Shhh….I’m Cheating

I’m on vacation this week. Vacation around my house, seeing family and not paying for daycare.


As such, I’m cheating. I recently guest posted for Amanda at It’s Blogworthy while she was on her babymoon. I’m recycling that post for those of you who didn’t see it here AND using it to reminisce about my honeymoon with Way Back Wednesday.

Boo. Yah.

Apologies to those of you who have read this before – you have my permission to skip it.

Planning our wedding nearly killed me. I was never the girl who dreamt of her wedding every night before bed while she was 5. Instead, I got lucky and fell in love with a man. He asked me to marry him. Then, I panicked realizing I had no idea what to do.

I got through it alive. That’s all we’ll say about it.

So when we got to our hotel the night of the wedding, I simply could not wait to leave for our well deserved vacation. In fact, we were staying at the airport across from the hotel to make sure there was no chance of anything going wrong.

Oh, irony.

We woke up at 3:30 or so. We had breakfast. I think that was our first mistake. But, seeing as we are both horrible, unbearable monsters if we do not eat, we stopped to eat.

Our bellies full of eggs benedict, we wandered across the street to the airport with plenty of time to make our flight. We approached a baggage handler at the United terminal to check our bags. He asked where we were going. When he heard we were going to the Dominican Republic, he turned his back to us.

“International flights are Terminal 5.” he said.

I should have punched him right there.

Instead, we boarded the tram and made our way on the long, long journey to Terminal 5. When we got there we could not find a single listing for a flight to the Dominican Republic on the Departure Board. We enlisted help. The man at the information desk casually walked us back to the Departure Board. He read it.

“Nope, doesn’t look like there’s a flight to the Dominican listed here,” he drawled.

I should have punched him too.

He went to his computer. We trailed after him like lost puppies. He punched keys. He frowned. He punched more keys. He toddled back over to the departure board. We scurried after him. Minutes ticked by.

“Nope, no flight to the Dominican Republic,” this master scientist said, “What airline are you flying?”

I explained we were flying United while trying to keep my voice level. He sighed, relieved to have found the problem. All United flights left from the United terminal whether or not they were international he explained. I gritted my teeth. If that was the case, this surely happened all the time. Why did he not ask us that first?

Probably because he didn’t anticipate the potlicker in the United terminal to have misguided us in the first place.

We booked it back to Terminal 1. We bumrushed the skycap. Lo and behold it is the same gentleman who so kindly started us on this journey over an hour ago. I tell him where we’re going and that we need to heck in soon.

Imagine my astonishment when he does not casually direct us to Terminal 5. Insted he – get this – checks the computer. Glad someone cleared that process for him while we were gone. He finds our flight.

Imagine my continuing astonishment when he turns back to me and casually says I can’t board the flight because it leaves in 42 minutes.

Apparently all bags must be checked no less than 45 minutes before the flight. We were staying in Chicago. I know I should have been pissed and in retrospect I am. But in the moment I had 9 months of wedding planning hell and 3 hours of sleep under my belt. I burst into tears. Fat, ugly tears seeped out in between sobs.

I stumbled inside, my vision swirling like in a bad dream. I approached a woman inside and three words into my question, she barked, “Lady, you’re not going anywhere. Move along.” Who says that to someone who is crying uncontrollably? I mean granted, I wouldn’t let a hysterical woman on a plane no matter how long there was to boarding but I would at least be polite about it.

Around this point we learn there is only one flight a week from Chicago to the Dominican Republic. There is no way to get a later flight because there is not later flight.

So we get in line to rebook our honeymoon. I continue to weep from exhaustion. David begins hissing at me to stop under his breath. If I were him I would too. People are looking at us like he beats me.

This makes me cry harder.

David makes me get out of line to go cry in peace. As he inches forward I cry quietly on the outskirts of the terminal. I begin to calm down. This is a tenuous point for me because when I am that irrational, you can’t trust me in a calmed down state. Just about anything can send me back into histrionics. I join David when he gets to the counter. The first words out of my mouth are: “I know we probably can’t get what we want but I’ve had a hard day and if you can just be nice to me when you tell me no, I’d really, really appreciate it.”

The man stares back blankly. As you do when dealing with the insane.

Finally he stammers, “I haven’t said anything yet….”

The “so why are you directing your nutso at me, you nutjob?” is implied.

Eventually, this dear man gets us a flight to the Dominican. To do so he bumps some people from a flight. To this day I wonder where those people got bumped to. This flight he arranges for us is no longer a direct flight, costs us $200 and is three days later. His reasoning for this? He really should have made us pay the whole fair again and if he didn’t charge us at least a flight change fee, it would look suspicious.

And I was grateful for it.

He then gave us three vouchers for the hotel across the street. I spent the next few days in bed ordering room service which was heavenly. The Hilton has the most comfortable beds in the whole world so I was secretly ecstatic. I thought it was actually a blessing in disguise. I was married to a man I loved and was laying around while people waited on me. Aren’t those the only requirements for a honeymoon?

However, when we finally arrived at the resort, I found out they had a 24-hour make your own nacho bar. Five days with that baby was not enough.

Someone owes me my weight in nachos.