My Father Is Temporarily Mislaid
My dad was supposed to return from the Czech Republic tonight (my mom returns in two weeks) — his flight was supposed to arrive at Hartsfield circa 5:30 this evening, and he was supposed to call me when he got in so I could drive his car over and pick him up. It’s now past 8:00, and I haven’t heard from him. His phone is turned off, so he could still be in the air, still stranded somewhere at a layover . . . anything. I’m fairly sure it would’ve made the news if his plane had gone down or exploded or been hijacked or something, so I’m sure he’s safe, if perhaps not particularly happy.
The biggest problem is that I cannot remember what airline he is supposed to be flying, so I can’t figure out what’s going on or whether he’s likely to get in tonight at all. I know I dropped them off two weeks ago at the north terminal, but cannot for the life of me remember which airline they were flying then, or even whether he’d be taking the same one back. When you go to the Hartsfield Web site, you can look for any flights from a particular city and see what’s going on, but I don’t know where his layover was. There don’t seem to be any flights directly from Prague, which is the nearest city with an airport to where they were staying, so I’m assuming he had a layover somewhere in Europe — and because his calling plan only covers the continental United States, he’s highly unlikely to turn his phone on at all.
Knowing that phone batteries can die, phones can get stolen or lost, people can forget that they’re supposed to call, etc., I even drove down to Hartsfield about an hour ago and cruised the baggage claim/pickup area a couple of times to see whether I could spot him. No luck.
I’m all in a dither. Indeed, a tizzy might not be too strong a word. If he arrives tonight, I still have to drive out to collect him — which is fine, although I’m not entirely sure how to turn on the lights on his Saturn (bloody American cars*) — and then he has to decide whether he’ll try to make the nearly four-hour drive back home or try to find a hotel. I’d put him up, but there just honestly is no room in my little studio. There’s no place to put him, not even a stretch of open floor long enough (and if there were, the dog would spend most of the night stepping on him). Should I try to stay up waiting for a call? Should I try to get some sleep now, knowing I’ll probably be woken up in the middle of the night? Gah, I don’t know.
Sorry — I know this is not the most entertaining of posts. I’m just kind of stressed out. It does, however, point to a couple of flaws in our system: (1) when arranging for someone to drive you to and pick you up from the airport, be sure to tell them (in writing) what your airline facts are; and (2) I really need to get an international calling plan for my parents. They travel way more than I do, and stuff like this keeps happening: they were in London last July 7; while they were in Italy last year, there was a train wreck near where they were staying . . . e-mail works well enough for unimportant stuff, but it’s not always easy to check your accounts while you’re traveling. (Plus you get distracted by all the new and interesting things around you, and it’s easy to forget until you’re too tired to deal with the computer.) Even barring crises, being able to use your phone when traveling with someone else makes coordination so much easier. (Being incommunicado like that drove me nuts in Quebec City, and I’m hardly the most social or phone-happy person.)
It’s 8:20 now. Still no call. Dad’s phone still off. I’d feel better if I knew whether his flight was just delayed, or whether it’s cancelled. (Also whether he’s stuck in a crowded airport, or being put up in a hotel. It’s probably the former, because a hotel would have a landline, and even without a calling card he’d be able to phone me and let me know what’s going on. Poor Dad.)
Update: My dad called about 8:45; his plane in Paris had been overbooked, so they sent him to Nice, and hilarity of that special airport kind ensued. At any rate, he’s back, and is now safely on his way back to Statesboro. Oh, and I think the lights in his Saturn are automatic, the same way the rear-view mirror switches (maddeningly) to Special Night Vision in the evenings, thus rendering it virtually useless. But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m going to bed now. Worn out.
*** ***
*His car sounds funny, and it shifts funny, and the windshield is at the wrong angle and looks funny. Also the dashboard is too far away, but the roof of the car is amazingly low, so it feels like the driver’s-side visor is about to bang into my head if I lean ever so slightly forward. Also, reverse is in the wrong place on the gear shift. The only thing I like about his car is that you can switch the temperature reading between Fahrenheit and Celcius; if there’s a way to do that in my VW Beetle, I haven’t found it yet. (Plus, Sid the Beetle is just cute.) Unfortunately, it’s easier in the long run to take his car, because that way we only have to sort out installing luggage in the trunk once instead of twice.
