The Odyssey: A Story in Two Parts

Saturday at around 12:00 PM, I arrived at the Little Rock airport to catch a flight back to Atlanta.

Two days, eight missed flights, and one 14 and 1/2 Greyhound bus journey later, I finally made it home.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Odyssey.

Part One: Standby Me

Not too long ago, I proclaimed my gushing love for all things airport. Perhaps I should have qualified myself. Though I do love airports, I hate--nay loathe--flying standby.

For those of you who've never flown standby, let me describe it for you. When you fly standby, all confirmed passengers are your enemies. You nervously count heads and the gate, silently groaning with every new arrival. The passengers who come rushing up at the eleventh hour (or far worse, ambling up), after you've allowed yourself the smallest shred of hope to get on the plane, are the very spawn of Satan. Especially the grown woman who arrived inexplicably out of breath, crying, and--here's the kicker--holding her tennis shoes. (But I digress). You wait with your heart in your throat while zone after zone is called to board--Zone 1, Zone 2, Zone 3--while you remain firmly entrenched in the No Fly Zone.

Herein lies the problem of flying to Atlanta. No one in their right mind is actually going to Atlanta for pleasure, but everyone--everyone.--is flying through Atlanta to get somewhere else (ahh, the joys of living in a Delta hub). So every flight to Atlanta is packed like it's the last helicopter out of Vietnam. I can't even count the number of hours I've spent waiting standby at Gate 2 (always Gate 2) of the Little Rock airport, but undoubtedly, it gets the award for Gate at which Most Time has been Killed by Jessica Merrill. And in case you're wondering, the Little Rock airport is among the world's worst in which to kill time. Past security, there is one bookstore, one newsstand, a small food court, two coffee shops, and one bar (which, I'm sorry to say, became a temptation). I was better at amusing myself on Day 1 of waiting, but by Day 2 I would have almost paid someone to come and talk to me. I could tell my emotions were getting the better of me when the Starbucks barista told me my small coffee (small coffee!) would be two dollars, and I nearly burst into tears (I'm not kidding).

So, after about 249 despondent phone calls to my mother, eight flights packed solid that I was not on, and hopeless forecasts from the gate agent for the next and last two, it was decided that the best option in Operation: Get Jess Home was for me to take a Greyhound.

So I thought to myself, if you must take a Greyhound, you might as well make it interesting...right?

And that's how I became Jih-ssica, the friendly New Zealander tourist.