Homeward bound (and gagged)

Warning: This post details Ross' magnificent struggle to return home, and being the disaster that it was, contains many negative vibes. Our regularly scheduled fun and positive blog will return shortly. This is a long and poorly written post but I'm not going to waste my, or anyone else's time to edit or improve it, so just skim through it, or skip it entirely, and consider it my way of venting. My counselor would be proud. Thank you!

Bottom line up front: I was supposed to be home by afternoon on Sunday the 7th. After being rescheduled, then straight up abandoned by my airline, I snuck onto an Air Force C-5 headed to Delware, and caught commercial air from there. Got home on Thursday the 11th, to find that our dishwasher sprung a leak while I was away, a puddle of resting water across half of our (newly remodeled) kitchen, dealing great damage to our (newly installed) floors, and down through the subfloor, and annihilated everything in that side of the basement - washing machine/dryer, and plenty of totes of junk included.

For the sake of humbleness, here's someone ACTUALLY having a bad day, and handling it much better than I handled a four day travel delay:

Morning 7 Jan 2018: Frankfurt, Germany

Leah and I woke up early so we could get showered, packed, and out the door to get me to my flight. The guy at the front counter was dragging his ass, handwriting me a receipt for my hotel tax/VAT/whatever that I didn't want in the first place. On a positive note, breakfast was ready well before their scheduled breakfast hours, and it was included with our stay there, so we grabbed some decent grub, then hit the road.

An easy half an hour drive brought us to the Airport, where we said our final farewells in the short-term drop-off zone. You know the drill: Smooch smooch, pinch pinch, etc!

I head inside and find the one WOW Airlines counter (whereas the other airlines have dozens of counters) but think nothing of it, since I'm super early, and there's no line... or employee present. Eventually, someone pops out, but I can tell they're not a WOW employee - they don't have the distinct face-melting pink clothing accessories. No problem though, they check me in, print my boarding passes, check my bag, and I'm on my way through the security checkpoint.

Once through security, I lounge around for a few hours near my gate. As boarding time gets closer, I check the status board, and notice the "gate" has been moved to "E" ... just a terminal, no gate number. I mosey to terminal E, where I find a small crowd of equally disoriented people trying to figure out which gate to go to. We nervously wait, until we hear the announcement with our gate number, which we flock to.

After a short wait there, they open the "gate" - so everyone lines up, getting their boarding passes scanned (not by a WOW employee) and move into what I thought would be an airplane (because, you know, I'm at an Airport...) but actually was just a secondary waiting room. I plop down on a seat and wait some more. I have no problem with the waiting game at an airport, and so far, so good here. This is the pivot point where things go sour...

The Frankfurt Airport employee who scanned everyone's boarding passes comes into the waiting room, and tells everyone they need to get out, pack into the terminal. Also, those who are connecting to O'Hare (me and a dozen or so other folks) need to go to the counter and have THE TALK.

My dumbass walks up to the counter with the other people, and like lambs to the slaughter, they inform us that WOW has delayed our flight because we wouldn't be able to catch our connector. Being non-WOW employees, they would not budge, had no more info to give other than a phone number for WOW, couldn't answer us on how/if we could get our checked luggages, and they quickly rushed us out of the terminal area so they could start letting everyone else back into the waiting room.

The dozen or so whip out our cell phone to call WOW, each on hold for around an hour before anyone answers. This guy was definitely NOT from Iceland, or the western hemisphere for that matter. Not a problem, I can deal with outsourced call centers, as long as I can get to what I need. The guy helps me reschedule my flight for the 9th, two days from now. Bummer, but not the end of the world.

Those of us who finished our calls head to baggage claim, and wait for our bags to magically appear somewhere, nobody could tell us where, or if they even would. We wait. And wait. And no bags.

Some attempt to call WOW, but are stuck on hold again. I decide I'm going back to the WOW counter up front to talk to someone face to face. I go through customs (boy, I had something to declare by this point) and back to the main departures hall. The lights and computers are off at the WOW counter, and nobody is home. I make my second call to WOW while sitting on the floor directly in front of their counter.

The helpful agent informs me that he can help with flight changes, bookings, etc, but for luggage, to speak to the person at the WOW counter. He helpfully gives me the location and counter number to find. I stare up at the sign hanging over the counter as he reads the it to me, dying a little inside with every number. I explain I'm already there, and there's nobody here, and there are no more WOW flights today, so I don't think anyone is showing up. He apologizes and tells me to find an information booth and seek help there.

I start bitching about taxi/shuttle fare, hotel fare, and he... shitting you not... tells me to go to the WOW counter for assistance with these matters. I fully realize he is staring at a script on a computer screen, and there's no button or module in the program he's using that will summon my luggage or give me taxi fare, and I fully realize that, having been sitting here for 2 hours now, nobody is coming to this counter. There was no help coming to me sitting here.

Funny thing about WOW call center: They end every conversation with "Have a WOW day!" but by this time, both of our souls were running on empty, so his tone and delivery made for a sad, but ultimately very humorous memory for me.

I find the info booth, bust my way through some language barriers (still in Germany here) and convince her that I need to find a lost luggage. She points me towards a super secret door that goes from the departures hall (unsecured) to the baggage claim (secured and still behind customs.) I go there, feeling like a secret agent, pick up the phone and say the magic word, and find myself back by the baggage carousels. My friends from before are all gone.

I find the luggage tracing office, and wait in line to talk to someone there. Not a long line, but slow as molasses in January. I finally get inside, and the clearly-way-more-flustered-than-me lady there starts mashing her keyboard, telling me she's trying to find out if my bags ever left Chicago. She's quite mashing, and I can hardly get a word in. I finally tell her to just stop, and listen. I explain once again that my bags are NOT in Chicago, that's impossible, because I'm departing Germany for Chicago, and the airline I was supposed to be on left ~5 hours ago. She told me that she doesn't need to file a report then, and that I need to go check the ARCHIVES for my bag.

She points me to another door. I go and knock. The judas hole slides open and a beady eye asks me my intentions. Several locks click and clank open, and the cold air hits me as the door swings open. I follow the hooded man down the stone corridor, I swear I hear a crow in the distance. We come to a room, vast, filled with luggages. Some are wrapped in cellophane (!?) but mostly are just regular, black, luggage. I peruse, shop around a bit, but come up empty handed. He escorts me back to the baggage carousels.

A sparkle catches my eye, far in the distance, in a corner where just minutes ago stood nothing at all, a single luggage. Black, with a metal FORECAST emblem proudly worn. I don't know how it got there, nobody was around to thank, but I grab whoever's luggage this is, and go through customs one more time.

Bag in hand, devoid of options here, I hail a $60 shuttle back to Rammstein Air Base to surprise my ever-loving and patient girlfriend with my presence once again.

8 Jan 2018: Rammstein Air Base, Germany

Not much to report here. A down day before my flight tomorrow. I book a $60 shuttle to the Airport for tomorrow morning, and since I wasn't going to unpack anything for just one day, and Leah had to work, I sat around and drank beer, brooding. Pay heed: beer comes in liters in Germany. A 6-pack there is a 9-pack back home. (This wouldn't be the last time I was burnt by a foreign currency conversion...)

Late at night, just before bed, I receive two emails:

Note: These are around 8pm Germany time

These are both bad news. For one, my flight might have been canceled, and I should go to goo.gl for more info. Sounds like a phishing/scam to me, including the "your flight to DUB" (Damnit I'm not going to DUB! You can see my path FRA-KEF-ORD literally in the same sentence.) If nothing else, proves the unprofessional-ism of WOW Air. Also, while light snacks are good, I generally prefer something more hearty. Without the mental capacity to do much of anything with these, I settle in for some rest.

Ass early, 9 Jan 2018: Rammstein Air Base, Germany

I dragged my half-alive, hungover ass out of bed and shuffled down the Airport shuttle. We got on the freeway for a bit, then got off, and went into increasingly narrow and rural roads into the German countryside. I though I was going to be sold into the sex trade, which didn't sound like the worst way for this adventure to end, but then we ended up at some ye olde house to pick up some ye olde people also heading to the airport. OK, better that way I suppose.

A two hour drive later, we're at the Airport, and to my disdain, the WOW counter. THE (singular) WOW counter. is again unmanned, lights off. An anxious small crowd pools around me. Eventually, a fella creeps out of the back office looking like he drew the short straw, and approaches the mob. Like many sacrificed Frankfurt employees before him, he had to try to explain that he's not a WOW employee, and that he had no information for us other than our flights today are canceled.

The mob grows angry, demanding hotel accommodations, taxi fare, sharpening their pitchforks (were they going to check those - or try to get them through TSA?) while tears roll down his cheek. I see exactly where this is going. Been there, done that, I'm a grizzled veteran by now. I leave before any blood is shed, and head toward where I can hop another $60 shuttle back to Rammstein.

While waiting for my shuttle, I complete the very professional goo.gl (google docs, are you joking?) form and request the next available WOW flight back home. For shits, I check the "last minute flights" desk, and the internet, but find anything going stateside in a day or two is at least $1500, one way. Yikes.

At some point (I'm losing track of time by now) I get the following email:

Please note the unspecific "the next flight is after 14Jan" and complete horse shit "please proceed to our check-in desk at the airport if you require assistance with hotel accommodation." Thanks WOW, for offering to delay me a minimum of one week, and a phantom to help with transportation or lodging.

Humble moment: I have a place to stay, on base, with Leah, and am not in dire straits for taxi/shuttle service... so I feel way worse for the other folks trying to get home, than for myself.

There's no way in hell I'm waiting another six days to get home! Every day that passes uses my vacation time at work, gets under Leah's nerves, and has a negative impact to the German national beer reserve. Time to get creative.

Get up an stretch. This is going far longer than I had intended.

I don't believe anybody will have gotten this far in this blog, so I'm calling you out. If you've gotten this far, comment on this blog post, and misspell a bunch of words in your comment so I know you've read this. Do it! You'll get a fabulous prize!

Being a proud non-commissioned officer in the world's most powerful Air Force, and on a giant Air Force Base (the largest population of US citizens outside of CONUS, FYI!) I thought hey: the AIR FORCE has AIR PLANES! Some of them go places! Sometimes they go towards home! Maybe I can get on one!?

By now I'm back on base. I go to the air terminal and start schmoozing the dude on duty there. I explain that I'm in a bind, and that I am scheduled to take a WOW flight... he interrupts me by rolling on the floor laughing. Apparently, WOW is fairly well known around these parts, and not for good reasons. Once he composes himself, he gives me instructions on how to use the "Space Available" system - something that allows retirees, family, and active members to occupy less-than-full government aircraft, when possible.

The next flight to CONUS is at ass crack early (which is earlier than "ass early" FYI) and goes to Dover, Delaware. I'm sold. I've never been to Delaware, but it sounds like paradise right now. I sign every form he gives me without delay. I'm willing to slice my own spleen out if it'll help my chances. Luckily, no spleen is needed for Space-A travel. There's 70+ seats to Dover at 0300, as long as I'm here on time.

I head back to Leah's room, bug her at work for her key, and drink more beer in her room. She must've gotten home at some point, because she picked me up from the floor and put me into the bed. Score!

Ass crack early, 10 Jan 2018: Rammstein Air Base, Germany

Clickity clickity clickity.

By the time I resume consciousness, I'm walking down a street that I don't know. My pedometer says I've made it half a mile toward the air terminal. The sidewalk is all cobblestones, and it's messing with my zen thing. It's less than 2AM, and my ever-reliable FORECAST luggage angrily rolls by my side, greeting every cobbled stone with a loud CLUNK, CLUNK. I'm waking up so many people right now, strolling right outside their lodging buildings. Leah will be in the front of the angry mob, but the mob itself will be hundreds deep. I might get slightly harmed in the battle, and I don't want to harm my face. Time to think of alternatives...

"This is bullshit!" I think. I look every which way. No cars. 2AM on an Air Force base in the middle of nowhere. I decide: I'm rolling this thing down the side of the smooth road instead. I drop my luggage to the road and start rolling on, in silence.

THREE SECONDS go by before the lights and sirens.

All y'all non Air force members, let me reveal a secret to you. The greatest threat of a young enlisted member of the Air Force... despite what the movies or media tell you... is not ISIS, Russia, or North Korean. It's another US Air Force member who has selected you as a target. If your pants aren't tucked in right, or if your velcro patches are incorrectly positioned, you are the enemy. The worst of all is when someone thinks that you might be doing something unsafe. We must wear reflective belts or vests over our camouflage uniforms so that we can be seen. Not making this up. Like what, am I trying to be visible or invisible? Is our profession not inherently unsafe?

Humble: I was, in fact, walking in the road with my luggage. The side gutter area of the road, but still in the road. I had, in fact, zero reflective belts or vests on my person. I thank the gods I was stopped that morning, else I might've been crushed to death and could've ended this blog here.

I corrected myself, said my sincerest apologies, go back onto the cobbled sidewalk, arms waving in the air, fireworks and shit, so all those 2am cars would see me... until the cop car disappeared, then went back into road and walked to the air terminal, didn't come across another car. I roll my happy ass into the air terminal. and got on a random Air Force plane. Attempt #3 to fly home.

Space-A travel is a unique beast. Your name gets put on an ever-shuffling list of prioritized passengers and cargo. There's only so much room on a jet, and it goes to things supporting missions first, then to us Space-A leeches. If a bunch of soliders need a hop somewhere, you might get bumped. If they add a bunch of cargo bins, you might get bumped. Retirees can use this system as well, but are lower priority than current active members (like me) so my being there might've bumped someone else. It's a way to travel for cheap or super free, IF you're willing to take on the risks and headaches.

I make the cut, there's not many people trying to go to Delaware on a C5 at 0200, go figure. We get bused to the jet (kind of fun versus the Airport hallway thingies) and I find an open seat. We take off, I'm feeling pretty good. Two hours in, and I'm feeling pumped! Watching some movies I loaded to my tablet the night before. It's not time for a second reward, yet, but I want to congratulate your for getting this far. I haven't even gotten this far, and I'm writing this post, so go figure that one out!

The cabin lights kick on and the on-duty guy makes an announcement. We're having mechanical issues, and need to turn this bird around. What is left of my willpower fades away. We turn around, and two hours later, I set foot back on the ramp at Rammstein Air Base, and get bused back to the terminal.

I sit in the Air Force terminal while my bros in blue are tinkering with it, or so I assume, you can't actually see it from here. They don't release much info to us Space-A peons, so it's a betting game. I could walk away and try another day/another method, or stick around and hope they get it fixed in a reasonable amount of time. I stuck around. While sitting there, several jets come and go, it's fun to see uniformed members just going on deployment, or coming back after who-knows-how-long away from home.

2pm, 10 Jan 2018: Rammstein Air Base, Germany

Terminal guy find me and tells me he thinks the jet is fixed! The air crew isn't there, and they're the ones to give it the final blessing "Yeah, I can fly this!" but the maintenance guys are all done with their work. Good news! Another hour passes, during which you can assume the Air Crew is inspecting the jet. And then, the announcement: it's air worthy! Good thing too, because as far as I can tell, my only remaining option to get home was to run really fast westward, and start flapping my arms.

Boarding once again, positive vibes. The jet is basically empty, so I find a spot to lay down and catch some sleep. Very very noisy, but I have earplugs to I pop those in, craft a makeshift blanket out of my jacket (this isn't a commercial jet, and without heat it gets cold at 30k feet.) and pillow from some folded shirts in my carry-on, and drift off to some rough sleep.

Looooong flight, from Germany straight to the good ole USA. But when the lights kick on, and we start our descent, I'm energized enough to do some cartwheels then and there. As we descend, I see the Statue of Liberty (no not really) and hear the national anthem.

8pm, 10 Jan 2018: Dover Air Base, Delaware

Dover is a barren wasteland in the geometric middle of nowhere on the East Coast, but I'm happy to be here. It's 8pm or so local time, so everything is basically shut down and closed. They boot me out of the terminal with my bags, close and lock the door so they can finish their shift and go home. Welcome to America.

Dover is sorta like this

I hail a shuttle from Dover to Baltimore, which is the closest civilization, and happens to have a massive Aiport that can probably get me home. 2 hour taxi ride: not cheap, but worth it. By now I've booked a SouthWest flight straight to Milwaukee tomorrow morning, and a cheap hotel in the Baltimore Airport.

The taxi drops me AT the airport, despite my bitching. So, I get out, wait 20 minutes, then get into the free airport shuttle to my hotel which is a 5 minute drive away. To my amusement the entire first floor is of the hotel being remodeled, so when I walked in, it was all tarps and construction materials/tools everywhere. Like a scene from a horror movie, I'm pushing my way through the tarps trying to find a person (it's like 10pm now.) I figure out that the reception desk has been relocated to the second floor - it's just a dude sitting in the hall with a laptop - but he gets me checked in and gives me a key. The room is sufficient for my needs - nice and quiet, within walking distance to a Chipotle for my Sofritas fix (if you haven't tried it, go do it right now. Trust me. It's better than the rest of this blog.)

Belly full, and with some light at the end of the tunnel, I get some good sleep. Another early morning wake-up, to check out, grab some food (which is just a guest room they're temporarily using as a breakfast area. People sitting on the bed eating and such. Amusing.) and catch the 6am hop to the Airport by myself.

6am, 11 Jan 2018: Baltimore

Southwest owns an entire departure terminal at the BWI airport. The exact opposite of the single WOW counter at Frankfurt, there are automated check-in machines and SouthWest employees hovering, as far as the eye can see. I walk right up to a machine, it spits out a label to put on my bag, which I then drop off on their scale/conveyer thing, and it gets sucked into that mysterious hole behind the counter.

Easy breasy through TSA, and I'm chilling at my gate. The gate doesn't change, there's a SouthWest employee there the whole time, and boarding begins on time. Wow! An actual functioning airline. Let me rephrase. Sweet! An actual functioning airline. Weird to be back on a normal plane with all the creature comforts (except leg room, thanks mom.) I order some fizzy water, which is served up along with their usual pretzel/peanuts snack, and a smile. Love it!

Easy flight to Milwaukee, my heart started thumping when I saw the shore, and then could make out landmarks around my house. So close to home I could get there by jogging now! But, I decided to have a coworker pick me up from the Airport instead (thanks Jess!) Got my Jeep from where I left it parked, it was very angry but started after I whispered some sweet nothings to it. Drove down those old familiar roads to the house.

Noon, 11 Jan 2018: Home sweet home

When I leave for a trip, I make sure my house is clean and tidy, so that when I come home, it's welcoming and makes unpacking/recombobulating much easier. So, when I open the door, and step into a puddle, my nose is assaulted by a dank musty smell, I know something has gone wrong.

This. thing.

This fucking thing was leaking for the last couple o weeks. That's right, I swore! Because this thing SUCKS! It's the inlet valve for our dishwasher, and it sprung a slow drip-drip-drip leak, which over time, flooded the whole kitchen floor and everything under it. The puddle covered almost the whole kitchen floor. Our brand new hardwood floors are warped like a washboard, and the water flooded down through the subfloor, downward to the the laundry room in the basement below the kitchen. Brown standing water in washer/dryer, all over a bunch of tools and other things in storage there.

There goes the stress-free time I built for myself! Instead, I spend my first weekend back home scrubbing, cleaning, and drying, trying to get the washer/dryer back to working order so I can unpack my luggage and get everything washed. I put that leaky turd into a bucket that I occasionally empty, otherwise I won't be able to turn water on in the kitchen for cooking etc. As a good kick in the nuts, the dishwasher's warranty ended last month, so I have to pay for a new valve to replace the one that did potentially thousands of dollars of damage to my home and the things within it.

My face after this adventure

Noon, 20 Jan 2018: A week later

The mess is mostly cleaned up. Had to chuck a lot of stuff that was ruined in the basement, maybe that's a good way to trim my pack-ratted junk down a bit? Kitchen floors are still warped, some boards cracked due to the stress. Living with that for now, hoping they'll dry out and flatten down, but doubtful. When I have more willpower I'll have the guy who installed them stop over. Being real hardwood, maybe they can just be sanded/ground flat again?

I had to burn a full week of vacation time to the delays and home cleanup effort, but finally got back to work to catch up on what a month away does to my inbox there.

I'm home, I'm alive, and either a little tougher, or a little closer to an aneurysm due to the whole ordea.

Post finished, Hurray!