I worry too much.
I didn't want to buy my plane tickets for the bachelorette party too early because I worried that they were going to change the date on me. Plus, contrary to common sense, airlines don't give you any cheaper fares for booking way in advance. This, of course, is ludicrous, which makes my worrisome nature conflict with itself -- do I book now and get it over with, escaping the possibility of forgetting to do it at the last second, or do I wait because a random cheaper fare may come at any moment. I honestly think that the airlines' method of choosing seat prices is they feed a large book to a goat, and whatever pages he doesn't eat, they add the page numbers up, and that's your fare.
So I've been worried about that in the back of my mind for about 6 months, and some internal clock set me on "Worry More" as the date loomed near. When I finally booked the flight, I was just within the window of opportunity to ask off for work. That was a close one. I then booked the flight, and the next day, my google calendar reminded me to book a flight -- right on the day when it would have been too late to call off. This is why I worry. No matter how many precautions I take, I still come that close to moronosity.
So all of last week, I'm worried that it's Thursday and I'm missing my plane. Every night, I have a couple moments of fear that I've been so stupid as to miss the plane. In my own defense, I've never actually done this in all my years of flying, but I wouldn't put it past me.
Thursday comes and I of course remember, only, on the way to LAX, I start freaking out that I might be departing from Burbank. My printer doesn't work, so I just copied the important stuff like flight numbers and times, not the unimportant stuff like which airport...
I get to LAX and it's of course the right airport, but I can't remember which airline. Luckily I call my mom, or as I call her, The Root of OCD, and she politely informs me that it's United, and asks if I happen to know what city I'm flying to. Mexico, Canada perhaps?
After a little drama at check-in -- they don't accept my card, and for the first time, some random number I wrote on my paper actually helps me -- I stand in the longest line ever for security. Ironically, this is the only time I'm not worried. The silly people around me, however, who only left 1 hour to spare before their flights are fretting about it, but not me! I left 3 hours to spare! And they call me anal. Who's laughing now?!?!
Not me, because soon I get to my gate, and it does not say Washington (my connection city before Pittsburgh), it instead says Sydney, Australia. It's common to have flights at the gate before yours, especially when you get there 3 hours early, so I sat down and tried to relax with my book. However, at this point in my book, the bad guys were right on their tail, and I was unable to relax.
3 hours came and went, and the gate still said...Sydney, Australia. Another sheepish call to my mom got me the next crazy question -- "Well, did you look at the monitors to be sure this is the right gate?"
No, mom. I just thought I'd pick the gate that had marked the furthest possible city from where I wanted to go. It turns out my plane was delayed, so all the chumps in the line had no reason to fret, while I was about to have wasted 4 hours of my life I can never get back.
Once I finally boarded, I had one last tinge of terror when the pilot said "Flight 212, nonstop to..." and I was sure he was going to say China or something else. They pause EVERY time they say that, I'm sure because they've been in 4 other cities that day, but it always freaks me out.
So 6 hours later, I miraculously arrived at my destination, as I always miraculously do. And now I get to worry that I'm so jetlagged I can't sleep, and I will simply sleep through my 8:00 appointment at the spa with the bridesmaids tomorrow morning. But if I don't, I will definitely deserve the massage I have lined up for me.
Posted by Kitsune at August 4, 2006 11:05 PM | digg this
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