Second Rate Husband and I are going on a vacation. Without kids. Because of his stellar work performance over the past year, Second Rate Hubs has been awarded an all-expenses paid trip to Calgary, Alberta, Canada. A whole glorious child-free week! Yippy!! I can hardly wait!
On the way to the airport we encountered some traffic, causing us to arrive later than planned. And then it happened. We got to curb-side check in at 9:36 a.m. Our flight had a scheduled departure time of 10:35. PROBLEM. International flights require that you check your bags a full hour before departure. Missed it by one minute. One. Freaking. Minute.
Another fun bit of international travel trivia: You have to be on the same flight your bag is traveling on. In other words, we couldn’t just hop on our flight and send our luggage on the next flight. SO. Next flight it is. Eight. Hours. Later.
Once we adjusted to our new reality and accepted the fact that we would, in fact, be spending the next eight hours in
purgatory the airport, we decided to re-collect ourselves with an adult beverage. Just as I’m getting settled in with my $10 airport TGI Fridays drink (kill me), I noticed that I no longer have my iPhone. A short trip back through security to retrieve it (thank you Mr. Second Rate) and we are back in business.
Yep. Just seven and a half short hours away from boarding our plane…which will then be followed by a four hour long flight. Oh, and did I mention we are renting a car and driving two hours to Banff when we get there? So, yeah. Thirteen some-odd hours later, and we’ll officially be on vacation… (Can you tell my enthusiasm is suffering a bit at this point?)
And then Second Rate Husband, in all his eternal optimism, decides that we were going to make the most of our time here in airport purgatory. He excitedly proclaims that we are going to use the tram to visit all of the airport terminals and have a beer in each one. Yes folks. This was his way of attempting to win me back over to the sunny side; with the world’s most expensive and depressing pub crawl.
Well, by this point I still have seven hours to kill, so why the hell not? Besides, Second Rate Husband seems pretty pleased with himself for dreaming up his new-found bucket list challenge. Let the sad little pub crawl commence.
We started our journey. First up was Terminal A for a beer and some time on our devices. Because there’s no one in the world I’d rather sit next to and ignore.
In Terminal B we made lots of friends, including a nuclear physicist with a son that plays professional paint ball (seriously, I can’t make this shit up) and this guy headed to Corpus Christi for work.
Terminal C was a low-key stop, but we got to check it off the list at a sports bar.
Finally, we made it to Terminal E. Our final beer and some dinner before heading back. Although I started today’s airport pub crawl journey with less than great enthusiasm, I have ended it on a much better note. Maybe it’s all the beer I’ve had, but I’d like to think it’s because I’m thankful for a husband that helps me make the most of things. After all, there are much worse ways to spend eight hours.