The Time I Cried in an Airport

I am not a frequent flier and while I've always considered myself a fairly adept and savvy traveler, it's mostly because I had never really encountered a significant hiccup in my itinerary before.

Hiccup.

A couple of days ago, I was scheduled to fly out of Hartford's airport at 6:35pm, spend an hourish layover in Atlanta, and then depart at 9:55pm in order to continue my travels to Los Angeles, where I would bask in the rays of assumed superiority emitted by tanned and toned celebs and plastic surgeons (they are the majority demographics of LA, right?).

But that didn't go according to plan, so here begins my rant against Delta Airlines and the story of how I lost my shit in the Atlanta International Airport.

Tuesday: 5:00pm - Drop off my luggage to discover my flight to Atlanta has been delayed 30 minutes. That's cool. I'll still have more than 20 minutes to make my connection. Good thing my flight to LA is located in the same terminal as we're slated to fly into.

A lot of flights have been delayed today, mostly because of weather, but the luggage lady tells me mine has been fudged due to "mechanical problems." I understand that planes break sometimes, and as long as mine is fixed before I'm on it, I have no problems.

6:40pm - We should be boarding right about now so that we can make our new 7:06pm departure time, but the front desk seems to have no intention of opening the doors or taking tickets. I feel that this is the beginning of something grand and terrible.

7:00pm - Why am I not on this plane yet? Why aren't any of us on this plane yet? You at the desk, sir, don't tell me this is weather related...the plane has been sitting out there for 45 minutes.

7:20pm - WHAT IS THE DEAL. STOP TELLING US TO CALM DOWN, WE ALL HAVE CONNECTIONS TO MAKE. NOBODY IS ACTUALLY STOPPING IN ATLANTA, COME ON. THINGS TO DO, PEOPLE TO SEE, ETC.

7:25pm - Gate A12 is dangerously close to mutiny.

7:35pm - Finally seated on the plane. Ask a stewardess if the problem was indeed mechanical. She scoffs at me and is all "No way! That's ridiculous! Who told you that?!?"

Don't chide me, ma'am. I know you're lying because the craft I purchased a ticket for was supposed to have two rows of three seats each, but we actually have a row of three and a row of two. This is not the airplane we were supposed to be on. Probs related to, I don't know, mechanical issues?

9:40pm - Taxi-ing around in Atlanta. Various patrons lose their minds as they count down the minutes to their connections' departures.

Stewardess: "Could you please raise your hand if you have a connection to make within the next 30 minutes"

MORE THAN 50% OF OUR PLANE RAISES THEIR HANDS.

Stewardess: "Okay, let's let these customers off first, please. Thank you for flying with Delta!"

The deplaning procedure looks like something out of a Black Friday disaster video.

9:52pm - I have all of three minutes until take off and I've discovered that my plane to LA has moved to a different terminal, because Delta clearly feeds off of the destruction of my sanity. I sprint madly from terminal B to A while carrying  an enormous backpack and carry-on bag. I have no awards (mother) from Army, but I'm pretty sure I'm crushing a ruck march right now. Delta customers everywhere do something that might be jogging while airport security shouts "no running, y'all, please!"

10:01pm - My flight to LAX is in the mother-flippin' air, without the ~10 of us who just missed it because Delta couldn't be bothered to hold our plane for SIX MINUTES.

I'm told I have to go all the way back to the opposite end of the terminal to change my flight because screw convenience. I curse under by breath.

10:10pm - Discover I can't get out of Atlanta until 8:30 the next morning and I'll have to stay the night in a Best Western. Learning that everyone going to LA, Miami, Austin, and Tennessee from my flight have also been waylaid just makes things worse, because the more I hate Delta, the more my brains start to spin around all hysterical-like.

This is it. It might not sound that bad (free night in a hotel, sweet!), but I assure you, everything is wrong. The first tears fall and I can't stop them. I am sweaty and sore from sprinting with 25+ pounds of extra weight (which is sort of a lot for a 4'10" lady), I am alone in Georgia for the night, I have no idea what is happening to my luggage, and this airport is freaking enormous.* 

As I make my way outside, I snuffle and blubber on an escalator, down a moving sidewalk, on a terminal shuttle, and through the parking lot, while a nice lady security officer calls me "sweetie" and walks me all the way to the hotel shuttles so I won't get lost.

I'm sure I look like a lost and distressed 13 year old at this point, albeit with a grossly sweaty back, but in reality, I am a 21 year old who has lost all ability to contain herself. Several strangers ask me if I'm okay, if I've gotten a new flight, if I've got somewhere to go, etc. It is embarrassing and I can't stop crying because my entire existence is a black hole of feelings.

The loss of my marbles did get me onto the first shuttle to Best Western, though, because everyone feels bad for a hysterical pre-teen looking girl. Eventually, I rounded up the scraps of my sanity, got through the night, and made it to the west coast. All is right with the world again, but I did learn some very valuable lessons, which are listed here for your knowledge-benefit:

1. Delta Airlines is a terrible airline. Half of our plane missed connections, and no one missed theirs by more than 10 minutes. Best Western was overwhelmingly filled with waylaid Delta customers (not just from my  plane) that night.

2. People in Atlanta are very nice. Like, what-the-hell-people-aren't-like-this-in-New-England-nice.

3. It's called "Hotlanta" because the city feels like a sauna at both 11pm and 5am. How this hellish soup of a climate breeds such polite people completely baffles me.

4. Best Western's complimentary shampoo and conditioner is Pantene brand. Quality!

5. I am not as emotionally hardy as I thought I was.


*(and I may or may not be PMSing)

It's finals period and there's (practically) no good in this world

Oops, that's my life.

It's that most crucial time of the year -- finals period -- and like any good Harvard student, I'd like to stick my head in the sand and wait for the next week to pass me by. This time is already awful enough, but this year, Harvard seems to be going out of its way to make things even more unpleasant. Here is a list of ways that this school has managed to piss people off and make life harder within the last few weeks -- a sort of "what not to do ever again," if you will:

**All examples include a Target Unhappiness Population (TUP), which outlines who exactly bears the brunt of each atrocity. 

1. The Bells - So reading week is really the optimal time to invite a Russian bell ringer to give master classes? I understand that the Lowell bell tower is impervious to the Massachusetts noise ordinances, but that doesn't make it appropriate. And for the record, I didn't like today's Sunday ringing either.

        TUP - The entire River community

2. Gym Hours - So the MAC closes at 1pm and noon this weekend? In the middle of finals? When people most need to run in place and pick up heavy things to relieve stress? Awesome idea. Thanks.

        TUP - Anyone who ever works out

3. The Printer Fiasco - Last Friday, on the first day of exams (and the optimal time for most papers to be due), the printing situation looked like this: 

- Winthrop printer - broken (it still is)

- Lamont Library cafe printer - broken

- Crimson Cash (like, the money we use to print in public places) - system down

If you want my papers, FIX THIS.

        TUP - Humanities kids everywhere

4. Lack of Mammals - During finals periods, UCONN libraries bring in puppies and Mount Holyoke has rent-able bunnies (and I've heard of similar programs at other schools, too). Harvard has provided its students with no mammals (yes, I've heard there's a rent-able dog out there somewhere, but if I can't see it, it's not accessible).  

          TUP - Anyone who could use a small mammal to combat stress

It seems the only way Harvard knows how to deal with this time of year is to add more cake to the dining hall menus (which is a problem, because of number 2). It would be great if this school could get it together just a little bit more for the most stressful time of the year, here. 

On a last note, BIG THANK YOU to the tutors, housemasters, student groups, etc. who have picked up the College's slack to throw study breaks, organize fun activities, and generally make the lives of all students a little better.

Image source

Pre-class academic struggles

First world disaster: I'm too indecisive to choose classes. Looking at the course catalog for this semester, I've realized that... I want to take EVERYTHING. By that, I mean that I have 11 classes vying for my 3 (or 4) open slots. Can I help it if everything looks interesting? No. Can I help it if I'm horribly indecisive? Well, probably, but I don't really feel like trying to tackle that one.

I have one class set, my English honors tutorial. Unfortunately, the class time for tutorials is chosen at the first meeting, meaning that I can't even narrow down the rest of my schedule based on timing. Le sigh. The normal course load here is 4 classes per semester. I did the 5 class thing last semester, and promised myself I wouldn't again, but how am I honestly supposed to narrow 12 classes down into 4? I might have to go with 5 again. In true Tim Gunn style, I can make it work!

Thank the academic gods above for shopping week. It's pretty clear that I need a week to sit in on everything I'm looking at to figure out what to take. What I mean by that is "I really hope that something sucks, so that narrowing things down will be easier." Here's my current shopping week schedule:

At least Friday's free, no?

So, I may have bit off more than I can chew, as is evidenced by the fact that this calender looks like an entire Crayola box threw up on it (again, it would be really helpful if a few of these turned out to be terrible at the first meeting). There's a chance that two English classes, an English tutorial, an Italian literature class, and a GenEd course absolutely will might be quite a lot of reading, but I've been doing my best to convince myself that reading is my thing. I read like a champ. Books actually quiver in my wake because they know that I will read the crap out of them.

Okay, so I probably won't do the 5 class thing again, but that leaves me in the awkward position of having to cast something aside, which threatens to rend my saddened heart into two despondent pieces.

If anyone is shopping any of the classes shown above, let me know, because I love having a seat buddy (read: not having to sit alone like that girl with no friends). Oddly enough, approximately 99% (totally arbitrary statistic) of my amigos are in the maths and sciences, so I haven't received a ton of suggestions from them. Boo. In the meantime, I'll continue to ask "which seat can I take?"** until I show up to lecture and find that all of the seats are, in fact, already occupied. Hate that.

**Don't judge me. I'll never pass up a lame pun if I can help it.

New England weather gets X-TREME

This post is inspired by Dexy's Midnight Runner. And climate change.

COME ON IRENE. COME ON.

The week started out with the famed Virginia earthquake that caused the entire eastern seaboard to freak the hell out. Meanwhile, California pointed and laughed at how the northeast completely peed its pants over the 5.8 magnitude shimmy. I did not feel it.

According to weather.com, Hurricane Irene should hit Connecticut/Massachusetts this coming Sunday. I'll be moving back on campus on Saturday, so I really, really hope that this is one of those odd times when the forecasters aren't just taking a stab in the dark. Living in New England, I've become pretty accustomed to omg-we're-all-going-to-die-severe weather warnings that turn out to be small rainstorms or light snowfalls. However, the blonde blondie on the television says that Irene "could be the most dangerous hurricane of our lifetime (!!11!!111!)." We even made it to the extreme level.

At least it's not catastrophic?
Source

So does this mean that I should be afeared? The weatherman has gotten me excited with krazy forecasts so many times before, but more often than not, I'm sorely disappointed. Granted, Irene had better not come to say hello until all of my belongings are moved from the mini van to my dorm. I don't really care to move in amidst pouring rain and gale force winds. I'd also like for my amigos to be able to get to campus without having flights canceled and rerouted all over the place. If I have to wait until the middle of next week to reunite with my peeps from across the country, I'm going to get all angsty and annoyed.

But I could use some adventure. As long as I can watch the torrents safely from behind a thick window (perhaps with a cup of tea), I'm all for the big scary insanity of Irene. There's no cable on campus, so I'll take whatever entertainment I can get.

People are already starting to get their panties all twisted over Irene. Grocery store shelves are devoid of bread and bottled water. Five states have declared proactive states of emergency. Several large cities and counties have issued mandatory evacuations. I'm not entirely sure if we're awaiting a storm or an extraterrestrial invasion. That said, if my basement floods and the windows of my house are blown out, I'm totally going to regret having written this.

Blame it on global warming/climate change, fate, or the impending rapture, the end of the world is coming in the form of wind and rain for some reason or another. But I'm from New England. I've dealt with rain, blizzards, and even (small) hail. So Irene, bring it. I'm waiting.

Technological Struggle and Woe: Part 100,002

The incompetence of Hewlett Packard knows no bounds. NO BOUNDS. After this epic fail, I had them send out another box so that they could attempt once again to convince me that they don't totally suck. After the second box was shipped out so that HP could fix the mistakes that they made, I found out that the friendly customer service representative did not write "Staples" on the address label. Therefore, FedEx refused to deliver the empty box to the address, which is a business complex. Okay, fine. What was not fine was that FedEx did not call me to let me know about this hang up. I only found out about it because, having lost all faith in tech support everywhere, I checked the box's tracking number to find that it never left the shipping station in South Boston. Ironic, because there is a FedEx shipping depot right in Harvard Square. But leaving it there would have been too practical for the hate-mongers technicians who have so taken it upon themselves to push my buttons.

Why still in South Boston. WHY. GO TO CAMBRIDGE.

I can fix this problem, right? I call FedEx to politely tell them that it needs to be delivered to Staples. Interestingly, I'm informed that they do not have the jurisdiction to change any part of the shipping address. I'll have to call HP to have them write the word "Staples" on the box. This is an empty box. They cannot write the word "Staples" on a box full of air.

At this point, I'm pretty ripshit that HP has screwed me over for the umpteenth time, so I call their customer care pissmeoff line to sort things out. After 45 minutes of hell on the phone, I learn that HP DOES NOT HAVE THE JURISDICTION TO CHANGE AN ADDRESS THAT THEY WROTE. Thusly, they are sending yet another box to Massachusetts, this one with the word "Staples" on the label. I will arrive in 24-48 business hours.

I'm pretty damn convinced that HP actually stands for Hate&Petulance. Never have I ever experienced customer service in any capacity as incompetent and hindered by red tape as that which I've been dealing with for the last month and a half. The very ice of a thousand virgin strawberry daiquiris could not begin to quell the red hot ire that burns within my soul every time I think about how long I have been separated from my lappy.

I hate HP. I hate that company with the white-hot intensity of a nuclear catastrophe. Never again will I purchase a product with their sorry label on it. Just for the record, the only reason that I've stayed on this carousel of horror for as long as I have is because my laptop is still under warranted, and being pissed off for two months costs a lot less than purchasing a new piece of technology. But after this, it's all over. And I will not be shy about telling everyone I come into contact with that HP's customer service department is populated with insufferable fools. FOOLS, I TELL YOU.

This is me.

Technological Struggle and Woe: Part 100,000

For anyone I haven't talked to recently... that's because I don't have a computer and I've had to rely on the science center lab for the last few days. The good news is that my laptop should *theoretically* be back from HP services in the town of whoknowswhere in the midwest by this Tuesday or Wednesday. Woot.

But you might say: "what about your netbook? Don't be that girl who wants a big laptop or nothing at all."

Well, as you might remember from this fateful day, my netbook got...moistened, if you will, when I left the skylight open, not expecting an impromptu rainstorm. After a few days of letting the machine dry out, I turned it on to find that I could no longer make exclamation points with the left shift key, and the sensor pad was acting a little funny, but other than that, everything seemed good. I bought a wireless mouse (I had totally forgotten how much mouses, mice (?) rock compared to touch pads), which seemed to clear up the left-clicking problem. There were a few days of bliss; everything seemed to be going well. And then my poor babe had a relapse. I turned it on a few nights ago to find that I had lost the backspace and delete keys, the tilde key, and most of the F(number) row. Weird. So I turned it off and on again. The screen never came back. The flashing lights told me it was on, but all I got was the black screen of death. Turned it off and on again; this time, it halfway turned itself on and then shut off completely.

Oh no. By this time, I figured I had done enough damage and should just bring it to the tech people at school. After all, they know what to do with this sort of thing. They fix disasters, right? So in the depths of the overly-air-conditioned (seriously, the building is arctic), I learned three truths.
1. My hard drive is fine and all of my files could be saved (win)
2. My RAM card is fine (again, win)
3. My motherboard has died a most untimely death. It has entered the void and will never come back to me (so, SO not a win)

My netbook had given me a few beautiful days of operation, but apparently, they had been destined to be its final breaths before it gave in to whatever water damage had apparently so softly grazed its circuitry. It was two years old. Still a juvenile and in the prime of its life. I had even just cleaned the entire keyboard; it was shiny and everything.

Upon hearing of my netbook's fate, I developed a whopping case of the epicsadz and began my search for a new motherboard, hoping and praying that my father would be able to install it himself, to avoid paying someone else $200 to do it. Who knew that the motherboard is the bulk of the cost of a computer? Not me. There's apparently no such thing as repair on a budget. Especially when for not a whole lot more, I could have a slightly less powerful, brandy new and updated version of my dear, lost friend. This is the story of how my debit card took an expensive punch in the face as I found myself having to purchase a new piece of technology (and not have to worry that something besides the motherboard would also need replacement). Yes, spending money of any amount makes me feel like I have acid reflux, but I know that I cannot bring my super heavy, 1.5 hour battery life, T-rex of a laptop to and from class, the library, etc. Sometimes, I feel like it's going to yell at me when I move it around too much.

So again, we come to the realization that I've become borderline addicted to gmail/facebook/skype/hulu, so much so that I've been hurting in the days that I haven't had a computer whenever I want it. It's sad, but I only need my computer as much as any other technology-age person does, so before you scoff at my inability to make my own fun, think about your own life. You're sitting in front of your computer RIGHT NAO. Seriously, go out and play.

On the upside, I've been napping and reading like an absolute champ. I'll take successes, even when they're tiny. I guess that just means that they're more fitting for my stature.

Not a bad substitute of my time. Actually, it rocks.

Also, I've discovered that the COOP has an entire book shelf devoted to Tolkein. Their textbooks prices might suck, but they're doing something right.

Midnight and Snowbanks

I am...the black kitten.

I am a master of poor decisions. I thrive on them. Poor decision making is the reason that I'm currently enrolled in 5 classes, participating in too many extracurriculars, and looking to join a new club. Because I can sleep when I'm dead, I'll stay up late at night and wake up early in the morning to get all the work done. I can feel my blood pressure rising, but I'm simply not doing anything about it. When in doubt, I take on another responsibility. It's not a healthy way to live and I'm sure that a crisis is looming on the horizon. Good lord, it's only the second week of classes.

The tiny snow-minions represent the responsibilities
 that are ganging up on me.

So I acted on impulse. Tromping through the snow on my way to class but not getting to play in it has made me ancy, so how could I not have run outside in jeans, a parka, and rainboots at midnight? And how could I not have convinced my best friend that he didn't want to go to bed, but that he wanted to join me instead?

D'awwwwwww

I have learned that:
It's important to climb the really tall snowbanks and slide down their backs.
It's important to run through the snow and watch it puff like smoke around your ankles.
It's important to push your best friend in the snow and drag him down with you when he tries to return the favor.
It's important to keep on playing after your legs have gone numb. This is when you'll have the most fun.
It's important to fall backwards into the snow without being afraid that you'll break your back. You won't. I promise.
It's important to make snow angels and then destroy them while trying to stand up again.
Sometimes, it's important to act like you're five again.

Was it a great decision to run around in the dark and freeze myself a pair of thigh-cicles? Probably not. But I'm sick of being practical and I'm sick of walking past pristine blankets of snow and not leaving my footprints behind.

Ask me to play in the snow. I'll leave my books in a second. Seriously.

Adventures>Homework

Time's up. Welcome home.

First semester is FINALLY OVER.  After sitting through approximately 4 hours of final presentations, I left the lab at 6pm, packed my bags (read: hastily threw some clothing into a duffel) and peaced out of Winthrop, out of Harvard, out of Cambridge, and out of Massachusetts. By that point, I was willing to walk home if I had to. Talk about the longest semester ever. And the most stress-filled two weeks ever. Admittedly, I turned into a bit of a cray-cray, but that's temporary right? It goes away with R&R, right? Right?

Me, during finals week.

I even felt stressed out on the ride home. Which is completely irrational, because the semester is over, my classes are finished, and I was on my way home to the wonderful land of marvels and happiness called Connecticut. Oh, that's right... But it's home, and there's a decorated tree, and a Dicken's Village, and stockings, and cookies, and garland. 

Dickens Village: Too adorable for words, no?

So instead of shopping for gifts or baking cookies or writing Christmas cards or doing anything remotely festive or productive, I'm sitting on my arse watching Ace of Cakes because Duff is a boss and his cakes are SWEET (pun alert). Seriously, this show is captivating. It's (kind of) fulfilling my desire for sweets while getting me in the holiday mood as I watch them decorate a four foot cake Christmas tree. This cake is almost me-sized. Just picture a cake that's as tall as I am. So.Much.Cake. 

Badass, Why is he So.Cool?

Now that I'm home, I don't have a dining hall to camp out in, so I've moved to the double-wide reclining chair. Yeah, it's made for two people, but no way do I share it. It's mine. I need to spread out. Okay, time to decompress. I will become one with the recliner. This is zen. Poorly upholstered zen.

I take up a lot of room, kay?