Going Home for the Holidays

Flying can be a nightmare during Christmas in New York City. I anticipated delays, cancelled flights, and the possibility of not getting home at all. I arrived at Laguardia two hours before my scheduled departure time to join an ever increasing two mile line through security.

Most passengers patiently waited as the line crept forward. Couples. College students. Families. Nice children. Naughty children not threatened by Santa's list. And tourists. Tired tourists overstimulated from the holiday hoopla found in the city. The New Yorkers immediately distinguished themselves from the tourists with words of comfort and holiday cheer. "Let me work that #!$% x-ray machine so I can get %!&$ home in time for Christmas!" and "I should be running this airport. Somebody get me a %$# manager before it's 2008!"

I arrived at my gate forty minutes later to find the terminal in disarray. Bodies draped anything that alloted six inches of useable space. Holiday music blared in the background. Discarded Coke bottles, earmarked magazines, and yesterday's newspaper littered the seats and floor. Employees darted between gates. I had entered another world.

My flight was delayed two hours. Not bad for one of the busiest travel days of the year. I comfortably made a niche for myself on the floor and pulled out my book, "On Writing Well: An Informal Guide to Writing Nonfiction." Gotta start somewhere, folks.

As I approached chapter four, commotion erupted at gate 5A. The airline employees announced that an extra seat was available on a booked flight. Unbelieveable! A miracle! They gave the coveted spot to one lucky lady on stand-by. The gate turned into The Price Is Right, the aisle into a runway. She shrieked and pumped her fists into the air as the crowd cheered and clapped. Her triumphant yells faded as she disappeared down the jetway while "Chariots of Fire" softly played. We all looked at one another with a renewed spirit. Hope was restored.

Five minutes later, gate 5A called security. They mumbled something unintelligible over the loudspeaker. A mistake. There was no empty seat and the lady refused to leave the jetway. The wheels of her suitcase flattened our hopes and Christmas spirit as securty escorted her out of the jetway. I crossed my fingers and prayed that I would make it home because, at that moment, home was the only place I wanted to be.