That One Time We Missed Our Flight...

Mr. Barr and I rolled off our blow-up mattress and felt our way around the pitch black basement until we dressed ourselves enough to look somewhat presentable for our 6 am flight.

Amanda, in an attempt not to wake her sweet husband, slept on the couch awaiting our nudge. Upon such, she rubbed enough sleep out of her eyes to manage the trek to the airport.

In all the hustle-bustle and fun, my darlin’ and I didn’t pre-print our boarding passes—A typical practice for us. So we made our way through the crowded thanksgiving-weekend-packed aiport to the check in. Only, to our surprise, to be told we better hustle because our flight was overbooked and we better try to secure a spot.

And hustle we did.

You see, flights had been canceled due to bad weather the previous night. And in addition, the flight company we booked with didn’t fly out of Seattle, and booted us to their sister company—Alaskan Air. And being that we didn’t book with them initially, or print out our boarding passes the night before, we were left hangin.

After charging up the escalators, we met a very sorry attendant shaking her head. “I don’t think you’re making this one.” So we plumped our backpacks, printed tickets, and heavy hearts down.

“Why in the world did we wake up so early!” I exclaimed.

Cameron tossed his head to the side and held my gaze with raised eyebrows. Almost to exclaim, seriously, sleep, that’s all you're worried about?

You see, he mirrored my frustration, but for far different reasons. If we arrived home later, that meant he had to make the long drive later. In the dark. Or far worse, resign to the passengers seat while letting me man the wheel. He shuddered at the thought.

After a few short moments of complaints of how a booked flight almost three months in advance didn’t secure a seat, Mr. Barr muttered, “Well we better at least get some McDonald vouchers for breakfast.”

And then, after a brief few seconds, the ridiculousness of the words that just came out of his mouth sunk in, and we busted up.

An angered, tired, man mustered all his contempt into that one comment?

The ridiculousness of my dear’s words somehow helped us to see the ridiculousness of our own poor attitudes. And that they didn’t fix anything.

So we shaped up. And snuggled up on our grey polyester seats. And watched everyone file in line and fill up our flight.

As my honey took a walk and phone call to explain our predicament to our sweet Uncle Kent and Aunt Patty (our transportation from our destination in Denver), I was called to the desk.

Upon walking up, I tried to be really nice, cuz this lady with a sleek pony-tail and hard red-lips was not about to take no crap off of nobody.

Upon her explanation that we were, indeed, not making it, I told her I totally understood. And was totally fine with it. Kind of. And then with her eyes glued to the computer, she continued, explaining that we were already booked on our next flight. At no cost.

And then Mr. Barr showed up at my hip at the counter. Just in time. She leaned a little close and those red lips parted into a smile. Sliding a paper in our direction she whispered “And you actually might make a little money today!”.

You see, that little white paper, she continued, explains that if you are booted from a flight and the next one is within an hour, you just hop on that and are good. But if it’s not for two hours, you make a little money. And if it’s over three hours, you make a little more money. “And your flight” she said,  “isn’t for another four hours” and those red lips flashed into an even bigger smile.  

“And you are reimbursed 400% of your ticket price.”

Those words juggled around my brain as we made our way back to our polyester seats. I turned to Mr. Barr and stuttered, “So wait, what exactly…” before finishing he cut me short.

“There’s no way…that’s like two grand?”

And before I could even let myself get a little excited at the thought of money in our pockets, the most darling man came up to us.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barr? May I confirm your reimbursement before I retrieve your checks?” And there it was. On again, another beautiful white little piece of paper sat our names.  And two numbers.
And dollars signs. 

$1,183.20 for you.

$1,183.20 for me.

And there it was. The clouds parted and sun burst through as confetti fell and everyone in the airport simultaneously began dancing and singing. Cheering Mr. Barr and I on as we laughed and danced our way through the flowery tunnel of our adoring fans on our way wealth and prosperity.

Ok. Actually. We mostly just sat still. Silent. And then I started to get a lil’ excited. And bouncy. And clappy. And then Cameron squeezed my hand—a somewhat frequent signal from that man motioning me to calm down or whatever. But as I peeked a look at our flight attendant, she flashed a smile and clapped her hands in our direction—assuring me my reaction was quite alright.

And then that darling man came back. With those checks.

And slid em’ in our fingers, slapped us on our backs and wished us well.

Silently, before anyone could change their mind, we zipped up our bags, tried not to make eye contact, and slipped away.

As though all was well.

Until, of course, we turned the corner and Mr. Barr dropped his luggage, grabbed my face, and upon squishing my cheeks together laid a big one on me.
WE JUST MADE TWO THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED BUCKS!
He then slapped his hands together and rubbed em’ back and forth in a fast motion Mr. Miyagi would be proud of. Amongst our scattered laughs and squeals I jumped up and down. 

And covered my face. 

Repeating, “oh my gosh. OH MY GOSH. Oh my GOOOOOOOSHH!!”

After a quite thankful thanks and a promise that we would never again complain about a missed flight (or print off our boarding passes prior to flight) my honey and I locked fingers, threw our bags on our back, and danced our way to the food court.

To retrieve Mr. Barr that McDonald’s breakfast.