It began at 4:30am with an alarm clock radio blaring static and garbled voices from some dial setting in between actual stations. I awoke wide-eyed and anxious to get my stuff together and out the door, away from the (Dis-)Comfort Inn and it's bouquet of smells coming in off the hallway. Breakfast went quickly, then I hit the bathroom and a double-check of the room and I was out. 5:15am. The flight time was 7:29 and I had every confidence of being one of the first at the terminal. But it was not to be!
The gas gauge was nearly on empty as planned (prepaid refill), so a straight shot to the rental return bay was in order. I merged onto I-10 West, toward Sky Harbor Int'l Airport. "Shouldn't be difficult to circumnavigate the Airport and find the rental bay," I told myself. "But which exit to take?" I questioned my judgement as I flew passed the exit labeled: Airport Terminals. "Could've sworn I got onto I-10 East from the rental place a bit further down." Unfortunately, no exit was labeled: Hertz Rental Cars - Next Exit. So, I turned around. The gas warning light had been on steady since the hotel and at this point the car started beeping loudly. I nervously pulled over to check it out. The door light was also lit and I was hoping beyond hope that I'd left the trunk ajar AND that my bags were still there. I had and they were. Whew! One hurdle taken and countless more ahead. I swung around, back onto I-10, this time headed East. That Airport exit just had to be the one.
I made my way to that exit and eventually got to the airport but again, no sign saying: Hey, jackass, Return Bay This Way. I fumed. Then turned the car around and headed... where? Where did I go? And why did I choose that direction? I can't say. I went toward 44th street, stopping at a gas station, cursing the steering wheel and all the other components inside the car with me. Man, did I yell! I shouted so loudly that I hurt my throat from the strain. A few minutes passed by and I went inside to ask if anyone knew how to find Hertz Rental Cars. Thankfully, one of the patrons knew the exact location and how to get there. 5:45am and not far to go. I ran back to the car, lept in and headed off once more.
I'd gone about half-way when suddenly the car would no longer accelerate and my steering wheel became stiff. On the road, blocks away from a gas station, my car died and coasted gently along for one ... two ... three blocks and ... right into the gas station, inches from the pump! Miracle! I said a quick prayer and put exactly one gallon into the tank, shooting the breeze with another patron and two guys who came up to ask for spare change (quite politely, though). "You mean you ran out of gas just now?" the other patron asked wide-eyed. "Yeah. Perfect place for it, huh?" I responded in a not-quite-there, unfocused tone. A few more words and I was back in the hunt. Hertz was just around the corner and then I was home free. ...Or so I thought.
Returning the car was quick and easy ... once I finally got to the bay ... and there was a nice shuttle-bus waiting to transport me to my terminal. Dropped me off right in front of my check-in booth. Within minutes I'd checked my baggage and received my ticket. I didn't mind that the box indicating seat number was empty. "Probably just something to do with E-ticketing," I said naively to myself. "I'll just check in at the gate window and they'll assign my seat there," which I really wanted to believe was true. So I scrambled to the security check-point and, after waiting in line for a good thirty minutes (or was that just fifteen that felt like thirty?) I grabbed my stuff, flinging my briefcase open and spreading papers and notebooks out on the floor around me. Unphazed and undaunted, I quickly collected my things and to the gate I ran. 6:45am.
A woman stood behind the gate window and a sign reading: Volunteers Needed flashed on the screen behind her. "Volunteers? This can't be good," my intuition went on. I asked the staff-woman which seat number I would claim and why had that box been left blank on my boarding pass?
"That's because you don't have a seat, sir," she replied courteously. "Your reservation is not confirmed."
"But what the... (I immediately calmed myself down) So, what happens now? I've never been in this situation before."
"We're asking for volunteers, those who don't [have an urgent] need to take this flight, to give up their seat and take a later flight."
"I see. How far down the wait-list am I?"
"Looks like ... you're third on the list."
"All right. And what if that doesn't happen?"
"Then we put you on a later flight."
"Any idea when that would be"
"I'm sorry, sir. We're not certain, but we're looking at tomorrow."
I lost my breath and my mind swam with thoughts about where I would stay and what I would do with my time if it came to that. But it wouldn't go that far. At the very last minute another guy and I were called to the window and granted seats. Mine was a window seat, no less, which the other guy wanted to trade for; but, after the events of that morning, I wasn't going for it. At last I boarded the plane, we took off, and here I am now back in my office putting this days wild wild story down in words.
At last, I escaped from Arizona.
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