I left a warmer climate on an empty stomach – anxious and eager – and touched down in Denver only to sit on the runway like a lazy model until close to 8:30.
After snow delay number one, I quickly ate half of a red-white-and-yellow sacked dinner, re-packing the remainder for the brief moment prior to takeoff in which I am allowed to have my tray table not in its upright and locked position.
Dinner: done. Delay number two: underway.
My departure soundtrack was starting to repeat tracks and could have gotten me into trouble had I not been more clever about how I skip tracks. I think flight attendants are aware that clicking the remote below your ear is a dead giveaway that your electronic device is not in the “off” position.
The two hour delay did not upset my row. In flight, I relaxed, knowing that I would make it home without too severe of a delay. The mother and daughter next to me just cuddled and watched the silent version of Pirate Radio, because I cuddled with myself and the only pair of earbuds I happened to have.
Eight movies, shopping, some delicious food, a few fun games later and here I sit…back at my gate, waiting to depart. On the opposite side of the window to my right the entire landscape is slowly illuminating – a combination of falling snow and rising sun.
I find an open seat, stow my baggage and watch as the rest of the passengers (most of them half-awake) find their unassigned seats. I lean my head against the window anxiously awaiting the first announcement – signifying ten thousand feet between me and my next choice, and four inches of declined “comfort”.
Snow was present at my departure, so it only seemed fitting to be at my arrival in Chicago. Twenty minutes to my next gate, no time to eat or sit – just straight to gate A 11 with boarding pass B 7. Bingo.
The brisk walk only wakes me up enough to again find an unoccupied window seat. Resume the position. No in-flight drink. No complimentary snack. No small talk with my neighbor. Just rest.
My eyes open. I am home.