Story time: All this news about cancelled flights and people getting stuck in airports this past week made me want to write down the Griswold-esque comedy of nonsense that was the Jemison Family Ski Trip of 2004.
Myself, Will, 3 year old Jemison and 6 month old H.T. went with my parents and brothers to Beaver Creek the week before Christmas. It was a gorgeous and amazing week of skiing and fun. When we got on the flight in Colorado to head home, we thought it was going to be a hop up to Minneapolis, a quick layover and then on back to Alabama. We checked all of our bags, put the boys in the double stroller and left Colorado with the clothes on our backs and a cavalierly under-stocked diaper bag. Because, you know, we are seasoned travelers and it was just two flights. Easy peasy.
Reader, I assure you it was not.
We landed in Minnesota, grabbed a burger at the food court and all eight
of us went to the gate to board the flight to Alabama. The whole area was empty except for a couple of other travelers. No biggie. We were early.
Then after a while we noticed there was no gate agent. Then we noticed the flight information on the monitor had gone blank. This was before iPhones, mind you.
Will goes up to the nearest agent and guess what? There was a HISTORIC blizzard sweeping the country and everything travel wise in AMERICA was pretty much shut down. Somehow we had missed that lil bit of news. No flights until morning at the earliest and there were only about 700,000,000 other people at the Minneapolis/StPaul airport people trying to figure out what to do, too.
After MUCH waiting and negotiating and grinding of teeth, the airline FINALLY got us and a shuttle full of other lovely folks to a hotel for the night, complete with vouchers for dinner at the hotel restaurant, with instructions to keep calling to see about getting on a flight the next morning.
It was a pleasant -90 degrees and whiteout conditions as we made our way through town and to our destination, the spectacularly named Thunderbird Hotel and Casino.
As we made our way through what can only be described as a Snowpocalypse the short distance from the bus to the hotel entrance, I held my infant to my breast in the dramatic stance of a pioneer woman who has lost her way from the wagon train whilst crossing the mountains with the Donner Party. My oldest son, who at this point was absolutely having the HYPERACTIVE TIME OF HIS LIFE as a result of earlier being bribed by his grandfather with every gummy bear and worm the airport had to offer, was bundled up in his grandmother’s very chic mink vest that came down to the tops of his tiny little size 8 Justin’s.
We get into the hotel and are given 2 rooms for 6 adults and two children. Fine. That’ll work.
We make our way quickly (no luggage, remember?) to the elevators and to our floor.
At this point I start to do a visual sweep of this establishment. Slot machines. Lots and lots. Also, a bar with many taxidermied animals posed in various thematic scenarios. Additionally, one did get the feeling of traveling back in time to perhaps the 1970s heyday of this resort because in addition to the plethora of Brady-tastic Harvest Gold and Burnt Orange draperies, every ten yards or so down the looooong corridor to our rooms, there were conveniently placed wall-mounted ashtrays. Not only was smoking allowed here, it was ENCOURAGED. Here at the Thunderbird Hotel and Casino we hope you will enjoy an unfiltered Chesterfield or six while strolling from the slots back to your room!
So we get to the rooms and the first thing we notice is the two inches of frost on the window…INSIDE. But look, at least we aren’t spending the night in the airport. We can huddle together and sleep in a bed and take a hot shower in the morning even if we have to put on the same stale clothes. Oh and that shower…unusual. My husband literally manufactures and sells bathtubs and showers and had never seen anything like this. A brown square sunken area about 18 inches wide with plastic folding deathtrap doors and yep, you guessed it, an ASHTRAY thoughtfully placed so as to enjoy another unfiltered Chesterfield as you bathe your nethers! Amazing!
Ok so after we checked our our rooms we reconvened to see about using those vouchers for some dinner. Except we can’t find my brothers. We walk down to the restaurant and who is sitting at the bar, cashing in ALL OF THE VOUCHERS FOR JACK AND COKES? My Bammer brothers, that’s who. Roll Tide I guess!
At this point I really don’t recall the details which is probably best for all concerned. I assume we ate something or we may have just snacked on discarded cigarette butts on the way back to the room. I do know the 4 Rices slept in their clothes, in the one bed which I feel like was a twin size which surely not but honestly who can say?
So is this the end of our tale?
NOPE READER, IT GETS BETTER!!
The next morning, we show up at the airport to attempt to fly standby. Utter chaos. A zillion people, computers down, Karens freaking out right and left nonsensically screaming. The flight we were hoping to get on comes and goes, no room. The next possible standby flight is to Nashville, not Birmingham, you know, where all of our cars are. No matter!! Nashville it is! We will figure shit out when we get there! Just head south, that’s all that’s important at this point.
They call us to the gate and say there are only 4 seats. As we are debating who will go and who will stay, my mother, to her credit, starts low key herding us down the jetway, saying under her breath
“Just GO! GO! They don’t know what they’re doing!”
Mercy of mercies, like a game of musical chairs, all seven of us drop our Alabama butts into 6 empty seats (remember I have a babe in arms. Who is in his next to last diaper.) No ticket, no nothing. Just adrenaline and audacity. Off we go!!
Ahh that’s the end of the story, right?
HELL TO THE NO, READER!
We land in Nashville and think we will pile into a couple of rental cars and head to Bham and be done with this
absurdity.
BUT NO!!
There are no rental cars to be found bc everyone and their auntie are dealing with this crazy blizzard shutting down travel and we are late to the party. We call around searching for cars or flights or whatever to no avail. But eventually my enneagram 8 husband comes up with hiring a LIMO. Yes. Where there’s a WILL there’s a WAY.
Well friends, our limo pulls up to BNA and the 4 Rices and 4 Jemisons pile into the only vehicle in Nashville willing to drive us to Birmingham. And it is BIG and WHITE and A CADILLAC and it was manufactured during the REAGAN ADMINISTRATION. This is facts.
Child safety seats? Never heard of ‘em. Pass me that dusty bottle of white Zinfandel. Let’s ride.
We go floating down I65S on the cloudlike shocks only a genuine land yacht can provide.
After what I assume and fervently pray was a generous cash tip, our angel driver deposited us safely in the long term parking at Bham Shuttlesworth.
The 7 of us split apart and ran to our respective vehicles with barely a “Yalldrivesafecallyatomorra!” tossed over our shoulders and thankfully, blearily headed to our own homes. Nary a thought given to our luggage…which did eventually show up mid-January.
Walk Home Together 