![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
In Which We Return Home
Jan. 2nd, 2023 11:00 pmI’m actually writing this on the 3rd, but here we go.
We got up before 4 (well, I did, anyway) in the morning at the Marriott Orlando Airport Lakeside, in hopes of catching a 6 am flight to Newark, and then a connection to Boston and be home by 11 a.m. That did not happen. By today (the 2nd), the connection that had once been an hour and a half had shrunk to about 20 minutes. Bwah ha ha ha ha.
Anyway.
Because our departing gate — and basically all of JetBlue, as near as I can tell — is operating out of the new Terminal C in Orlando, there’s a _really_ long walk between where you drop the rental car off (at A or B) and where you check your bag (in C). Also, they had 2 people handling bags, and the line snaked all over the place — there were hundreds of people in that line when we first saw it and we were not clever enough to put one of us in it while the rest of us trooped over to a self-serve kiosk — of which there were fleets — and get bag tags. I toyed with the idea of cutting in, and the printed tag said “Late”, which I didn’t know what to make of. So we waited in the line, and when we got to the front, they said, nope, go to the help desk. I had actually gotten into the kiosk help line next to it earlier, thinking it was another bag drop, and given up on that. Basically, I’ve never had to deal with any of this before, so I was a stupid noob.
Which is fine, because the aforementioned connection was unlikely to work anyway. We were rebooked a second time (our original direct flight yesterday was canceled, and this nonsense was a rebooking provided by JetBlue) onto a 7:30 a.m. flight. They took our bags, and we beat feet down to the gate which was a long long ways away but still in Terminal C.
At one point, when we realized _how_ long a walk, I took off my slides, and speed-walked barefoot, because my feet were cramping trying to keep the slides on.
Anyway.
We arrived at the gate and R. worked with the agent to get us some seats assigned. 2 pairs, so, neither kid was alone, and R. and I each got an aisle. Woot! But our row number started with a 2 and was more than one digit, so, boo.
For this trip, I was using the trunk-like G-Ro, and a G-Ro small backpack. Until I got that huge bag checked, I either moved slow, or took nerve damage. Needless to say, I will be doing things differently on our next trip to Orlando. Which is fine! I own a lot of truly fine luggage. Something will work.
I did get hot water on the plane, and I used my last Twinings English Breakfast tea bag to have some tea. I also ate an apple while in that long-ass bag drop line that gave us no joy whatsoever. The cheerios in the Disney reusable bag of food and souvenirs that would not pack well made up the balance of breakfast.
Upon arrival in EWR, I realized we were in the international Terminal B. We had to exit security, because our next gate was in domestic A. R. wanted to do that immediately, even tho our next flight was not boarding until 2 (at this point it was 10 something). I put my foot down and insisted on at least acquiring food before going through security to our gate area, because there is never a gate agent to help with seating until about an hour before boarding starts, and the map of the Terminal was crystal clear that food options were quite limited in the gate area, and better in the main part of the Terminal. We acquired subs (mmmm) at Jersey Mike’s (I got the Full Italian, minus onions and cheese, altho I did have to turn some of the ham over to R. because there was a lot more of the ham than I could cope with). Being able to feed A. in line headed off a meltdown, so that was something. _Knowing_ I had a tasty sandwich waiting for me enabled me to remain calm.
Our initial effort to get through security failed, because we did not have a scannable wtf. We went to the JetBlue counter, where they sent us back to the self-serve kiosks. Apparently, the self-serve kiosks could generate a no seat assigned scannable code to get us through the gate (more st-noobity on our parts!). With that paper, we got to the gate, where there were, predictably, no agents. There were no Jetblue agents anywhere on that side of security (very small number of gates). We did get a nice set of seats right next to the gate counters, and the gate area was inadequate so this worked to our benefit later. We ate sandwiches. R. called the Sarasota hospice person back. I updated family members on what the weird phone calls from a Sarasota number were about. We relaxed — to the degree one can in an airport.
Eventually — many snacks later — we got seats. R. and T. were in an exit row (aisle and middle, IIRC) and A. and I. were behind them on the other side of the plane (window and middle). Fortunately, the person in the aisle next to me was petite, so I actually had enough space. I finished listening to Rachel Maddow’s Ultra, and started in on episodes of Odd Lots. The second leg was delightfully short (under and hour) and I had a belly full of sub, and was receiving updates from our driver, so I had confidence that we would actually get home relatively promptly after arriving at the airport and collecting our bags.
Our driver was not K. (we would have had K. if we’d flown yesterday), but rather J., who is a big sports team fan and highly knowledgeable about changes in ownership and management. I will point out that while this conversation occurred on the day of the Hamlin tragedy, that had _not_ yet happened at the point in time that we were in the car. When I learned about that, my heart broke. So, so, so sad.
Anyway.
We got home. We did laundry. I fed A. a grilled cheese sandwich. I had a drink. I had a half a waffle with blueberries from the freezer. I put some chicken and leg quarters into the fridge to thaw for tomorrow. And then I went to bed.
We got up before 4 (well, I did, anyway) in the morning at the Marriott Orlando Airport Lakeside, in hopes of catching a 6 am flight to Newark, and then a connection to Boston and be home by 11 a.m. That did not happen. By today (the 2nd), the connection that had once been an hour and a half had shrunk to about 20 minutes. Bwah ha ha ha ha.
Anyway.
Because our departing gate — and basically all of JetBlue, as near as I can tell — is operating out of the new Terminal C in Orlando, there’s a _really_ long walk between where you drop the rental car off (at A or B) and where you check your bag (in C). Also, they had 2 people handling bags, and the line snaked all over the place — there were hundreds of people in that line when we first saw it and we were not clever enough to put one of us in it while the rest of us trooped over to a self-serve kiosk — of which there were fleets — and get bag tags. I toyed with the idea of cutting in, and the printed tag said “Late”, which I didn’t know what to make of. So we waited in the line, and when we got to the front, they said, nope, go to the help desk. I had actually gotten into the kiosk help line next to it earlier, thinking it was another bag drop, and given up on that. Basically, I’ve never had to deal with any of this before, so I was a stupid noob.
Which is fine, because the aforementioned connection was unlikely to work anyway. We were rebooked a second time (our original direct flight yesterday was canceled, and this nonsense was a rebooking provided by JetBlue) onto a 7:30 a.m. flight. They took our bags, and we beat feet down to the gate which was a long long ways away but still in Terminal C.
At one point, when we realized _how_ long a walk, I took off my slides, and speed-walked barefoot, because my feet were cramping trying to keep the slides on.
Anyway.
We arrived at the gate and R. worked with the agent to get us some seats assigned. 2 pairs, so, neither kid was alone, and R. and I each got an aisle. Woot! But our row number started with a 2 and was more than one digit, so, boo.
For this trip, I was using the trunk-like G-Ro, and a G-Ro small backpack. Until I got that huge bag checked, I either moved slow, or took nerve damage. Needless to say, I will be doing things differently on our next trip to Orlando. Which is fine! I own a lot of truly fine luggage. Something will work.
I did get hot water on the plane, and I used my last Twinings English Breakfast tea bag to have some tea. I also ate an apple while in that long-ass bag drop line that gave us no joy whatsoever. The cheerios in the Disney reusable bag of food and souvenirs that would not pack well made up the balance of breakfast.
Upon arrival in EWR, I realized we were in the international Terminal B. We had to exit security, because our next gate was in domestic A. R. wanted to do that immediately, even tho our next flight was not boarding until 2 (at this point it was 10 something). I put my foot down and insisted on at least acquiring food before going through security to our gate area, because there is never a gate agent to help with seating until about an hour before boarding starts, and the map of the Terminal was crystal clear that food options were quite limited in the gate area, and better in the main part of the Terminal. We acquired subs (mmmm) at Jersey Mike’s (I got the Full Italian, minus onions and cheese, altho I did have to turn some of the ham over to R. because there was a lot more of the ham than I could cope with). Being able to feed A. in line headed off a meltdown, so that was something. _Knowing_ I had a tasty sandwich waiting for me enabled me to remain calm.
Our initial effort to get through security failed, because we did not have a scannable wtf. We went to the JetBlue counter, where they sent us back to the self-serve kiosks. Apparently, the self-serve kiosks could generate a no seat assigned scannable code to get us through the gate (more st-noobity on our parts!). With that paper, we got to the gate, where there were, predictably, no agents. There were no Jetblue agents anywhere on that side of security (very small number of gates). We did get a nice set of seats right next to the gate counters, and the gate area was inadequate so this worked to our benefit later. We ate sandwiches. R. called the Sarasota hospice person back. I updated family members on what the weird phone calls from a Sarasota number were about. We relaxed — to the degree one can in an airport.
Eventually — many snacks later — we got seats. R. and T. were in an exit row (aisle and middle, IIRC) and A. and I. were behind them on the other side of the plane (window and middle). Fortunately, the person in the aisle next to me was petite, so I actually had enough space. I finished listening to Rachel Maddow’s Ultra, and started in on episodes of Odd Lots. The second leg was delightfully short (under and hour) and I had a belly full of sub, and was receiving updates from our driver, so I had confidence that we would actually get home relatively promptly after arriving at the airport and collecting our bags.
Our driver was not K. (we would have had K. if we’d flown yesterday), but rather J., who is a big sports team fan and highly knowledgeable about changes in ownership and management. I will point out that while this conversation occurred on the day of the Hamlin tragedy, that had _not_ yet happened at the point in time that we were in the car. When I learned about that, my heart broke. So, so, so sad.
Anyway.
We got home. We did laundry. I fed A. a grilled cheese sandwich. I had a drink. I had a half a waffle with blueberries from the freezer. I put some chicken and leg quarters into the fridge to thaw for tomorrow. And then I went to bed.