Lay Over

Imagine this: it was 1995, and I intended to fly back to South Dakota for the Christmas holiday. At Davis Middle School, I donned my beloved red, white, and blue western shirt along with a fresh pair of ropers. Since there were no final exams in choir, I filled my day with Disney movies and snacks, eagerly awaiting the moment the bell rang to mark the end of the day so I could dash to the airport.

My friend David, the band director, kindly offered to drive me to Salt Lake City for my flight. Excited, I quickly loaded my bags into the back of his car and took a seat in the passenger side for the seventy-minute journey. This was my first experience flying home, leaving me uncertain about what lay ahead. David had also never been on a flight, so he was unable to provide any advice. As we conversed nervously, I kept track of the distance remaining. At last, the airport appeared, signaling the start of my adventure.

Before 9/11, air travel was straightforward, and it only took a moment to check in my suitcase along with the large container of frozen cookie dough I had purchased from the booster club fundraiser. After swiftly locating my boarding gate, I settled into a rather uncomfortable seat. While engrossed in The Horse Whisperer, I noticed some commotion and murmurs around me. I glanced up from my reading to find out that United 5293 had been canceled because of weather conditions. I was at a loss for what to do next!

After what felt like an eternity waiting in line among frustrated travelers, I finally managed to speak with a gate agent. With great patience, she laid out my options: either spend the night at the airport or accept a complimentary room at the nearby Holiday Inn. Staying in the airport wasn’t something I had on my bucket list, so I boarded the shuttle to the hotel.

Upon my arrival, I checked in at the front desk and groggily made my way to my room. It soon became clear that I had not packed wisely. My carry-on was completely unhelpful; it held my book, some snacks, a CD player with headphones, and a magazine—nothing practical at all. I had forgotten essentials like underwear, toiletries, and my coat (which I had shoved into my big suitcase to avoid carrying it)!

In no time at all, things took a significant turn for the worse: my period unexpectedly started and ruined my underwear. Dear God! What in the hell should I do!? Frustrated, I strode to the front desk to inquire about the availability of pads or tampons. Unfortunately, they had none and pointed me towards a Walgreens that was open 24 hours, just a few blocks down. Shit was about to get real!

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving a chill in the atmosphere. Having never ventured alone through downtown Salt Lake City before, a sense of fear took hold of my small-town heart as I rushed towards where I needed to be. To appear brave, I strutted in my boots, making a conscious effort to square my shoulders. In that instant, I noticed that the stars printed on my sleeves glowed in the dark! What on earth! I had become a walking emblem of cowgirl nerdiness!

I made my way to Walgreens at a brisk pace, where I purchased some supplies and a new set of underwear, before hurrying back to the hotel. Once in my room, I tidied myself up and took a few ibuprofens, then changed into the pajamas I had just bought. It was now time to rest. I turned off the lights and tried to get comfortable on the hard mattress. Just as I began to unwind, a loud ruckus erupted in the hallway. A group of teenagers were screaming and racing past my door. I poked my head out to inquire about the noise, and two frustrated adults explained that multiple church groups were at the hotel for their annual ski trip. Seriously!? I felt like crying, but reminding myself of my adult status, I returned to bed, bracing for the worst night’s sleep I had ever experienced.

As the morning sun rose, I had already prepared myself for my return to the airport. At eight o'clock, I boarded the shuttle alongside other wayward travelers. Making my way to the check-in desk, I placed yesterday's ticket down on the counter. The receptionist glanced at it and promptly informed me, "This ticket was for yesterday." Taking a deep breath, I explained my predicament through gritted teeth. She absentmindedly continued typing on her computer and repeated, "This ticket was for yesterday." A silent scream erupted in my mind as I asked to speak with a manager. Fortunately, a cheerful middle-aged man came to my rescue, swiftly locating my updated travel itinerary in the system. He kindly offered me an upgrade to first class as an apology for the other agent's discourteous behavior. My peace of mind was restored!

Having never experienced first class before, I was taken aback when the flight attendant promptly offered me a complimentary drink. I gladly accepted this gesture, along with many others during the journey. By the time we landed in Sioux Falls, I was quite tipsy. I staggered off the aircraft and made my way down to the baggage claim, only to find that my luggage had arrived on an earlier flight, so it wasn’t on the conveyor. A large hand-painted sign guided me to a back-office overflowing with bags from our delayed flight the previous day. They returned my suitcase in good condition, but unfortunately, my cookie dough had melted into a gooey mess. Overcome with emotion and alcohol, I wept as I held the tub of slop and swayed my way outside to meet my sister, who was patiently waiting in the pickup area outside the terminal.

As I staggered toward my sister’s car, unable to stop the tears of frustration and disappointment, I flashily waved the ruined tub of cookie dough like a trophy of my tumultuous journey. But rather than the empathetic gaze I expected, I saw a grin wide enough to split her face.

It turned out, after my call the night before explaining about the travel disaster, she was ready with a surprise. As I tossed the sodden tub into the back seat, she reached into the passenger seat and produced a warm batch of chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven. "I knew you’d need these!" she laughed, handing me a soft, gooey morsel. A wave of happiness washed over me, cutting through the humorous haze of the night. We shared a laugh about my misadventures, and suddenly, the stress of the past two days felt like a distant memory. As we drove away from the airport, I took a bite of the cookie, the sweetness a comforting balm for my frayed nerves.

Driving toward her house, I felt a lightness in my heart. That evening, tucked into my sister's couch with a bowl of popcorn, we binge-watched our favorite Christmas shows and giggled like youngsters. My tumultuous day morphed into a cherished memory, proving that sometimes all you really need is a bit of chaos, a sisterly bond, and warm cookies to turn a disaster into a delight. As I drifted off to sleep that night, I smiled at the thought of future travels. Next time, I would definitely pack better—but just a little chaos wouldn’t deter me. After all, adventures were best enjoyed with a side of laughter.