaring plane engine rev and idle makes me anxious. But our harmonica-playing captain flew well and landed like a pro. Immediately after I deplaned, I realized Midway is not the same airport I’ve used countless times over the decades (maybe dus to its association with O’Hare which is news to me). The recent expansion and renovation is impressive. Although, no longer can you just drive up, walk in, and walk onto your plane (sort of its appeal over her bigger sister). Now, there are bridges, escalators and hallways to walk through before reaching baggage claim (which is also updated).

But, my love affair with Glamour Midway came to a halt when I discovered, along with 25 other passengers, that my luggage did not make the flight. The semi-official explanation: “You were riding in a DC-9. The plane probably didn’t have enough room for all of the baggage so they put your luggage on the next flight.”

I understand the rationale behind not overloading a plane, but I don’t understand why later check-ins get their luggage on a flight instead of early check-in passengers. What is the point of arriving on time? With no other options available (other than waiting at the airport for another 90 minutes when the next flight arrived), I headed the frustrated and pissed mob into the baggage claim area to fill out forms for my luggage to be delivered. Daddy picked me up and tried to engage me in his “that’s why your mother and I always carry on our bags” conversation as if they ever travel for extended party weekends with three pairs of shoes, eight changes of clothing, toiletries, hair clippers, a 35MM camera, laptop, CD player and male purse. I ignored the bait.

My old home feels, well…old. The walls and tables overflow with memories, knickknacks and just plain stuff that time - and my parents - forgot. I swear my folks keep everything they touch. More is more. Tuff called and I gave him the rundown and asked him to pick me up so we could go get a drink. If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice how my good buddy, BQM, who promised to lend me his car and hang with me this weekend (“I don’t have anything else to do”) is MIA in the story.

Tuff was more than happy to hang since he is recently divorced and doesn’t naturally get out on the scene. We got to Club Escape about midnight. The moniker “club” is a misnomer; a better name would be Lounge Escape or Hole-In-The-Wall Escape. Mostly a hangout for the older, simpler anti-fashionista, Club Escape is an old stomping ground of mine. On any given evening, I enjoy looking pretty, posing and drinking $10 martinis at the in hot spot. But I will never lose my affinity for dark and dirty lounges with great music and stiff drinks served in a glass. Club Escape fits that bill to a tee.

I was surprised by the amount of friendly, familiar faces making me feel welcome and loved. I had two good drinks and danced quite a bit before the place closed at 2:00AM (yes, honey - two-friggin-ay-em). Tuff and I questioned regulars about the next step but nothing materialized. Sadly, it was time to go home - where my luggage still ain’t.

Don’t feel bad — I took a Greyhound bus from Atlanta to California for Christmas break back in ‘98 — I managed to get to California in about three days on the Greyhound … Besides the bus breaking down several times along the way, the bus going about 5 mph due to a snow storm in Texas, and none of my luggage making it to California with me [Greyhound never did find my two suitcases] … I made it home safely. I was just trying to get home to see familiar faces and places.