Have I told you much about my dear younger sister? There’s a small background on the wedding party over at our “official” wedding website, but to paint you a clearer picture of the girl I call my Mini Twin, take a moment to soak in her recent adventure to the West Coast :
In preparation for the Mini Twin’s solo adventure across the country, Mom and I gave every piece of advice we could on air travel. How to fit five pairs of shoes and two weeks-worth of clothes in a mid-size suitcase (me), what carry on liquids need to go in a Ziploc (mom), where to check for last minute gate changes and how to run with a roll-y bag in the event there is one (me), etc. And just for reinforcement, we urged her to ask someone if she ever wasn’t sure about something – or even if she thought she was.
After arrival and successful navigation through CLE security, I gave Mini Twin a few final instructions before she boarded leg1 of her flight to Orange County. This included strict orders to board her connecting flight, regardless of how badly she’d like to stay in Vegas.
When MT answered my “did you find your connecting gate?” text with “didn’t have to change planes”, I didn’t think much of it. Flight itineraries change all the time. When she sent another text saying she was due to land 35 minutes before previously scheduled, I got a little curious, but nothing more. When she finally sent a text saying they were getting ready to take off, and she’d call me from LAX, this is what happened :
[I’m outside with Chico]
S text to MT : “LAX? What? No. Orange County. Ask somebody if you’re on the right plane”
S calls MT : [straight to voicemail]
[drag Chico mid-pee back to the apt – finally get in, rather huffy-puffy from stomping/powerwalking]
S to B : “MT’s on the wrong F’ing plane”
B : [looks a little bewildered, but not necessarily surprised] “… what?”
S : “She’s. On. The. Wrong. Plane. She’s landing in LA in 30 minutes”
B : [chuckles to himself, shakes head, continues studying]
The next half hour was spent being transferred through the phone-chain at Southwest Airlines, trying to figure out which flight she was checked in for (no in-flight passenger rosters), if her boarding pass had been scanned anywhere (information not available), and if it was possible for somebody to be on a flight they did not have a ticket for (apparently so).
And they’re worried about how many ounces of contact solution I have in my carry-on?
I scheduled Supershuttle to pick her up from LAX and take her to SNA (the airport she SHOULD HAVE flown into), where her bags and a slightly frazzled elder sister would be waiting for her. As B so eloquently put it, it’s not every day your bags make it to the right place and you don’t.
Things are always a little a lot more interesting when MT is around.
We made the obligatory inaugural stop for frozen yogurt, since I’m a softie and renigged on my “you’re grounded” threat. Also, because I can never say “no” to froyo. We had a good laugh once we got home and settled (and were filled to the eyeballs with House of Yogurt)
In my recent efforts to see the best in every situation and quit being such miserable uptight bitch, I found two “silver linings” buried within this little fiasco :
– The baggage carousel in Orange County started turning like, two minutes after the shuttle dropped her off
– She could have accidentally flown to like, Biloxi
From opposite sides of the family tree branch with love,