Con mi amiga, eating pizza at a dope restaurant with the most glorious food I’ve tasted in a while, by the name of Barbuzzo, in Philly. Diva Status.

After many a flight delay, one missed connecting flight, followed by more flight delays, & one final F^#! you in the form of a flight cancellation, I realize, to my dismay that I am stranded at the Philadelphia (or Filadelphia if we’re in Madrid) airport indefinitely. My first instinct is to seek comfort in food form, like the gluttonous devil that I am (2nd instinct being to hijack a plane and drive myself home). I trudge on over to the unfortunate situation that is the Philadelphian airport foodcourt to drown my sorrows with a Chik-Fila lemonde & waffle fry (without question, the most unbeatable combination of treats). I gather my strength for the customer service fiasco that looms ahead. Lemonade in hand, trying not to cry since I’m inside & wearing sunglasses would be absurd, I boldly approach the line that I can only assume leads to the counter, not that you can tell from where I stand. Enduring the line itself is no small feat. I join a rough looking crowd, but I fit right in, looking real frazzled like. Naturally, everyone in line is livid. Contrary to what you might expect, I get no sense of community from these gems. It’s every man for himself out here, fighting to get home asap. To quell my anxieties, I use my first lifeline & “ask the audience” what the hell is going on. They tell me. And leave it at that. I try for some sarcastic banter with fellow miserables, but I soon realize that they don’t speak sarcasm & they only laugh because they haven’t a clue why I’m speaking to them. There is literally nothing worse than the pity laugh, except for U.S. Airways’ inability to fly planes according to schedule. I now feel even more alone, so I use my 2nd lifeline and phone a friend. I choose wisely, as my phone is dying and phone charger nooks at airports are prime real estate, and I don’t have the energy to fight for a plug right now. I seek comfort in my darling mother. A delightfully rude phone conversation which earns me no pity, but rather impatience and frustration. Fine. Don’t humor my complaints and whining. Woe is me, with a dying phone, and no camaraderie at all from fellow line-waiters, and no compassion from the woman who brought me into this world. I have no choice but to abandon the phone a friend/mother after a disappointing attempt that leaves me feeling even more distraught. Regis would surely be laughing at me now. The line has progressed, and after literally eons, I arrive at the front desk & speak with the most charismatic and understanding individual U.S. Airways has allowed onto their staff. This is sarcasm. If she had a spirit animal, it would be a troll. I am given my options, the best being to wait for the next available flight at 10 am the next day, meaning, sleep in the airport. Tempting. But no. It’s currently 3 pm, so spending 19 hours at the airport sounds a lot like suicide at this point. I respond to the options I am given by staring at the employee/creature with as much negative energy as I can muster while I chew my long gone lemonade’s straw. At this point the negativity is radiating off of every single person in this odd smelling, heinously lit, jam packed space, so I’m not exactly scrounging for ill-will. I accept my offer, only because I don’t have any lighter fluid to douse myself with/drink. I take my boarding pass with reluctance, and trudge on, letting the next person in line experience that angelic creatures sub par customer service skills. After the atrocious experience in line, speaking with the equally atrocious troll, & receiving my horrid fate, I faceplant on the ground of terminal whatever & cry. That’s when I spot an open wall outlet, like a mirage in the desert. False alarm, there’s a reason it’s not being used- it’s broken. My spirits plummet. Another 45 minutes go by & I get another opportunity to charge my device and this time with great success.  With the gradually charging phone in hand I give my light, my love, my Rosie a call on the telephone. Her name is actually not that, but I digress. She lives in Philadelphia and is the cats meow. Finally, Rose answers her mobile device & upon my explanation of current circumstances, she screeches out of joy, a noise that my vocal cords are incapable of duplicating. I am so drained that I am unable to reciprocate the excitement & because of this I am a bad, bad human being. But I blame the airline (LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO). My darling best friend whom I haven’t seen in ages (a month or two) is so very excited for me to be in her new city, as any sane person would be. & so just like that, I am swept away from the hell that is the Philadelphia airport by my long lost lovebug. We frolick around downtown, eat delicious foods, & watch Portlandia & it is so grand and wonderful to be with my best friend after such a horrendous day I could die. She chauffeured me back to the airport the next morning to send me on my way. Friendship above and beyond. Seriously.

And so I propose a toast to my best best friend in all the land, Alli Rose. I love you oh so much. (Sorry Jessy, but you guys are basically the same person, so I am essentially talking to you too when I write this.)

Day 73


2 thoughts on “Bestie

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