Jet Blues

I realized very abruptly on Monday that I could not live in Vermont. Sure, I could visit, I could appreciate the beauty, but I would never truly be one of them - a Vermonter (Vermontian? Vermontese?). I lack the necessary 'chill' gene that everyone up there seems to possess.

I woke up at o'dark thirty on Monday morning to catch my 6:15 am flight back to NY. I felt like I hadn't slept at all, which I really hadn't when you consider that my worrisome personality had woken my up about every five minutes during the night to make sure that I wasn't Missing The Alarm And Hopelessly Late To The Airport That Is Only 5 Minutes Away From BC's Apartment.

Ok. So I get dropped off at the airport and I see a huge crowd of people around the JetBlue counter (well, who am I kidding, it's Vermont, and the population for the state is roughly the same as the population of my local bar on a Saturday night - let's just say there were relatively lots of people at the counter. Thank you.). I look up at the Departures board and blearily note that my flight is delayed. I immediately start to get annoyed, but at this point, it's just at myself for not calling the airline before I went to the airport.

1/2 hour later, I am at the gate, having passed through even more rigorous security than I did at JFK on the way to Vermont - and why is that exactly? Are terrorists more likely to switch things up and start attacking the smaller airports? I went through similarly heightened security at the Martha's Vineyard airport a short while ago. Anyway. I'm at the gate and there is still no more information other than 'Flight Delayed' on the announcement board. I feel my annoyance slide one level up to irritation, and this time it is directed outward. I look around and everyone else seems to be just fine. They're settled in, reading, chatting, looking complacently around the airport.

I sit and stew for another 10 minutes (because that's really the way to get things done) and then turn on my iPod (because there are a lot of soothing songs on there, like 'Let The Bodies Hit The Floor').

Oh no. They're bringing out blankets and snacks. This can't be good. I don't think we're going to have a quick picnic before shortly boarding the plane. The plane, by the way, is at the gate, but shows no signs of life.

Finally, around 7:00 am, a Jet Blue employee saunters up to the podium and announces that we are going to be delayed until 10:15 am, due to poor weather conditions the previous night in NY, and the crew didn't get into Vermont until 2:00 am, mandatory rest period, blah, blah, blah. Once again, I look around the terminal at my fellow travelers. They're still smiling, they're nodding, they're helping themselves to water and smoked almonds, they're arranging blankets on the floor so they can nap. Sheep! I want to yell. Don't let them lull you with the 'free' snacks that you would have received on the plane anyway!

My irritation climbs the ladder to rage. An older man, dressed in a blue blazer and khakis (who looks a lot like John Kerry) walks by me, notes my furious expression, and smiles kindly at me. I grimace back at him.

I mutter to myself and turn up the iPod and shut my eyes. Breathe, I tell myself. It's not like getting angry is going to change anything. It's not like there is anything pressing that you need to do in NY, aside from sitting in your sweltering apartment and thinking of free activities that also involve air conditioning.

When we finally board the plane, there is no sense of urgency. People are smiling and laughing, slowly putting their luggage in the overhead compartments. I am reduced to making ridiculous hand gestures behind their backs, rolling my eyes, and acting every bit like the surly teenager that I am. NotJohn Kerry walks by again, and again, seems amused by the expression on my face.

When I finally arrive in NY, I race home to my apartment. Home! And then I lie on my couch and do nothing for the rest of the night.