Flying the Unfriendly Skies

I have THE WORST travel mojo.

I’m not exaggerating when I say there are people who refuse to fly with me. There are people who call to make sure I’m not even flying through the same airport as they are. When DFW had that scare with the big fuel tanks and the plot to blow them up? I got three emails that morning asking if I was there, including one from a passenger who had been trapped on a previously disastrous flight with me.

Seriously, I’ve got it goin’ on.

I’ll give you a rundown:

What should’ve been a 3 hour flight from Amarillo to Atlanta took 3 DAYS. It included an ice storm in Amarillo which caused us to be shuffled off our regular carrier onto another who, I guarantee you, now has my name on the top of the do-not-fly list. This trip also included a wind-shear incident at DFW which forced our carrier to divert to Houston… where we were met by a hurricane.

Remember the terrorist incident at JFK? I was there.

What should’ve been a 4 hour flight from NYC to Albuquerque – 48 hours. That oh so special trip included one extra stop to refuel in Memphis, the-city-that-hates-me, another diversion to Tulsa (aborted due to severe weather) and ended with an emergency landing in DFW. The man sitting next to me on this flight actually offered to let me come home with him if I was unable to get a room. He said his family would understand. He also said if he ever saw me on a plane again he was going to change his flight.

After 14 hours glued together like popsicle sticks, I’m surprised he didn’t ask me to be his baby mama.

Oh, and then there was that trip from Albuquerque to San Jose. I was accompanied by my good friend who happens to be a world-traveler freshly returned from Kenya, and the airport was evacuated just as I stepped foot into the security area. Later, standing in the parking lot, she turned to me and said, “This stuff only happens when I’m with you.”

The whole Jet Blue-got-planes-full-of-people-stranded-on- the-runway-for-24-hours-fiasco. (Raising my hand) Me.

And once, upon entering Dulles, I noticed that with every counter I passed, the flight boards behind them began flashing ‘cancelled’.

I walked faster.

They flashed faster.

I began to run. I got to my ticket counter just in time. I blurted, “Send me anywhere but here.” The ticket agent picked Atlanta, where I spent 8 hours waiting to be placed on a  connecting flight before giving up and calling my mom. “Remember how you said you wanted me to come visit?” I asked. “Good, come get me. I’m at the airport.” I stayed on her couch for a week wearing her pajamas because my luggage went to Kentucky.

Good news: I don’t fly often anymore.

Bad news: I don’t have much better luck with highways, but that is another story.

In summary: Don’t fly. Or at least, don’t fly with me.

Because, for whatever reason, the skies are just NOT that friendly when I’m up there.