why i hated today, and frontier airlines in particular

1.) My flight was at 6:00am.

2.) I didn't sleep at all. Not one wink.

3.) I arranged a cab pickup for 4:45am. At 4:30, Grandpa got up, offering to drive me to the airport. Which was ridiculously sweet.

So I called the cab company. Canceled my pickup. And seconds later, my cell phone rings and it's the cab driver calling me from his car demanding to know "WHY DID YOU CANCEL THE CAB and YOU TELL ME NOW! and DON'T YOU KNOW I WASTED GAS MONEY DRIVING TO YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD and I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR EXCUSES and BY THE WAY I'M STILL IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD."

Fuh-reaky.

4.) Unnerved, I keep an eye out for said driver who was, clearly, in the neighborhood. And within mere moments, I see a man, lunging from his car and running aggressively toward our front door with something rather big and bulky in his arms. A bomb? A BOMB! He hurls it from his arms and it lands with a thud just outside the front door.

And always one to keep my cool, I take action equivalent of shrieking, "Ohhhh 82-year-old Grandpa.....! Scary Taxi Man is about to kill us- SEE YA!" and I bolt for the back of the house.

One of my banner moments. But, I come back. And gingerly open the front door to find...

the Sunday paper.

5.) So we get in the car to go to the airport. And are keenly aware of every taxi cab in the vicinity... stalking, lying in wait to ambush us.

And then, red and blue flashing lights. "Have you been drinking, sir?" and "Did you know you are driving without your headlights?"

Grandpa, at this point, is wishing he'd stayed in bed, and wasn't so nice and thoughtful. And none too soon, he kicks my troublesome butt to the curb at SeaTac.

Where...

6.) I heave and battle to unload my two just-shy-of-50lbs-each bags, brimming with not less than 25 books and 75 CD's retrieved from the Twisp house. Mostly mountaineering books, mind you, for a CERTAIN SOMEONE.

Not normally one to hire wheels, I head straight for the cart rentals, where I discover they cost four dollars. FOUR DOLLARS! Hmph! I wrangle one 50lb bag onto my back and somehow attach the other to leftover appendages.

7.) I check in. My first bag, as expected, is $15. But my second bag, for no reason other than it's number two, is $25. And I say, out loud, I hate you, Frontier Airlines.

8.) I bypass Tully's and Seattle's Best Coffee, hoping to find sleep on the flight, and stumble to my gate where I drop in exhausted relief into my (middle) seat only to discover three - THUH-REE - small children occupying the seats directly in front of me. An infant. A two-year old. And a five-year-old. And I mutter, with a bit more venom than before, I hate you Frontier Airlines.

9.) But I do sleep, in between tantrums, fits, and infant-clogged ears. And turbulence. Which I hate infinitely more than $4 carts.

10.) I move in a sleep-deprived daze to baggage claim and see people, at 9am, eating the strangest things for breakfast. Thai food. Fried chicken. Popcorn. I feel a little queasy.

11.) Carts in Colorado, it turns out, are also $4. I lug my crap a really. long. way. to the shuttle bus, which will take me to my car.

12.) But my car was not parked by me, and I guess I didn't pay close enough attention to where in the GIANT lot the car would be. So we drive around. And around. And look. And look. And much later, find said car. At which point, my hatred is no longer limited to Frontier Airlines. It knows no bounds.

13.) I settle into the car. Relief. I'm almost home. Sleep is imminent. But first, I have to pay for parking. Where I discover two new things. The daily rate has increased from $6/day to $10/day AND a day, to DIA, is 22 hours. And this, combined with everything else, is just too much.

I look at the attendant and say, through gritted teeth,

NOOOO...one day is TWENTY FOUR HOURS.

And the attendant says, I'm sorry, ma'am. But you'll see on your receipt that at DIA one day is 22 hours.

And I say, Well that's WRONG. Everyone knows ONE DAY is 24 hours.

And I peel off feeling vindicated and oddly profound...wise even. Because while I can't always control sleepless nights, threatening cab drivers, accusing police officers, unreasonably expensive carts, $25 bag fees, screaming kids and bouncing planes, or heavy bags and misplaced cars, I can set the record straight on what a day is. It's 24 hours.

This, I can take on.