Against all odds

Would you laugh at me if I told you I missed my JetBlue flight...again?

I had it all planned out in my head, with plenty of time to spare. My flight was scheduled to leave at 5:35PM, but I had bags to check, which meant I'd have to get there by 4:45PM at the latest. I'd be smart, I thought, and get there by 4:30PM. And then, though it only normally takes 30 minutes by taxi to get to the airport, you never know what's going to happen on a Friday, with traffic, in Chicago - where everyone, it seems, just wants out. I'd leave by 3PM. If that couldn't get me to the gate on time, nothing would.

So I went to lunch with my friends. Met my roommate on a street corner for a quick hug goodbye before her afternoon class. Went back to my apartment where some of my friends were waiting, wanting to help me pass the time with a friendly game of Mafia and Napoleon.

Soon, it was 3PM, and glancing at the clock, I figured we could play another game and still be fine. So play on, we did.

And time-wise, I was fine. I probably hugged my friends longer than necessary, said goodbye more times than needed, but hey, I love them, and I'm going to miss them.

But I was in a taxi by 3:45PM.

Watching my friends through the dirty "clean me" marks of the taxi's rear window, I waited until my friends were just little specks in the distance, before I turned back around to sit properly in my seat. And then I promptly fell asleep.

I woke up a little later, and since I could still recognize my surroundings, I patted myself on the back for a refreshing, yet short, nap. Except, looking at the clock, it was anything but short. It was now 4:30PM. And the airport was anything but close by.

I had miscalculated exactly how many Chicagoans want out of the city during the weekends. Los Angeles might be notorious for its smog and traffic, but I think Chicago's itching for that claim to fame.

"Eh, maybe another 20 to 30 minutes?" my cabbie replied to my ETA query, nonchalantly, as though he didn't have an overly anxious tall Asian girl in his back seat, desperate not to become a legend among the JetBlue staff for never making a flight.

So short story even shorter (along with my nails, which I'd bitten to mere stubs), I got to the terminal at 5:03PM. Plenty of time to check my bag in by the designated "30 minutes before" deadline. It didn't matter that I only had two minutes. I was at the terminal.

The wrong terminal.

Yes. You see, my cabbie was convinced that JetBlue flies out of Terminal 3. Even though there was no JetBlue sign in sight amongst the angry American Airlines customers. Refusing to get out, I rolled down my window and called to a TSA attendant.

"Is this the JetBlue terminal?"
"No, ma'am...you passed it - it's terminal 2!"

But my cabbie REFUSED to believe him. So after finally reassuring him that yes, I would pay him for the extra trip around the airport, off we went. At 20mph.

So yes, JetBlue does indeed fly out of Terminal 2. I got there at 5:15PM, well past the 30 minute deadline that is so strictly imposed by the airline. But undeterred, I went up to a kiosk and tried to input my information. And just as I had expected, I got error messages up the wazoo. Baggage was no longer being accepted for my flight.

Frustrated, I started pushing every single button on the dang touchscreen. I don't know why. Maybe I was hoping to set off a glitch in the system that would override the rules and regulations and let me on my flight. But really, I was probably just tempting TSA to take me away.

Within seconds, a JetBlue employee was at my kiosk.

"Is everything alright, miss?"
"NO. I'm five minutes too late to send my bag with me, but I kinda desperately need my bag to come with me. Is there nothing I can do?"

But despite my best dopey puppy-eyed faces and bribes and promises of always being an HOUR early from now on, there was nothing Matt could do.

"Let me put you on the next flight, which unfortunately leaves at 8AM tomorrow morning."

I sighed, resigned to my fate, ready to make the trek back downtown via the el, wondering what I would tell my friends, praying that they wouldn't laugh too hard at me.

Just then Matt said, "Oh wait!"

Oh wait?

Turns out, that at that exact moment in time, as Matt was about to switch my reservation from Friday night to Saturday in the early freaking morning, my flight was delayed. 30 minutes. Just enough time for me to check in my bag and walk - not run - calmly to my gate.