Marotta

Marotta:

‘All You Standbys, Sit Down!’

What does the phrase "in vain" mean, anyway?

The airlines have something called a "trip-in-vain," which is what happens when, in your effort to go from City A to City B, you are forced to pass through some third city, where, on account of bad weather, air traffic, or karma, you get stranded.

Becalmed.

Stuck.

So stuck that, knowing a hopeless case when it sees one, your airline refunds your money and sends you on home.

But any kind of effort can prove a vain one, as I learned last week, full as it was of talk about Orange Alerts and stocking up on bottled water and duct tape.

Oh, I got out of City A, all right, and eventually got to City B down in Florida. But on account of yet one more surprise snowstorm up north here, I did indeed get stranded a while in that third city, Atlanta as it happened, where the Anxiety Fairy found me for sure, since I had to be in Tampa in the morning, for some live TV first and later that day to teach a writing workshop.

Now I’m betting God Himself couldn’t fly direct to Heaven without getting told He had to stop and make a connection in Atlanta.

There, in Atlanta’s airport, I walked the standard six miles back to Central Ticketing where I stood in line for an hour. And when my turn came at last, the ticket agent shouted with cheery incredulity, "Florida?! You’re tryin’ to get to Florida NOW? The day before Presidents Day weekend and the start of School Vacation Week? Honey, you can’t do it!

"Unless!—" she added, then tapped away at her keyboard for an agonizing period. "Unless… you try to catch this one flight to Tallahassee first, by flying Standby. Then if you’re real, real lucky, you can could maybe catch the night’s last flight down to Tampa."

So, I tried catching it flying Standby; walked more miles and joined a small band of other hapless losers out by that gate. We circled the agent there, milling about, pressing our sad loser shirtfronts against her gate-desk—until she panicked and picked up her microphone.

"All you Standbys, sit DOWN!" she ordered. "No standing up by any Standbys!"

"Unless I call your name."

"Which I probably won’t," she added, apologetically.

I tried staying calm. If I couldn’t get to Tallahassee tonight, how would I ever make those other cities by the morning? I zoned out; entered a trance-like state and began blindly forking into my mouth the Oriental Chicken Salad hastily purchased some four hours earlier.

Then suddenly it was my name she was calling. "Last chance for Marotta!" she called.

Startled, I jumped; jerked into action, sending my salad straight up in the air; and boarded that plane festooned with orange sesame dressing, which the flight attendant and a kindly seat-mate helped wipe from my cuffs and hair.

Well I got to my airport in Tampa, finally. Six hours late, but I did get there.

And what matter that my suitcase never joined me?

I was on hand the next morning for my TV segment, wearing my same travel clothes and still smelling faintly of Oriental salad.

I was on hand too for my writing workshop.

Of course nobody came to the workshop. Not one little person. Maybe they’d all decided to hole up with their bottled water and their duct tape.

So, a trip-in-vain or not? That’s the thing in life; in the short term you just can’t tell.

And if I miss my own connecting flight to Heaven, at least I will have learned some things—about the fine and friendly places on the way.

Write Terry anytime at tmarotta@ attbi.com