Now, I just wouldn’t be me if my next story wasn’t about how I was rushing like a mad fiend to catch my plane, would I? Remember how this whole thing started? For those of you too lazy to go back to the beginning:
“The vacation began in typical JMD flying style — I arrived at the airport with only minutes to catch my flight…”
And yes, despite the fact that I was relaxed, I was zen and I was well rested, I still am, well, me. And ‘me’ is all about having it all. And then some.
So, of course, I decide on the ride down to LA that, since I am actually going to have a fair bit of time in LA before my plane departs, I should do the my two favourite LA things: surf Malibu and eat at Rubios. And I don’t just sort of think that I should do these things. I commit to them. In fact, I call Stef on my drive down and tell her, “I’m hitting Mailbu to catch my last couple of waves for about an hour, then I’m going to drop off my board at the surf shop and I’ll come by your place to bring you some lunch. Rubios.”
Now, Stef has a big audition so she’s kind of oblivious to what I’m saying. All she really hears is “I’m bringing you lunch,” which means that she doesn’t have to worry about feeding herself. And so, she fails to remind me that a) I’m always trying to do WAY to much in too little time and b) I haven’t been driving in LA for two weeks and seem to have forgotten how ridiculous the traffic can be.
And, as per usual, I miscalculate the time, the traffic and how long it will take me to do all of these things. But have I learned anything in my 33 years of living? Not really. Just that, for the most part (other than missing the occasional plane and getting the occasional speeding ticket) I am pretty damned good at pulling off the impossible.
Which I did again.
Surfed Malibu for about an hour. But did it ‘smart’. Wore only a surf top and my swim trunks. No wetsuit to have to worry about washing or re-packing. I can be quick. Smart, right? Yeah. Only so-so smart. Remember above, where I talked incessantly about the fucking artic temperature of the water in Central California. Well, Malibu was warmer. But not by much. I only lasted for about 45 minutes before my lips were so blue and I was shivering so hard that I couldn’t take it anymore.
But since I was kind of pressed for time, this wasn’t a bad thing. I toweled off, leapt in the car and drove off to the surf shop like a speed demon. And yes folks, at the end of June, at noon in LA, I actually had my HEAT on in the car. Because I had managed to chill myself to the bone! But I digress. I’m racing down the Ventura freeway, desperate to drop off my board and get my Rubios. And then I hit the traffic. Bad traffic. Shitty LA traffic. Shitty, slow, 5 lanes of traffic. Thankfully, I only had to go one more exit. And it only took me 10 minutes to get the last 2 miles. And I knew that, on the way back, I could take city streets and get where I needed to go with no traffic. Which, after dropping off my board, I did.
And so, instead of racing down the freeway, I began racing down the city streets. Careening around parked cars, dodging pedestrians. Doing whatever I could to get to Rubios in time to get my –
Wait a second. Most of you have no idea what Rubios is, do you? Hmm… Ok. Quick digression. Rubios is a Southern California fast food place. That serves Mexican food. Kind of like an upscale Taco Bell. With food that doesn’t taste like paper. Their specialty? Fish tacos. Yup. Fish tacos. Nownow, for those of you who have never tried fish tacos, hold onto your gag reflex. I get it. Fish tacos do sound kinda gross. Ok, they sound really gross. I felt the same way before I had my first one. But let me tell you, for me, there is no better fast food on the planet. My preference? The grilled Mahi-Mahi taco with fresh guacamole. Doused in salsa. It’s basically a corn tortilla, lettuce and pico-de gallo under a freshly grilled sliver of Mahi-Mahi. It’s topped with lime juice and your choice of sour cream, guacamole, salsa, etc. And they are truly awesome. And I will go far out of my way to get them.
I will even race down city streets and risk missing my plane to have them. Because that is exactly what I was doing at this point. But get to Rubios I did. And order a whole batch of fish tacos for Stef and I, I did. (We even tried Shrimp tacos, which were pretty awesome, too.)
Now, of course, I had to race back to Stef’s, eat, drop off some stuff and still try to make my plane. The plane was scheduled to take off at 4:50 PM. Right about now, it’s 2:30. Now, Stef’s is about ½ hour from the airport. With no traffic. And I’m presently about a ½ hour from Stef’s place. With no traffic. And I have about 15-20 minutes of stuff to do at Stef’s. If I rush. And if you didn’t know before reading this blog that you MUST check-in at least 30 minutes before your flight departs or most airlines will not even consider letting you on board, you do now. Remember that number, folks. 30 minutes. It is actually emblazoned in my mind. Especially because about 10 years ago, it was 20 minutes. And, yes, shortly after the change happened, I did get burned. But I digress. Back to the story.
About now, if you’re a math geek like me, you might be thinking: ahh… well, by those time calculations up there in that last paragraph, as long as traffic isn’t too bad, Morgan might even make it to the airport with about 15 minutes to spare.
Which is sort of what I had thought too.
Yes. You might think this.
But you’d be wrong. Because I have a rental car. Which I have to return. To Fox-Rent-A-Car. (Remember the story about my new favourite rental car company about 5 chapters back?) Well Fox Rent-A-Car is not on site at LAX. It is about a 10 minute bus ride from the airport. And that time needs to be factored into the calculations.
Now, you can see where my panic began.
But not immediately. Because, other than careening through the city like a madman, I was still pretty zen. Still pretty chilled. And I hadn’t actually bothered to calculate the above math properly. So I wasn’t stressed out at all. Yet.
In fact, I got to Stef’s about 3:00 and I was still thinking that I was OK. Mistake. I stopped to chat with Stef and to nibble on some food. Bigger Mistake. And I wasn’t rushing around doing the things that I needed to do. BIGGEST MISTAKE. And, about 3:35, thinking that I really had to start hustling otherwise I was going to be in trouble, I paused for a moment and I did the math.
OH. FUCK.
I went from 0 to 60 in about 2 seconds. From ‘zen’ to ‘PANICKED!’ in about the same amount of time. And I gave Stef a quick smooch, and got the fuck out of there.
I got in my ride and raced out onto the streets. 3:40. I HAVE to check in for my flight within 40 minutes. There is almost no fucking way I’m going to make it. My only hope was if the freeway was clear. I smoke the tires as I careen onto Santa Monica Blvd. And I look up at the Freeway.
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease be clear.
But it’s not. I’m fucked. It is BUMPER TO BUMPER.
Damn it!
But I’m not giving up. I turn down Sepulveda, because I hear on the radio that the freeway traffic opens up about 4 miles down the road. If I can just get lucky with some green lights on Sepulveda, I might be able to catch that f-ing plane.
And I dodge. And I weave.
But the traffic light Gods are not smiling down on me. I still have too far to go. It’s 4:00. I am officially fucked. DAMN IT!
What was I thinking? After taking the time to go surfing, I couldn’t afford the time to go to Rubios! That was just fucking stupid. If I hadn’t been trying to do it all. If I hadn’t been so convinced I could make it all happen. If I’d just said NO to one of the bazillion things I’d decided to do today. I would have been fine. But no. No. NO!!! Fuck!
Now I’m gonna to have to pay a zazillion dollars to find a flight to San Francisco later tonight. I’m gonna miss my dinner plans. I’m gonna probably not even get to SF tonight. I’m gonna… I’mgonnaI’mgonna.
FUCK.
But as I’m in the process of beating myself up, I don’t stop driving.
And, without realizing it is happening, the traffic light gods smile on me for almost two miles.
And at 4:05, I make it to the freeway. Which I can’t really see, because the entrance is hidden in the trees. So I don’t know what the traffic is like — if it’s still bumper-to-bumper or if its ok. And I say – Fuck It! Might as well go for it. I’ve got nothing to lose.
And, wow! the Gods are smiling on me again. Because the freeway is moving. Fast. It’s smooth sailing. I can even drive at 80 miles per hour. And I do.
And I make it to Fox Rent-A-Car at 4:15. Fuckin’ A. If they can zip me through here super fast, I might just get lucky. Which they do.
And I’m the only one on the bus to LAX. So they take me right to the door.
I jump out of the bus. It’s 4:25. I’m screwed.
But I haven’t given up hope. My flight is only a puddle jump from LA to SF. Kind of like Toronto to Montreal. And sometimes, the airlines will give a little bit more flexibility on those short haul flights. The 30 minute rule doesn’t always apply.
But I’ve got two enormous bags. Which I have to check. And I’m still about 500 metres from the counter. I’m pretty much dead in the water. But there’s still a small chance. If I run.
Good thing I’ve built up a few surfing muscles. Because I RUN.
And I screech to a halt at the counter. Out of breath.
Me: ImsorryImsolateImtryingtocatchtheflighttoSanFranwhichisleaving in25minutesIreallyneedtocatchthisflightcanIstillgetonohpleaseoohpleaseohpleaseohplease.
Her: Umm. I’m sorry sir, that flight is closed.
AHHHH. FUCK!!!!!!!! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!!
DAMNIT!!!
Her: Oh wait. No it’s not. You can still get on. Do you have any bags to check?
WAH HOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
And I got on. And, in fact, I was treated like a fucking prince. There were refreshments, cake, sandwiches and muffins. Even free Satellite TV. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Who did they think I was? Some celebrity or something.
Nope. I was flying on a relatively new airline called Frontier. And it turned out that I was on the inaugural flight from LA to SF. And it’s customary to have a minor party for an airline’s inaugural flight. So, I got free satellite tv, free drinks and free food. Even got some candy and a stuffed animal when I got off the flight. Too bad that doesn’t happen every time you fly.
Now, I do have to say that I, once again, I had pulled it out of the fire with respect to air travel, but I was a little surprised this time. You see, the only downside of the fact that I keep making these flights – aside from the obvious: that one day the stress is going to give me a mammoth heart attack – is that it’s basically reinforcing terrible behaviour. Oh well. It could be worse. I could be the pilot…