We were trying to leave Maui but apparently Maui didn’t want us to leave.
After a great visit, during which we managed to find snow and other symbols of Christmas for our teens, we were at the airport after dinner on New Year’s Eve for a red-eye to LAX.
We had checked in the night before on the airline app, but the app was acting wonky, so we couldn’t download or screenshot our boarding passes. When we got to the airport, we tried to use the self-service kiosks to print our boarding passes, but they too were acting wonky. We got in line at the airline check-in counter in hopes of getting some help.
There were only about a dozen people ahead of us in line, and we had gotten to the airport with plenty of time to spare, so we figured this would be a quick task.
We waited. And waited. The line was not moving at all.
Meanwhile, the airline staff at the counter were bustling around and looking concerned. There was much frowning at the computers.
More waiting.
What we eventually discovered is that the airline had decided to do a major computer program on December 31st that would go through the night and into January 1st. So all the computers in airports all over the world, along with the self-service kiosks AND the airline app, were non-functional. Passengers had most definitely not been informed about this and I wondered if the staff were as clueless as we were.
We continued to wait. And wait. And wait.
Meanwhile, the line behind us continued to grow. And grow. And grow.
After two hours, we made it to the front of the line. We explained that we only needed our boarding passes. We were otherwise checked in and would not be checking luggage, as we each only had one small carry-on bag. No lie, the airline agent gave us HANDWRITTEN boarding passes.
As we walked towards the security check, we looked back at the line behind us. There were hundreds of people waiting in line.
There was absolutely no way our flight or any of the other flights for the same airline were leaving on time.
We eventually made it to the gate and waited to board. Not many of our fellow travelers had yet made it to the gate. Two hours after our scheduled departure, we boarded. The flight wasn’t full when we took off, so I assumed that a lot of people were still stuck on the other side of security.
We landed in LAX on the morning of January 1st and grabbed breakfast before going to the gate to board the next flight to Dulles. As we were waiting, our flight was canceled. Really.
Rather than swarming the airline service desks along with everyone else — and since the app was still not working — we immediately called the airline’s main number to rebook our flight. We discovered that the four of us could fly together the next day or we could separate into two groups on two different flights and leave almost immediately. We chose the latter option.
Husband and Teen 1 were on a flight from LAX to Chicago, then another flight to the airport in our hometown in Virginia.
Teen 2 and I were on a flight from LAX to Pittsburgh, then another flight to Reagan National just outside Washington, DC.
Meanwhile, our car was parked at Dulles Airport.
We said goodbye and went in two different directions.
Twelve hours after our flight from LAX had been canceled and more than 24 hours after arriving at the Maui airport, my secondborn and I landed at National. It was after 10 p.m. We were exhausted and still needed to get from National to Dulles AND THEN drive the two hours home.
The two airports are 30 miles apart and are not connected by subway. Additionally, at night there is essentially no public transportation between the two. Cab fare would be expensive. I decided that the airline would be paying for our taxi.
I asked at the first airline service desk I came to. They waved me on to the next one.
At the next desk, they told me to ask for a taxi voucher at the service desk at baggage claim.
Meanwhile, the two of us were absolutely famished and there was NOTHING open at the airport that late at night.
We got to baggage claim and it was mayhem. Absolute and total chaos. Hundreds of people milling around looking for their luggage. And everyone seemed to be either yelling, cussing, crying, or all of the above. We breezed on through since we had not checked any bags.
We arrived at the airline’s service office at the far end of the baggage claim area. Just outside the doors was a massive pile of luggage. A couple hundred suitcases — mostly nearly identical small black carry-on-sized rolling bags — were waiting to be claimed.
We walked through the doors and entered a world of even greater anger and outrage than I would ever have thought possible, in spite of our own experiences with fury at airlines. Everyone there was missing luggage and they were NOT HAPPY. My secondborn and I got in line.
Waiting, waiting, more waiting. Meanwhile, I listened to one person after another yell at the airline staff.
We eventually got to the front of the line. I walked up to the desk to face a team of exhausted airline staff who looked at me with great wariness. Surely I too would be yelling at them.
I smiled and started off with, “Hi. Our luggage is NOT lost.”
Everyone on the other side of the desk relaxed visibly.
I went on to briefly explain our saga: Waiting at the Maui airport. Our canceled flight at LAX. Separating from my husband and other teen. Flying through Pittsburgh. And now here we were in DC and we were 30 miles from our car AND still had a two-hour drive home after more than 24 hours of travel and very little sleep.
“So all I need at this point is a voucher for a cab to take us to our car at Dulles,” I concluded.
Five minutes later, we were at the taxi stand, voucher in hand, explaining the situation to a driver.
Twenty-five minutes later, we were next to our car in the Dulles long-term parking lot, as our driver drove us there, rather than take us to the terminal where we would then have to get a shuttle to our car. He then helped us load our small carry-on backpacks into the trunk and waited for us to get in and start the engine.
(Yes, I tipped him well and thanked him profusely.)
I breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled at my secondborn. We’d made it.
Then I looked down. The gas tank was empty.
I flashed back to ten days earlier when we were driving to Dulles and I noticed the gas tank was low. I pointed it out to my husband, who shrugged and said that we’d fill it up on the way home.
New family rule: We ALWAYS leave for the airport with a full tank of gas.
Meanwhile, the other half of my household had landed at the airport in our hometown a few hours earlier and were already home.
There’s a Sheetz gas station about 25 minutes from Dulles that we frequently stop at on the way home from our flights. We pulled in at the pump at around midnight. The temperature was well below freezing. I thought longingly about warm Hawaiian breezes, then sent my teen inside to get food while I filled the tank and angrily texted my husband about the empty gas tank.
By 12:20 we were on the road, eating gas station food and drinking warm beverages. My co-pilot made sure I stayed alert and focused the entire way home.
At 2:15 a.m. on January 2nd, 36 hours after we first got to the Maui airport, I pulled into our garage.
Home.