A day at BDL

I started the day in complete darkness, lying on my back on a mushy red couch in Sam's windowless basement in Hartford, CT. Without the gradual cues of morning light, what would normally be a fairly run-of-the-mill weekend wake up time of 8:15 seemed utterly unreasonable.

After a quick shower and a toasted bagel, Sam and Caryn dropped me off at Bradley International Airport. With negligible lines at the Southwest check-in counter and security, I made it to the gate with plenty of time to spare. Busying myself with listening to music from the Lost soundtrack, I noted, with some amusement, the airline staff's increasingly desperate pleas for three volunteers to be bumped to a later, not overbooked flight so that some folks with a connection to St. Louis could make it to their destination today.

At first, I gave this next to no thought. I relished the idea of arriving home in the early afternoon. But as I lined up to board, guilt struck. It was the same nasty feeling that compels me to donate to WAMU twice a year and it filled me with visions of hypothetical separated families and lonely nights in hotel rooms. I craned my neck to look at the Southwest agents and considered the smile of gratitude (and ample monetary compensation) I might get in return for identifying my itinerary as "flexible." But, facing the reality of sitting in the airport for eight hours, I turned back toward the gate. More guilt. Somewhat begrudgingly, I walked up to the desk.

Thus began a long day in Hartford's international airport, which, despite ostensibly launching planes overseas, is quite small. Feeling a bit like Tom Hanks in The Terminal, I roamed the corridors and newsstands, people-watched, and consumed a laughably large amount of overpriced food and beer. Every few hours, I dutifully made my way back to gates 4 and 6 to see if I could sneak onto an earlier flight via standby. Finally, I was lucky enough to get the last seat on a completely booked plane.

Since the situation was entirely of my own making, I don't think I have the privilege of frustration. I also have a nicely sized voucher to use on a future trip or two. But I can't help but feel a little aggravated with myself for getting suckered into giving up my seat. I'm not sure the buffalo chicken wrap with sweet potato fries and five onion soup, while delicious, was worth my entire Sunday. And the one thing that attracted me in the first place, which could have mitigated being stuck in the airport, didn't materialize. Far from showing glowing gratitude, the guy who got my spot just whined about having to cancel an appointment if he didn't get on the plane, then snatched the boarding pass and walked away, without so much as a look in my direction.

Now I'm wending my way through the Metro system, almost home. After this long trip home, it's easy to forget what a great weekend I had in Connecticut. And I'm glad to have been able to help someone, but, truth be told, even happier about the prospect of using my voucher to spark another adventure - hopefully with uneventful flights next time.