Love Field

By 2009 I had lived in Dallas for over half of a decade. In this time, despite my many travels to Burnt Orange locations, I had only flown out of Love Field a few times. And, in defense of the story that’s about to be told, I had never driven myself there.

It was October of that year, when we traveled to Missouri. By now you know that my sister Kacie, our friend Debra and I tailgate with a core group of folks at each home game and many of the away games. The Come & Take It Tailgate has been involved in many of my fondest memories of the last decade, and I’m always excited to spend college football Saturday with them. Often, though, it’s just Kacie, Debra and I on the road together, exploring our new college football city.

This particular year, Kacie, Debra, her boyfriend at the time, Jeff and I were all scheduled for a Southwest flight to Kansas City at 3:20 PM. All of the Southwest flights for the rest of the day and the next morning were booked solid, as the Cowboys were playing the Chiefs the same weekend.

Being a dutiful flyer, I left my office, located approximately 7 miles from the airport, at 1:00 PM. I typed the airport’s name into my iphone map and set off. I knew it was generally near Mockingbird. After following the turn by turn directions in the map, it was clear I was not headed to the airport’s main entrance. Assuming my phone was taking me an awesome back way, I drove back and forth looking for a road that did not exist. I turned down other roads when my dot looked about right, but that lead me nowhere.

Eventually I asked for directions. They sounded easy enough. It wasn’t until the old Texas Stadium got bigger and bigger, closer and closer, that it became clear I was mistaken. I did a u-turn.

It was now 2:30. By the time I popped back from the u-turn, I felt doomed. Frantic phone calls to the other members of my travel party went unanswered, as did texts. I started crying. And talking to myself.

I finally stopped again, at a Racetrac Gas Station, and still crying I frightened the clerks into giving me the correct directions to the airport. Still bawling, I found Love Field. Possibly the most easily assessable airport in the world. I rolled into the parking lot and found a front row spot. It was 3:05.

Delusional that I could get on a later flight, I dragged my bag up to security. Alarmed by my distressed and crying face, the three other airport travelers let me cut in front of them in the security line. When I passed through my screening, I saw on the flight trackers that my plane was still boarding.

Hope bloomed! I started running to the gate which was, of course, on the opposite side of the airport. Bear in mind that at no time during this adventure have I stopped talking to myself.  It's a wonder I wasn't additionally screened by security as I cursed my boots then apologized to those same boots while tearing them off my feet.

In fact, I didn’t even put my boots back on before tackling the moving sidewalks. I was full on "Home Alone" style running through the airport.  All the while talking to myself about how stupid I looked running shoeless and "Home Alone" style through an airport 7 miles, yet over two hours from my office.

Needless to say, everyone got out of my way.

This could be me....but isn't.

Redfaced from unexpected cardio activity and, of course, crying, I stepped up to the counter at the gate. Distress washed over me and removed all hope when I saw they had already chaged the flight on the board and were handing out standby boarding passes.

I have to believe the crying and babbling to myself caused the gate attendant some alarm. Seeing a grown woman cry pushed the ticket agent over the edge, and he told me they were just about to give away my seat. Fresh tears forced their way down my cheeks and became tears of joy when he handed me my boarding pass. I was the last passenger on the completely full plane.

I gate checked my bag and sauntered down the aisle, a little drunk with exhaustion and dehydration. Southwest doesn’t have assigned seating, so as I made my way to the one empty seat in the back, I was surprised not to see three familiar faces. Before plopping into my middle seat, five rows from the back I saw my sister two rows behind me.

No doubt because I was still looking very alarming, a nice lady offered to switch seats with me so I could sit by my sister. I immediately put my boots back on and ordered some booze while Kacie filled me in. A last minute appointment at the doctor had pushed Debra and Jeff back and they missed the flight. Until that very minute, Kacie had been headed to Missouri….alone.


Somewhere in the middle of my screwdriver and halfway over Oklahoma I had calmed down enough to laugh. Kacie was glad I had stopped sweating and/or crying.

Touchdown. Baggage claim. Rental Car Trolley. What comes next is a whole different story.

** Update***
After Kacie read this adventure, she made the comment that I didn't adequately express her fear and concern that she was about to head to Missouri alone.  Then she made the point "but it is all about you."  Damn straight, sister!