It’s been a while since I visited London, and finally my partner and I decided to go again. We decided that a week just wasn’t enough so we jumped in, both feet, and agreed to a 3-week stay. Instead of staying at a hotel, we wanted the “real” London experience of living in a flat, so we hooked up with a great service – AirBnB – and found a bedroom in Newham for a great price (all told a 3-week stay in London will set us back a couple grand – not bad).
Getting ready for the trip was excited, and though my fear of flying is legendary, we were on our way to the airport when we got a text from the airlines letting us know that our 4.30pm flight to Halifax was delayed an hour (we only found a ticket to London with a layover in Halifax). We settled down a bit on our long train ride to the airport because we were gifted an extra hour.
Then our flight to Halifax got canceled.
That’s when people watching turns from mere spectator sport to an all-in Olympic event. We rushed into the lines, hoping to get a spot early to fix our issue. It’s amazing how quickly my naturally genial personality becomes very ugly when I think somebody’s trying to pull one over on me. When the airline people made two lines to manage the growing crowd, my eyes became black like a shark’s when I thought that other people will be getting ahead of me. It’s troubling that my nature quickly is altered whenever I feel like I’m the victim of an injustice no matter how slight.
A pretty blond in front of us, festooned in all kinds of paraphernalia Canadian was particularly distressed because Halifax was her home. Another beautiful older woman was so angry that when she vented to the frazzled airline crew, her expensive silver bob quivered in indignation.
We were served by an attractive woman who looked like a heavier Candice Bergen. We begged her to place us on any flight to London for the night, and the only one she found that came remotely close had us hopping on like five plans, making the trip a long ordeal that wouldn’t save us any time. So we agreed to be flown out the next day. The reward for our understanding? A night at the Westin O’Hare.
After waiting an hour to get our luggage fished out of the bowels of the airport we were in the lovely Westin enjoying a night on United Airways’ dime. The stay was nice and the folks at the Westin could’ve have been more accommodating. We don’t have a TV at home, so the novelty of watching television was fun for a bit (though the day’s stresses and dittos had me knocked out by around 10.30am).
So now I’m in the Westin O’Hare’s lobby – it’s about 3.30pm, about to board the shuttle to return to O’Hare to hopefully get on another flight to London…