So I know you may have thought that I fell off of a cliff or drowned in a baby pool full of Sprees but have no fear, I just visited family in North Carolina for 3 weeks and decided to NOT.EVEN.TAKE.MY.LAPTOP. You heard me.
But I’m back and I have to tell you that I may never step foot on a plane again. I would have rather paid 5 million dollars to Samuel L. Jackson himself to let me fly on a plane full of snakes than experience the flight TO North Caroline and FROM North Carolina again.
The flight to NC was deceivingly going okay because I had Sam with me but when we finally reached Charlotte airport after being in the air for 6 hours, the pilot comes on and says “Sorry everyone, I know that you think you’ve reached your destination after 6 hours in the air but we have to hover because Charlotte airport is closed because there are thunderstorms and there are no planes landing or taking off.”
ONE HOUR LATER.
“Sorry folks, it looks like the airport is still closed but we are out of gas so we are being rerouted to Columbia, South Carolina to refuel.”
30 minutes later we land in Columbia and they refuel but we aren’t moving. WE.ARE.NOT.MOVING.
Y’all- my kids have not so much as blinked for a long time in over 10 hours at this point.
“Sorry folks, the Charlotte airport is still closed so we are going to have to stay here on the tarmac until we get word we can land in Charlotte again.”
At this point, all hell breaks loose on the plane. People start pitching some serious fits. One lady gets in the flight attendant’s face waving her iPhone aka her Doppler Radar in his face and he gets super sassy back at her and all I can think (and hope) is that they get in an all-out wrestling match in the tiny aisle full of sweaty and cranky passengers. Because dammit, if I’m stuck on a plane I at least want some entertainment.
ONE HOUR LATER.
“Sorry folks, we won’t know anything for another hour but if you would like to get off this plane, you can. But you won’t have your luggage and we aren’t hooking up to a bridge so you can just walk down the stairs and onto the tarmac and find your own way home.”
I look at Sam with complete panic in my eyes and we both try and do the math on which one will take longer: rent a car and drive to Winston or sit on the plane some more with some seriously exhausted children. We choose to get off the plane and walk down the stairs (mainly because I wanted to look like the President) and take control of our own destiny and rent a car and drive the 3 hours to Winston.
Y’all. I just can’t even.
What happened over these next 3 hours I just can’t describe. The horror rivals watching The Ring with the lights off and having someone explain to me about how gluten is evil. I’m convinced I may have PTSD. We almost couldn’t find carseats from the car rental place and the carseats that we did in fact receive could have fallen apart if I sneezed too hard on them which was a great sign since we were about to drive THREE HOURS THROUGH A THUNDERSTORM. Then yall- the screams that followed over the next three hours…. they still ring in my ears.
1am and we pull into my parents driveway sans luggage, two over-tired children, bobo carseats, and finally crash hard into the beds as I claim to Sam that we will walk or take a horse drawn carriage everywhere we need to go from now on because planes and cars are from the devil. Maybe that’s how the Amish community started, they all had a horrible flying experience and were like “NEVER AGAIN, WE SHALL RIDE HORSES AND BUILD OUR OWN CARSEATS OUT OF WOOD”. Amish people, serious question, do you have room for one more? I already have the hair for it and I think I’d look bangin’ in a bonnet. Bonnet be bangin’.