So last night I made a mistake - in a moment of weakness, I decided to get my car washed. I was so tired of all the grime that I just had to clean the old girl up. You’d think I’d learn from past transgressions, but no. The last time I washed my car, the very next morning it snowed, turning my quiet commute into, well, a not so quiet one.
Yes, I should have known better especially when the weather person on the radio said there was a 50/50 chance of snow in the morning. But by then I was committed. Maybe not in the “pig” sort of way but there was no turning back. Oh well. The astute reader would note that I’m speaking in St. Louis today and seeing as I don’t live in or near St. Louis this implies a trip MSP. Ordinarily I’m the type that gets to the airport with plenty of time to spare…but not today.
I should have just listened to my wife. She left for work at the normal hour and called me 30 minutes later to say she’d almost spun out in Spaghetti junction. I was a bit alarmed but as my initial plan allowed me two and half hours of travel time, I wasn’t concerned. And as I headed on down 35, things seemed fine - I was clipping along thinking about the mocha I would enjoy while waiting for my plane. But then it happened.
Just south of the last exit for several grueling miles, traffic came to an almost complete stop. For about five miles I was literally idling my way along. To say it was painful just doesn’t do it justice - a stretch that normally takes 10 minutes was pushing an hour. I glanced at the clock, did some math and called my wife. At this moment I figured there was ZERO chance I’d make my flight…none. I had her call Jay and the travel guy to see what my options were. Of course if you’ve flown you pretty much know you must actually miss your flight before you have any chance at redemption.
After what I can only describe as an eternity, I was finally able to exit the parking lot that was 35E south. I figured I was home free. Oh. How. Foolish. Highway 96 wasn’t much better and again a few miles took torturous amounts of time. By now I was thirsty and the windshield wipers were working overtime. After agonizingly slow progress I was finally able to head south - towards my ultimate destination (though the idiot that decided she should plow ahead as I was turning left on a yellow arrow - I’m not sure what you were trying to prove by gunning it off the green light but good for you for almost clipping me, I’m sure that would have gotten you to work right quick).
Lexington avenue was moving right along and for the first time all morning rays of hope warmed my face. I thought there might be a chance - slim as it may be - to make my flight. Off I drove cutting over to Snelling which would take me most of the way to the airport. Woops, got a little ahead of myself. Though not nearly as bad as 35E, Snelling wasn’t good. My wipers were so bad I had to make a pit stop…but I soldiered on.
Eventually I started making good time though again, looking at the clock I was quite certain I’d have an afternoon at the airport. Eventually I found my way to West Seventh and things were nearly falling into place. FINALLY, I was at the airport…now all I need is a parking space. I mentioned the snow right? Well, the spiral drives at the parking ramp aren’t exactly “dry” by this point in the morning - something I become acutely aware of as my all wheel drive SUV starts to slide a bit going up the embankment. Of course there’s someone *right* on my tail… But I manage to get to the second floor where the signs assure me I’ll find parking.
Around and around I go wondering where these alleged spots are. Again checking the clock wondering how a mere inch of snow turns a 45 minute drive into a three hour slog… Hey, what’s that over there? A SPOT!!! Oh joy! Off I rush to the skyway frantically telling my wife I’ve arrived. At this point my flight is boarding - no doubt about that - and I haven’t cleared security. But I remember back to my last trip out of the A concourse when the very nice Northwest agent told me about the security checkpoint for carry on only.
What’s that sign say? Checkpoint this way! Off I go figuring it’ll be easy to spot. Not so much. I take the tram to the only stop and look around confused. Oh, I see, the security checkpoint sign is by those stairs over there - the ones you’d know to go up if you knew where the magic entrance was. That wasn’t quite the end of my searching but needless to say I did find what I was after.
I ask the TSA agent if I have a shot of making my flight, he looks at his watch and says no problem (which leaves me thinking - are you going to beam me to the gate?) After going through the metal detector twice (darn cell phone) I quickly grab all my stuff and prepare for the sprint I’m about to undertake to the other side of the world. As I’ve described before, the A concourse is a bit of a hike and I’m going out 12 - which darn near is in Stillwater. I huff and puff and show up just in time… Though I wasn’t the last person on the plane, it was tight. But I made it. And I’m now in St. Louis.
