Realizing that you are trapped in an airport comes in stages. After spending several good hours on the phone with Delta airlines customer "service", I finally gave up and headed the airport to try and speak with someone in person. The mistake I made was in assuming that airline ticket counter representatives
Stage One: Denial Though my hotel had very graciously offered to let me stay in the room until 2pm and then hold my bags until late that night so that I could go into the city to do some sight-seeing or something, I was pretty sure that I didn't need to take them up on that offer. Because how hard could it possibly be to get standby on a last minute flight out of New Jersey?
Stage Two: Bargaining Okay, so it's pretty difficult to get a last minute flight out of New Jersey. But there has to be something that can be done. No, I don't have $287.00 for a new ticket. I'm sure we can work something out for a lesser price. Hey, I could push the drink cart!
Stage Three: Anger You know what? FUCK YOU, DELTA. If I get stabbed in my sleep, it's going to be all your fault.
Stage Four: Depression Actual transcript of conversation I had with my husband on payphone in concourse B: "I'm just so lonely and it's so nice to hear your voice. Stay on the phone with me until you go to work, okay? Promise?"
Stage Five: Acceptance I'm going to live at this airport forever. I will never go home. The airport is my home now. Let's make the best of it by building a tend with the ballgown from the masquerade party and barricade the door of the handicapped stall with luggage and a sweatshirt used as a rope so I don't get raped.
Now that I'm home, I'm actually afraid that I'm going to suddenly wake up and be back at the airport, like John Cusack in that movie where he's trapped in the haunted hotel room.