Redemption!

So, I capped off what was probably the worst week in Irvine with the best weekend in Vail, a trip I totally glommed onto at the last minute because I'm such a free spirit like that, and after surfing in feets upon feets of super fresh pow it was time to bid the good life adieu and make my way over to the gates of hell. Specifically, Denver International (gates) for a flight back to the lovely OC (hell). K-hat as usual insisted on driving me (man if you are lucky enough to be embraced as a friend by K-hat you are pretty much set for life). It usually takes about 2 hours and change to get there and my flight was at 8pm, but it was still snowing like crazy on top of Sunday night traffic so to be safe, we decided to leave the house at 3pm - no later than 3:30pm - with the goal of getting there by 6:30pm (I know, so not me but hey sometimes I "learn"). Bigtime had left at 1pm and was giving us shuttle-copter news on the traffic, confirming that it was indeed ugly. No problem, we thought - we gave ourselves about 3.5 hours, 4 even if you count that 1/2 hour cushion.

We left the mountain early and while everyone else was watching the Colts jam the Jets I was busy jamming my belongings into my board bag, with K-hat calling out the time in 2 minute increments. By the time I was done and we said our goodbyes, packed up the ridiculous-awesome flatbed we had rented and turned the ignition, the time was 3:34pm. Not bad. A full three hours minus a few cents. The snow was still a bit bad coming out of Vail, but nothing we didn't expect.

For the next hour, we slow-rolled it down I70 and when I checked my crackberry we were only at Silverthorne (not to be confused with Silverton, which I did). Not a huge deal, K-hat said. The weather was already starting to let up as the poor suckers over at Breck didn't get any snow (don't get me wrong I love Breck actually), so after the I-like-Ike tunnel the highway was sure to be neat and clean. As if we weren't going slow enough, traffic came to a complete stand still. Basically, they were shutting down the tunnel for 20 minutes at a time so that people could get through. (wha-??? It's a two way tunnel so we have no idea how that works, so if there's a traffic engineer out there who can enlighten, please feel free). At 5:00, we had moved all of 7 inches, and I was starting to get worried. K-hat still firmly believed that we'd be fine, because we just had to make it past the tunnel and then all would be easy breezy, but knowing me and my life I was less sure. At 5:20 we started moving - I guess we were in that 20-minute zone, but I really doubted that we'd make it to the tunnel in this round. Sure enough, at 5:40 we were stopped again and the mild concern started to set in. We weren't even at the tunnel yet and we had less than an hour to get to our goal.

Well, I guess I'm going to be hopping on the next flight, I thought, so sadly, I decided to call Frontier to see how I could work it. Of course, my crapberry decides to not work very well at this time the way it always doesn't work very well just when I need it most, and I can't find Frontier's number on its not-assberry-friendly website. More angst. It's almost 6 o'clock and we haven't moved, all I can think of is how I am facing another crappy airline experience and how this is so typical of me. It's so typical that it's contagious. K-hat tells me not to worry because even if I miss this flight, it's not the end of the world.* There's always another one and it's a lot less painful missing a flight going west than one going east. She's right. I get the bright idea to see if my confirm has the Frontier number and as I dejectedly scroll through the email, envisioning all you people ridiculing me for this latest misadventure, I see something strange.

It looks sorta like this:



Holy hog heaven! MY FLIGHT IS AT 9!!! NOT 8!!! I have an extra hour! All of a sudden my near future becomes brighter as, much like the opening theme to The Simpsons, the image of guffawing friends breaks away and is replaced with sights of moving traffic, cleared roads, and us zipping down the highway at the speed of light thus getting us to the airport just in time for my NINE PM flight.

It was indeed way past 6:30 when we finally exit the tunnel, but no problem - my flight was at NINE PM! We pull up to the curb at precisely 7:56 PM, pa-lenty of time for my NINE PM flight. Did I mention my flight was actually at NINE PM? Plus, no line for check-in/baggage, the septuagenarian Frontier lady even takes my board bag for me (suck it, Delta!), no line for security, and within minutes I relax into my seat in the airline lounge. I win.

For all your haters out there, may I present to you the TRUE Artemis. Sure, I get mixed up. Sure, I scramble. Sure, I am constantly shaving years off my life expectancy. But in the end, things always work out. Like a wise person once said, if there isn't a little excitement then it's just plain boring.

*For the record, both K-hat and Bigtime also agree that getting to the airport with no drama and ending up with too much time on your hands (read: if they're not roping off the gates and starting to close the jetway door) is a total rookie move, so K-hat and I realized that we should never ever under any circumstances try to take a flight together. Please remember this for us, friends.