At the Airport

I flew back from San Antonio to Chicago yesterday. Since it was on American Airlines (Motto: “Laid Over in Dallas”) I had to connect through D/FW airport.

The plane was a little late getting into D/FW from San Antonio. Then, we had to wait on the tarmac because another plane was experiencing difficulty with getting their beverage service loaded.

No problem. I sat in the back of the plane reading my book.
Tra-la-la-la-la.

Finally, we began to pull in and I noticed the time:
Hmmmm. 5:55 pm.
Tra-la-la-la-la.

Then, I decided to look at my next boarding pass.
Tra-la-la-la-la.

My next flight was due to board at . . . . . let’s see. . . . .
5:55 pm.

Shit.

Meanwhile, all the other passengers ahead of me were taking their sweet time getting OFF the plane. They were all taking their time, singing “Tra-la-la-la-la. . .” Apparently, one passenger decided this was a good time block the aisle and change the diapers of her triplets.

And, of course, my flight arrived at terminal “A” and my next flight (which was boarding NOW) was leaving from Terminal “XQ-Z” (Actually it was Terminal “D”)

I will have to say that D/FW does have a very speedy and efficient tram system that scoots you lickety-split from Terminal A to Terminal XQ-Z. (Houston does not - - make a note of that if you’re ever connecting in Houston).

So, I was on the tram-thing saying “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” I SO didn’t want to be stuck in Dallas on a Sunday night (been there, done that) and I also had to pee really badly.

I made my connection. The flight I was to board was running late. I ran up all huffy-puffy to the gate and everyone was just standing around going “Tra-la-la-la-la.”