Emotionally compromised at the onset (returning to say goodbye to a parent is not something anyone looks forward to), delayed and canceled flights and an impending hurricane did nothing to alleviate my stress. Especially when they rerouted me directly into the storm's path.
I encountered my first Angel while roaming the crowded concourse at Philadelphia.
The Philly airport mall would be a great place to hang out if A) you were there on purpose B) you were there with a friend C) you had money growing out of your ears. Not only did none of the above apply, but I had just had a minor breakdown in front of a few hundred strangers at the airline's customer service desk. Now I wandered too-expensive shops trying to kill the next five hours of tedium, while precious moments I could be spending with Dad ticked by.
Stepping out of the latest overpriced boutique, I stopped to watch a demonstration. Magic Marker Man whipped out his colorful pens, knowing a Momster missing her family when he saw one (and one starving artist to another, I recognised actual talent beneath his cheerful kiosk-salesman banter). When his secret hidden message failed it's mission...
SMILE
SMILE
SMILE
SMILE
SMILE
SMILE
SMILE
...he asked why I was so gloomy. And when I poured out my woes (abbreviated version) he advised with insider wisdom -
"Go back to customer service and ask for a direct flight."
Huh? Why wouldn't they have assigned me one in the first place?
"Cuz they just wanna keep you moving. Come back and tell me what happens."
So I did. And I got a direct flight that not only kept me out of the eye of (then) Hurricane Irene, but arrived at my destination two hours earlier despite a later take-off.
I had already splurgchased his pens for the Critters, still Magic Marker Man seemed grateful for the cold Snapple I put in front of him. But not as grateful as I was...
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Arriving at DTW half an hour later than expected, I whipped out my TracPhone and dialed my own private taxi service, aka Bobby Lou and her husband Shoe Slinger. These unfailing Angels had tweaked and adjusted their own schedules as mine was altered for me, driving two hours one way to pick me up in the dead of night, and cruising the (unfamiliar?) streets of the city to await their weary traveler.
Offers of food (thanks, but I've eaten) and bottled water (God bless you!) and the front passenger seat so that I could stretch my legs were met with teary-eyed gratitude. Shoe Slinger navigated and drove while Bobby Lou and I debriefed. After a day in my own dreary company, that time in the car was a balm.
Falling asleep in their guest room was a blur. The next morning, a home cooked, hearty breakfast fueled me for my three hour drive (in the fueled-up, borrowed compact they'd picked me up in) to the northern hinterlands I used to call home. I waved goodbye with a lighter heart despite knowing what awaited.
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