I’m sitting here at the La Quinta Inn & Suites, near Disneyland. It’s Saturday morning and the breakfast hall is filled with anxious children, worn down parents, and crying babies. The breakfast, pretty typical for a motel, isn’t too bad. The coffee is hot which is good because it’s terrible. Good coffee, the really good stuff—freshly roasted, brewed heavy, bowel shakingly strong—doesn’t matter what temperature it cools down to. It has flavor, you see.
Today marks a week of travel for my wife and I. Our goal was to find a place to live in Rochester, NY, so we flew over there and stayed a few days. I met with the University as well, discussing what I need to get in order.
We stayed with old friends, met with new people, found some internet people (Tony, I’m glad you’re a real person. You just never know!). We drove to, what felt like, every corner of Rochester searching for apartments.
There and Back Again
It’s been a rough week of travel. We had rental car issues and hotel issues; our Chicago layover turned into a mid-life crisis (a storm came in—on our way back to LAX—and the lightning grounded all flights).
So we sat in the terminal. Every few minutes we’d find out our flight was delayed further. Many flights were cancelled, so we were thankful, at least, ours wasn’t. As the night progressed, lines built up, people paced, airport employees updated through indecipherable intercoms.
I was mixed. Yes, I desperately wanted to leave, but no, I didn’t want to die in a Chicago storm. The storm would pass and I was fine waiting. After all, we packed Redbox DVDs and found a seat near a charging plug.
As the night turned later, people’s attitudes grew dimmer. I wont lie and say that I didn’t complain, because I did. Ultimately though, I was starkly reminded that worrying and complaining—literally—get’s you nowhere.
We were stuck in an airport and had nothing to do but practice patience.
With the Lord’s favor, we made it back to LA in time to pick up Megan’s sister and her sister’s friend who traveled down to visit. Before that, we were able to check into our sketchy Los Angeles motel and soak in two hours of sleep. Then we headed back to the airport to pick up her sister and then head to Disneyland. For two days.
With a full day of Disneyland on just two hours sleep—you could imagine—my wife and I wanted nothing more than a little sleep.
So we checked into our motel, opened the door, and my wife’s eyes widened. “Ummm…”
I peeked around the corner and saw this:
The four of us stood there, weathered and jet lagged. We looked at each other and erupted into laughter.
Thanks, La Quinta. I’m thankful, but this test in patience wasn’t necessary. I’ve had my fill this week. Also, the coffee just cooled and it tastes like the devil.
Do you have any travel horror stories? Any good layover tips? What do you think?