reasons why i’ll never fly standby in summer again

Let’s take a look back at the past 36 hours:

Woke up @ 4:45 am EST, drive to airport, kiss mom goodbye, wait for the plane, 23^rd on list to get a seat, don’t make the cut.

Wait another hour, nab last seat on flight. Rush over to Reno gate to again be denied. Four hour wait until next plane… read, eat yogurt, drink water, type, edit, type. Too bad I don’t know anyone in Salt Lake City. Afraid of airport’s airport (can everyone online right now access my documents?). Log off. Browse magazines, read Chabon’s Kavalier & Clay—am now obsessed!

Finally, my 3:10 departure begins boarding. Things seem bleak as the attendant is saying they are looking for someone to give up a seat because they oversold the flight. Minutes pass, then miraculously my name is called. I’m handed a golden ticket, to which I hold on tight, navigating the jump flight hallway while texting friends and family that I’ve finally made it. Hooray for me. Get on the plane, putting my bag in the overhead bin, when I hear my name again. Uh oh. Yep, the cruel humans yank me from the flight to wait more hours upon end for more oversold situations. Oh the emotional roller coaster of standby. (note I use no exclamation mark because I am now emotionally blank after the ordeal)

Needless to say, I left my Delta standby dreams at that awful E72 gate, then caught the next Southwest flight outta there (which was delayed 45 minutes). Some twelve hours later, I am still trying to get ahold of a Reno Delta agent to obtain my checked luggage. sigh.