Come with me on a trip. A trip that will test your will, your patience, and your belief in a God. A trip that, once told to grandchildren, will sound like a dark, magical tale of planes, tornadoes and cheap hotels. A cautionary tale, if you will.
We begin in Baltimore, Maryland. March 16, 2026.
I awake early to weather warnings. Severe thunderstorms. My cousins, with their government jobs, are heading home early. Schools are dismissing at 2pm. After school activities are cancelled. These storms are going to be bad.
My flight to Houston doesn’t leave until 5:04pm, but it’s a little over an hour’s drive to the airport, and I’m stressed about traffic. I’ve always hating driving around DC. And I want to get to the airport and be comfortably seated at a bar before all hell breaks loose. I leave LaPlata just before noon and arrive at the airport at 1:18pm (I have the text messages for accuracy).
I have TSA Pre-check, so security is quick and uneventful. I know I’m lucky. I’d been hearing horror stories of other, larger airports that have hours long wait times (side note: this is called foreshadowing). I thank the Universe for the assistance as I spot my first bar. I check my United app and see that so far, we are on time. Lovely. I order a Espresso Martini, my new go to, and settle in for people watching and texting my cousins to make them laugh.
Before I even finish my martini, the app tells me we are delayed by an hour. Not bad. That will put me into Houston around 8:30pm. Totally doable. I order another martini.
Before I finish my second martini, the app tells me we’re delayed ANOTHER hour. Hmm. This is getting a bit troublesome. This will put me in Houston much later than I’m comfortable with. But, what are you going to do?
You’re going to go to another bar, this one right beside your gate, so that you can be ready at a moment’s notice, yet still be entertained.
At 6:48pm, our new departure time is 8:05pm. By now, I’ve had two Espresso Martinis and two Old Fashions. And two baskets of french fries. I close out my tab, say goodbye to my new friends (one of which has been growing his handlebar mustache since 1968. It’s quite impressive.) and head to my gate, mentally preparing myself for landing in Houston very late, getting my rental car, and driving to Carolyn’s, my first stop. I can do this. It’s an adventure.
We finally board the plane and taxi out at 8:49pm. Just as we’re about to take off, the captain tells us a big swell is right on top of us, so we’ll be taxing back to the gate to wait it out. That’s fine. The 89 year old man beside sighs and mutters “I just want my dinner.” This brings me to the flight attendants.
This flight is, apparently, a training flight for two very young male first class attendants. Yes, I’m in first class. Because I splurged on this trip. So it’s 9pm, we’re delayed by four hours, and the two attendants appear to be on their very first training flight. Poor bastards. Surprisingly, the passengers were all very calm and patient. Maybe they were just beaten down and too tired to be grumpy.
Back at the gate, we’re told there is a “situation” in the back of the plane and we will be delayed by “a few minutes”. To his credit, my neighbor is remaining calm but I know how cranky people get when they’re hungry. I pull a few Nutrigrain bars and other various snacks out of my carry-on and ask if he’s hungry. He smiles and said, “Yes, but I’m okay for right now. Thank you, though.” I leave them on the large armrest and tell him he’s welcome to any of it.
Finally, we’re cleared for takeoff. At 10:52pm. It’s a three hour flight. After two hours in the air, we finally get a drink and our dinner. The old man beside me has two Bloody Mary’s in the span of 30 minutes. Bless his heart. I merely have water because, believe it or not, I’ve had my feel of alcohol today. And I have to drive through downtown Houston in the middle of the night. Shoot me.
We land in Houston at 1:23am. The rental car counters all closed at midnight. Sigh.
I think, I am a grown woman with a credit card. This is not a crisis. I can figure this out.
After 45 minutes, I get my checked bag and look for the taxi stand. I tell the gentleman to take me to the Ramada Inn. It’s the closest and cheapest inn near the airport. I can sleep for a few hours, then go back to the airport in the morning, get my car, and head to Carolyn’s! Easy peasy.
The nice driver is trying to make small talk with me by asking if I like the view. I laugh. “I lived here for 20 years. The view does not impress me. I am very tired.” He continues being friendly, even as he drives right past the Ramada Inn. He then pulls into the La Quinta Inn and quickly realizes he messed up. And he’s all apologies. I said it doesn’t matter, I don’t have a reservation anywhere so this is fine. I enter the lobby and am immediately concerned. There are a number of people on their phones, milling about, and a woman asleep in a chair with all of her luggage around her.
I approach the desk and the clerk, while on the phone, mouths “ID?” I shake my head. I don’t have a reservation. He mouths “All full up”. No rooms. I am frozen. I had not anticipated this little hiccup. No rooms? You’re a hotel. You have tons of rooms! The clerk hangs up the phone and tells me that they filled up at 10pm. There are no available rooms at any hotel within a 20 mile radius of the airport. A lot of flights were cancelled.
At this point I *almost* snap. Almost. I have used my wit, wisdom and maturity to get me this far and my tank is depleted. I’m running on fumes. And french fries. Who can I call at 2am in Houston to come get me? No one. There is no one. Well, no one I would do that to.
The clerk tells me that if I can wait until 4:30am, whichever rooms have not been check into, will become available. Hmm. Do I go back to the airport and sleep there in a corner until the rental car counters open at 7am or do I wait for two hours to get a room (hopefully) and rest up for the trek back to the airport and the drive to Carolyn’s? The lobby of the La Quinta Inn is quite nice, with the exception of what looks like a prostitution deal going on over by the free coffee, so I opt to loiter here, on a bench in the corner until 4:30am. I am one of three other women doing the same thing. I design our matching T-shirts in my head as I rest my eyes. “I survived the lobby of the La Quinta Inn”
At 4:30am, the clerk motions us over. It’s a bit chaotic because there are people checking out early for their flights so newer arrivals (who have not been loitering in the lobby for two hours) are asking the clerk “Can I just take their room!?” but he politely tells them no, and turns his attention to me for my information and credit card. I finally have a key card in hand and head down the hall to the very sketchy elevator (top floor, baby!) in search of my room. Once in said room, I sigh and begin to fall asleep before I even take my shoes off, only to discover the bed is unmade and there are towels are on the floor.
But really? How much do I care at this point? I think back to the prostitution deal I may or may not have witnessed, and immediately leave them room, go back down the rickety elevator and approach the desk. “Did the key not work?” the clerk asks. “Room’s not turned over,” I reply. “Shit,” the clerk says. “Hang on.”
Another room key, a different rickety elevator. But a suite! Two distinct rooms! The clerk must have felt sorry for me. Whatever. Shoes off, hair in ponytail, alarm set on the phone. The clock says 5:46am and then I sleep.
I wake with a start and look at the clock – 9:25am. Wha…?! I was scheduled to be on the 9am shuttle back to the airport! Why? WHY?! I grab my phone to see why my alarm didn’t go off and notice it says 8:25am.
What is happening?! Who is in charged of the hotel clocks?!
No matter. I trust my phone. I have plenty of time to get the shuttle. Breathe.
I make the shuttle, secure my car (which is a different story all together) and hit the freeway in Houston, Texas. At 10:30am on Tuesday morning. Once at Carolyn’s, and after I figure out how to put this freakin’ car into park, I knock on her door weakly. When she opens it, I merely croak out, “Mommy?” She laughs and hugs me and suddenly my US Tour is back on track. Though it feels like I’ve lost an entire day.
Onward.
