Visiting Northwestern: Part One (aka The Ordeal)

Thursday night, Mark and I left for a visit to Northwestern University in Chicago. For once, I decided to pay a few extra dollars and bought tickets for us to fly directly out of State College (instead of driving three hours to either Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, or DC or Baltimore, or New York). We had a 45 minute layover in Philadelphia before we would catch our flight to Chicago. We rarely fly out of State College because of the extra cost. I had forgotten the other reason why we never fly out of State College: the flight is reliably unreliable.

Sure enough, we left State College 10 minutes late. I wasn't worried at all, especially when we arrived in Philadelphia almost on time. Like most big airports, we had a series of hallways and transportation methods to traverse to get from Terminal D to Terminal A. Again, I wasn't worried, because I'm now walking in my boot. In fact, while walking, I was so proud of myself that not only could I walk independently, but I could pull my suitcase behind me.

25 minutes later, we walked up to our departing gate only to see the last person get on and to be told that our tickets had been sold. I hadn't realized how long it would actually take me to walk from one place to another. Seriously, I think I could have run from the one gate to the other in 5 minutes under normal circumstances, but these were no normal circumstances. I was so tired from walking so far (and so stressed about messing up our very full itinerary) that I just broke down and started crying. Obviously, the airline people have seen that reaction before, because they didn't blink an eye. Instead, we were sent over to the customer relations counter and were booked for the 6 a.m. flight in the morning.

Boy, did this ever give me a greater appreciation for people with handicaps and the insensitivity of workers in customer service fields. I seriously did the best that I could, but there were so few walking escalators. Too, not once did one person offer to have me driven anywhere. It was only when Mark got mad at the person at the counter when I was crying and he said, "Can we at least get a cart, or something?" that someone finally helped me. Too little, too late, I'm afraid.

So, with our flight leaving at 6 a.m., we figured it wouldn't be worth it to check into a hotel, so we set up shop at a deserted gate. Mark bought some food, and then there was nothing to do but wait. I took off my boot and elevated my ankle that was double in size. Since Mark had his horn with him, I suggested that he get some practicing in which he did for the next hour. Thankfully, we hadn't checked any baggage, so we had everything with us that we needed (including my allergy meds). After we had brushed our teeth, it was 11:30 p.m., and I figured it was time to go to sleep. However, the idea of sleeping on the dirty airport floor under glaring lights and 80's disco music was too much for me, and I worried about Mark's performance the next day without a good night's sleep. I started looking for a hotel that was actually connected to the airport. No such luck, but I did see a listing for the USO, and the wheels in my mind started turning.

The USO is an organization that has been around since at least World War II. It brings entertainment to the troops overseas (i.e. the Bob Hope show) and supports the troops in anyway it can. There are offices in over 37 airports around the world. While military service people (and their families) are waiting at airports, they can check in at the USO and get free food, free entertainment, and free lodging. It's nothing fancy, but it has helped us several times over the last 20 years. I called immediately and asked if we could still use the USO, considering John is no longer active duty. I was told "no", so I did the next best thing: I called John and told him about it. One phone call later and he had gotten us in (no surprise at all with the "can do it" attitude of my very determined, loving honey).

25 minutes later (and that much more walking), we showed up at the front door of the USO. All the feelings of serving in the military came rushing back to me as I saw the large flag hanging on the wall. As hard as the military was for John in his profession, it afforded us some of the sweetest moments of our family's history. The woman there, Maria, a short, buxom woman, looked up at our faces, looked down at my leg, and said, "I hear you've had a hard time of it." Again, I broke down crying, and she threw her arms around me. She then took us directly back to the bunk rooms, tucked us in and asked us if we needed anything else. I honestly couldn't believe her kindness. Not only was she helping us during a really hard situation, but she was breaking the rules (and risking her job) so that we could get some rest. I'm not sure I've ever been so happy to lay down in a bed.

Six hours later (and still in the same clothes), we were up again and Maria was still there.She took us around to the kitchen and tried to fill us full of all kinds of food. Homemade omelettes and breakfast paninis (made by the manager of the USO), yogurt, juice, you name it. In fact, she even wanted to fill our pockets full of Little Debbies and cookies for later. We started making the 25 minute walk back to Terminal D. We thankfully made it on the plane and were to Chicago O'Hare by 7:15 a.m. A 30 minute shuttle ride and we were to the car rental place, an hour drive in rush hour traffic, and we were to Evanston and the hotel. A quick breakfast and shower and then Mark was off to his first tour of the day.