It Should Have Been Just Another Trip…

I have made numerous business trips in my line of work before, but, admittedly, I had never gone from the southern border of the U.S. to the northern in a single day.

But it should have been just another trip , right? Boy was I ever wrong!!

I woke up that morning in Presidio, TX at 5 a.m. I had a four hour drive to make to El Paso so I could get on my flight at 12:30. I checked out and got in my rental car at 6.

About forty-five minutes later, I had to stop at a Border Patrol station. I handed the officer my identification.

“Where are you going, sir?”, the officer asked.

“Pembina, North Dakota,” I replied.

His jaw dropped slightly. He asked a couple of more questions before sending me on my way. The rest of my drive to El Paso was fairly uneventful…too bad the rest of the trip was not going to be so easy.

—

I walked up to the counter at the El Paso airport to check in my bag. I handed him my identification and my ticket.

“I don’t see you on this flight,” the attendant said while staring blankly at his screen.

“What?!” I exclaimed.

“But I do see you on a flight out of Denver”, the attendant continued almost mechanically.

My mind started editorializing almost immediately. “Are you really that fucking stupid?” I wanted to ask. “This is El Paso! How in the hell am I supposed to get to Denver to make that damn flight?!?!”

The attendant’s script-like response continued. “You will need to contact your travel agent. They booked your ticket but did not put you on the flight.” He then motioned for me to move to the side so they could wait on the next person in line.

Frustrated, I called my boss and told him the situation. I asked for the phone number for the the company travel agency and called immediately. I knew I had to be on that flight and this was not a good start to the day.

I got on the phone with a travel agent.

“I am in El Paso and they are saying I am not booked on my flight to Denver.” I told her while trying to control my frustration.

“OK,” she continued, “We can just book you on the next flight out.”

I interrupted her. “It’s not quite that simple. You would have to re-book my other two flights as well. I HAVE to be on this flight.”

Again, my frustration was slowly moving towards anger. How could a travel agency really screw this up? The woman asked for my cell phone and said she would call me back. I got her name and direct line as well so I would deal with the same person again.

After getting off the phone with her, I called my boss back and told him that my predicament was still going. He told me to do whatever I needed to and not to worry about the costs.

Twenty minutes had gone by without the travel agent calling me back. I sat in clear view of the ticket counter and watched person after person get their ticket, check their bag, and head to the flight that I was supposed to be on.

Admittedly, I was getting nervous, frustrated, and angry at the same time as each minute passed by. Then I realized that I would still need to get through security.

“Aww shit!!” I muttered loudly. I dialed the travel agent. She picked up the line. “Any progress?” I emphatically inquired.

“Not yet, I am still working on it,” she responded calmly probably sensing the frustration in my voice. “I am also working on re-booking your flights as well if we need to go that route as well.”

I hung up the phone and plugged it into the wall to keep it charged. It was 11:30 in the morning and I was contemplating getting a jack and coke — screw the 5 o’clock rule.

At 12:15 (fifteen minutes before my flight), my phone rang. It was the travel agent. I expected she was going to tell me she had to change my flights.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have gotten you on standby for this flight,” she continued, “It’s the best I can do. Call me back if you do not get on the flight and we will re-book your flights.”

“OK.” I slammed my phone shut, grabbed my bags, and raced up to the counter. It was going to take a miracle to even get to the gate in time — much less onto the plane.

Admittedly, I needed a miracle, and a miracle I received. It only took me ten minutes to get through security and to the gate. That had never, and I repeat NEVER, happened to me before. The problem I would find out later was that my travel nightmare was just beginning.

Out of breath, I ran up to the gate attendant. “I’m on standby,” I said exhausted from running.

“Wait over there!” was his gruff response.

Again, I restrained myself from losing it. They called for standby passengers and I was the next to last to board the plane. Admittedly, I should have been happy, but my seat was in the middle of the damn German air force who seemed like they had been out night drinking and carousing right before getting on the fucking plane. I wanted to sleep a little but there was NO chance in hell of that happening.

On to Denver…

—

When I got off the plane in Denver, another problem hit me square in the face. I did not know what gate my next plane for Minneapolis was leaving from. I went from monitor to monitor looking for my flight.

I couldn’t find the damn thing. Not this shit again. I had about one hour to get to my next flight and I have already spent twenty minutes looking for my flight on the fucking monitors in Terminal B. I was even willing to lose my man card and ask for help, but it looked like every damn airport employee was on their fucking lunch break.

I got to the middle of the terminal and saw signs saying that Continental flights were departing from Terminal C. I raced over there cursing under my breath the whole time. I went to the first monitor I saw in the terminal and found the gate for my flight.

“Of course,” I thought to myself.

I ran to the gate. Then the hunger pangs started gnawing at me. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since 6 a.m. and could really use some lunch. I asked the gate attendant if I could bring food on the plane.

“Sure,” she said cheerily, “but you better hurry. We close the door in just a few minutes.”

I wanted to smack her for being that damn cheery, but I raced over to McDonald’s and got a meal to take. I was the last person to go through the gate before they closed the door.

As I walked up to the plane, I was praying that I would not be back in the middle of the German air force while simultaneously thinking I would probably kill everyone on the plane if I was because my nerves were hanging on by a thread that was starting to fray.

The only problem I had on this plane was sitting in the middle seat of the back row. Not going to be a comfortable flight. When will this fucking nightmare end?

Off to Minneapolis…

—

Knowing that I needed to find out the gate for my last flight to Grand Forks, I went to the first monitor I saw once I got into the airport. I found it immediately. The only problem — I needed to find a map of the airport to show me where the fucking gate was. I found one nearby, and of course Murphy’s Law was in full effect, the damn gate was on the other end of the airport.

(Could this get any worse you ask? Yes, it can, but we will get there soon enough.)

I raced over to the gate with about thirty minutes to go before boarding. I needed a moment to finally rest and eat a normal meal. When I got there — I did not know what to do with myself. Twelve hours after I had left Presidio, TX, I was able to sit down and take a breath. Part of me was thinking that I had finally caught up with and passed the nightmare.

Off to Grand Forks…

—

My flight for Grand Forks, ND boarded and then a new thought crossed my mind. What if the fucking car rental place in this tiny fucking airport closes because they think I am not coming? What the fuck do I do then?

So, not a bad flight except that my nerves were frayed even more.

I got off my third and final flight for the day. Fifteen hours in and I was finally in the right state. Only two and half more hours to go — I had to still drive up I-29 to get to Pembina. Fortunately, the car rental place was open. (I assumed they were waiting on me to show up.)

I got into the car and I was off like a bat out of hell!! When I saw the posted speed limit was 75, I did 85. Fuck the damn speeding ticket, I was too exhausted to care at that point.

Then the speed limit sign changed to 45. I ignored it. Then the speed limit changed to 25. That got my attention. I started slowing down instinctively.

“What the fuck?!” I exclaimed. “What now?!”

That was when I saw a concrete barrier started crossing the interstate. I was forced over to the side and had to ride two mile on the rumble strips. This had to be a damn nightmare. I wanted it to be a nightmare, but it was real and I was suffering through it.

When I was finally able to get back onto the road and drive the speed limit. I looked around. There was nothing and I mean abso-fucking-lutely NOTHING. No street lights, no house lights, not a thing within eyesight.

What the hell was going on? Had I gone back in time to before electricity? I continued my drive to Pembina. This time I was going the speed limit. I didn’t want to slam into another concrete barrier. I passed a sign that said Hallock, MN to the right. That was the only sign of civilization I saw on I-29.

I had no idea at this point of what to expect when I finally got to Pembina. I should have realized that it was only going to get worse.

—

Seventeen hours after I left Presidio, I finally pulled into the town of Pembina, ND. My nightmare was about to end. It was a small town…well, it would need to double in size to be a small town. All I needed to do was find my “hotel”, the Red Roost Inn.

It didn’t take long, but my “hotel” was actually a motel. I parked my car and walked up to the office. I rang the doorbell and a woman in her robe answered.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I have a reservation,” I replied.

She opened the door for me to come in. I stepped in as she stepped behind her desk. Well, it wasn’t really a desk. It was more like a tall bookshelf facing her that they converted into a makeshift desk. But my journey back in time was cinched when she bent down and pick up a five-subject spiral bound notebook that they used as their guestbook.

“That’s me right there,” I said pointing to my name.

“OK,” she said as she bent back down to get something off a shelf.

I was thinking she was getting the fountain pen and ink but I was here. This day was done. I pulled out my American Express card. She stood back up and saw my card.

“We don’t take American Express,” she stated.

My head dropped. I was beaten down and could not go any lower. Seventeen hours of traveling, three flights, almost stranded in El Paso, six and a half hours of driving, nearly crashing into a concrete barrier, and now they don’t take American Express.

What the hell else could go wrong?!

—

Author’s Note: To be continued (ominous music playing in the background)