Cot City

O’Hare Airport: The Ultimate Test of Patience, Part 2

(If you missed Part 1: The Scramble, read it here!)

It is a little disturbing when an airport has hundreds of cots in storage, and a well-oiled plan to set them up quickly.  It sure makes a person think twice about scheduling travel through such an airport.  At least I think I have learned my lesson.  But I digress…

So the evening of the first day we found ourselves in Cot City.  Cots were set up in long rows up to three cots deep, at one end of each terminal. Each unoccupied cot had a little blanket and pillow sitting neatly on top.  When we arrived about 1/3 of the cots were taken, and we scoped out the best spots still available that would have minimum noise and light, hopefully allowing us some sleep.  I was beginning to wonder if this is how homeless people on the street felt, minus the cot and blanket and pillow and nearby bathroom and credit card.  No, we weren’t Street People quite yet.  We were Cot People.  We made up our cots, putting our carry-ons behind us so no one would steal them in the night.  I headed to the bathroom with my toothbrush and a change of clothes.  I washed my face in the sink and dried it with a paper towel, and headed back.  I hunkered down in my cot, feeling very safe next to my strong husband, put in my earplugs, took a sleeping pill and went to sleep. 

At 4am I was jolted awake by the security officer walking through the rows, hollering at everyone to wake up and move along.  The airport was opening and they needed to clear away the cots.  Each person was handed a standard issue “welcome to Chicago” toiletry packet.  (I’m not kidding.  They really have that written on the front.  I refer you to my first comments.)  We groaned our way off the cots (apparently sleep isn’t so good in Cot City) and clutching our blankies and pillows (who knows how many nights we will be spending here?) we moved along.  We shuffled to the nearest Starbucks, and from there to the next standby gate.  We were getting that haunted look about us.  Fellow travelers from our original flight were old friends, comrades in battle.  We knew the ever-gracious counter agents–our allies on the front line–by first name.

At 7:00 AM we “stood by”—hence the word “standby”– and watched as those lucky enough to have confirmed seats shuffled onto the plane for Savannah.  (There was not room for even one standby passenger.) After that, something amazing happened:  the plane took off.  It actually took off.  To Savannah.  Same thing happened at 11am. Stand by. Shuffle. Take off. To Savannah. Our hope was renewed.

At the 1:20 flight—where we had actual tickets–we finally felt sure enough to abandon our blankies.  For the second time—about 24 hours after the first–we handed our tattered boarding passes to a gate agent and prepared to get on the plane for Savannah.  An alarm sounded, and a red light flashed.  The agent looked up, rescanned. More alarms. More red lights.  It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had held out his arms like Gandalf and declared “you shall not pass.”  But he didn’t.  He double-checked the manifest against our driver’s licenses, and waved us through.  Whew.  We hurried forward before he changed his mind.

For the second time in 24 hours we were buckled into seats on a direct flight to Savannah.  The flight attendant apologized for the five minute delay in leaving (are you kidding me?), and explained the safety instructions as we rolled toward the runway. Been there. Done that.  I don’t think I really believed we were going to get there until we took off.  I clapped and cheered.  When we landed I had a brief impulse to kiss the ground.

Click here to read O’Hare Airport: The Ultimate Test of Patience Part Three – Giving Thanks!

I know you’ve all had a travel mishap that was simply unbelievable. Go ahead and share!

By Lydia Floren