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THE (LATELY) DEPARTED
Call us fashionably late
Call us _fashionably_ late, but we always seem to get to the airport with just seconds to spare, and end up running through the terminal to gate like one million, still holding our shoes from security, MJ screaming for magazines, me dragging a carry-on heavier than Mo'nique in a Humvee. (We never pack the couture in the suitcases—it's irreplaceable.) As the gates are going down, there we are sliding in like Indiana Jones, like Bruce Willis.
This time though I'd pushed it too far. Hey, it's a domestic flight, I'd figured—we can be there 30 minutes before take off. With 2 massive suitcases full of Instant Couture. On a Saturday morning in July. In coach.
Shit. Big mistake.
As our plane departed to San Francisco, without us on it, I first punched myself in the head a few times. When we travel for a show, we don't leave room for error. We arrive with just enough time to pull a show together. We don't take an entourage, or performers. It's a much more authentic representation of the city that we cast and rehearse there. We'd been due to land in SF at 11am, giving us 25 hours to organize staging, materials, dancers, assistants, and the installation we were putting together for the Good magazine block party starting at noon the following day.
Now we were on Stand-by. The next flight out would land at 3pm Saturday. Still doable. But it was booked solid. Overbooked. We waited anyway. 10 minutes before the flight, the check-in girl said you're not getting on. We walked off, despondent, only to hear, from the same cheery check-in girl as the plane took off, that in fact they _did_ call our names, and that we'd just missed the second flight too.
We had one flight left before we were screwed. It was also booked solid. That wasn't going to stop us this time.
This time though I'd pushed it too far. Hey, it's a domestic flight, I'd figured—we can be there 30 minutes before take off. With 2 massive suitcases full of Instant Couture. On a Saturday morning in July. In coach.
Shit. Big mistake.
As our plane departed to San Francisco, without us on it, I first punched myself in the head a few times. When we travel for a show, we don't leave room for error. We arrive with just enough time to pull a show together. We don't take an entourage, or performers. It's a much more authentic representation of the city that we cast and rehearse there. We'd been due to land in SF at 11am, giving us 25 hours to organize staging, materials, dancers, assistants, and the installation we were putting together for the Good magazine block party starting at noon the following day.
Now we were on Stand-by. The next flight out would land at 3pm Saturday. Still doable. But it was booked solid. Overbooked. We waited anyway. 10 minutes before the flight, the check-in girl said you're not getting on. We walked off, despondent, only to hear, from the same cheery check-in girl as the plane took off, that in fact they _did_ call our names, and that we'd just missed the second flight too.
We had one flight left before we were screwed. It was also booked solid. That wasn't going to stop us this time.
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