I was supposed to be on my way to Chicago right now to visit Mom for a few days.  The weather forecast for Chicago did not bode well.  I knew that my flight would certainly be delayed if not cancelled.  The snowstorm was supposed to hit, oh, just around the time I was due to land at O’Hare.

But you can never be sure.  Maybe they’ll take off and divert you to Dallas.  Maybe they’ll put you on the plane and make you sit on the tarmac until it is safe to proceed.  So I procrastinated as long as I could last night and then convinced myself I’d better pack something just in case I woke up this morning and it was not already delayed/cancelled.

This morning the website just kept saying the same thing.  On time.  Well, yeah, like I believe that for a half a second.  But it kept saying it.  My sister alerted me that Southwest had cancelled all it’s flights into ORD.  But my airline kept saying “on time.”

Finally it was time to go catch my BART train to the airport, my ride had arrived.  I threw a few more things into my carry on, including a floor mat, my pillows and a fleece throw in case I found myself sleeping on an airport floor somewhere.  I had money.  I had my iPod.  I had my medications.  I had my iPhone.  So off I went and caught the second BART to SFO that came along.  Something happened to me that I’ve never experienced before, and that was getting the half of my body that was carrying my carry ons  through the electric turnstile while the other half of my body pulling the suitcase got cut off.  So there I was, hemmed in by two orange plastic crusher things.  The nice BART agent pushed a button and I was saved from certain internal injuries.

I didn’t even make it to the very next stop when the text alert came on my phone: Flight cancelled.  (Yay technology!)

I got off at the next stop and turned around.  The nice BART agent gave me a little sticker for my card that will allow me to reenter, so I didn’t even pay for my little jaunt to Orinda BART station and back.  I returned home by cab, (in nice weather and without luggage I could walk) and as I had skipped my decaf Starbucks at the airport I tipped generously on this rainy northern California day.

Then it was time to “call the customer service number.”  I was on hold for an hour before someone answered.  This is okay, I put it on speaker and putter around.  However, Virgin America, which is a great airline (they have little plugs in every seat for chargers and iPhones so I can play games all the way to Chicago and back), nevertheless has the WORST on hold music in the world.  Some kind of 2001 space odyssey electronic trance inducing repetitive stuff.  Even the young gal who finally answered my call agreed – they have to listen to the same thing if they’re waiting to speak to their supervisors.

She couldn’t help me.  I bought my ticket through Travelocity as I often do.  Thank you dear, no problem.  I call Travelocity.  I continue to putter around with the phone on speaker.  What was initially light repetitive music that is vaguely reminiscent of a Jamaican island vacation, now that I have heard it for the last 45 minutes is something I hope I never hear again.

Why, you ask, am I listening to this, on hold with Travelocity?

In order to get me a voucher for future travel, the Travelocity guy had to call Virgin America.  I just hope for his sake that he has a little red light or something that tells him it’s his turn, that he can help other customers, and that he doesn’t have to listen to the 2001 music.

Meanwhile, I goin’ to keep on packin’ for movin’, mon.