Vengeful Travel Gods on Holiday

In which the Vengeful Travel Gods take a day off and I set about ruining my own day...

Allow me to set the stage.  It is Friday.  I have been traveling and working all week non stop on the West Coast.  Mentally and physically exhausted, I am relieved to finally be heading home for the weekend.  With an estimated arrival to my home airport of 7pm, I have very definite ideas about being home by 8pm and unconscious before 10pm.  

Here then the chain of events:

3:00am: My alarm goes off.  Boo.  Auto pilot.  Up.  Dress.  Pack.
4:15am: Taxi
5:00am: Airport
6:00am: In the air.
9:15am: Arrive in Denver for 3.5 hour layover.

I spend the next 2.5 hours on the phone and email, working diligently and being productive.  

I arrive at the gate an hour before my flight departs and spend the time speaking to my boss who is leaving on holiday in a few hours.

30 minutes to boarding.  The gate is closed but it says Tampa.  Continue talking. 
0 minutes to boarding.  No agent, no boarding.  Sign says Tampa. Continue talking.
30 minutes past boarding.  No one.  Continue talking, assume delay.  I'm still right next to the gate, they can't get past without my seeing them.  It still says Tampa.

10 minutes to take off. It says Houston.  Hang up.  Seek out gate agent.  Did they move my gate, this flight should be leaving in 10 minutes and hasn't boarded?

Agent: What flight?

Me: The flight right now, the 12:45pm flight.

Agent: You mean the 1:45pm flight to Houston?

Me: No, the 12:45pm flight.  To Tampa.

Agent: It left at 12:45pm.

Me: That's now!  Where is it?

Agent: Um, it's 1:45pm.  You know you're in Mountain Time, right?

Me: I... wha... Bastard!!  Not you.

Someone forgot to change their watch when they landed in Denver because they we're busy taking a work call as soon as they landed.

So that was the last direct flight home for the day.  Of course, it was.
They can get me home by tomorrow evening.  Right.
Can I take yet another connection to get home instead of going direct?  I can.
Can I get home tonight?  I cannot.

After an embarrassing conversation with a customer service agent (who laughed at me hardly at all) and scouring all available flights in every direction, my fastest route home is to fly to Houston, spend the night, and take a 6:30 am flight home which puts me home before lunch.  So much for sleeping in on Saturday. Let's do it.

What about your bag, she asks?  

I answer automatically, I never check a...  Oh.  I checked my bag.  Is my bag here, I ask?

No.  It is not.  My bag is in Tampa.  Because it knew it was on Mountain Time.
Clothing.  Toiletries.  All in Tampa.  Super. 

My laptop back pack is ridiculously heavy and I had tradeshow items stuffed into my carry on size roller bag.  It was free to check it so despite my rule of always traveling with a clothing as a carry on, I break my own rule and decide to check it.  I am now forced to endure another 3+ hours in Denver airport waiting for my flight to Houston and carting around a carry on that could give you a hernia.

One of the trade show items in my checked bag?  A back pack with wheels that was given to me at the show.  Oh, the irony.

I purchase a travel toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hairbrush and aspirin for the emerging headache at the airport shop.  Has no one realized they could sell underwear for stranded travelers?  They sell diapers.  Confident they won't fit.

Might as well eat as I won't have a chance later.  I am sitting in a restaurant at the airport.  I think to myself I should really stop wearing white Oxford shirts on travel days.  I look down and discover a portion of my meal on my white shirt. The one, I'll be wearing fr the foreseeable future.

A baby at the table next to mine starts crying.  I look over.  She looks tired and miserable; she has clearly determined the only course of action left is to cry.  I hear you, sister.  I hear you.

Long Story/Short Story: Once more into the breach, dear friends.

Long story:
I stood there, frozen, staring at it like a jockey thrown from a horse; knowing that it had to be now or never. I must overcome the fear that paralyzed me. 

I looked at it with suspicion. Was it homicidal? Had I gotten something wrong the previous time?  A foot placed a fraction of an inch away from where it should have been?  A momentary lack of concentration?  Had I just gotten too arrogant?  The process such a daily routine that I had taken for granted the risks?

I looked down, inspecting the blue and purple bruises blooming over my skin. I could still feel the stiffness and slow throbbing of strained joints. Had it really only been 48 hours?  

I had forgotten to respect that which can kill you and I had paid the price. Not the ultimate price, no. I had escaped. Barely. A different day, it could have been lights out. 

I took stock of my injuries. Never again, I told myself, never again. 

I approached it slowly. Don't spook it, I thought. Easy does it. Nice and slow. With each halting step, the pain reminded me of our last encounter. 

My eyes narrowed with suspicion as I looked it up and down.  I would remember to respect its power but by God, I would not buckle to fear. 

Slowly, cautiously, I drew aside the shower curtain and stepped inside. 

Short story:
I slipped and fell in the shower last week. Seriously. What am I? 65? No, I have no excuse, I really ought to be able to remain upright in a shower without supervision. Anyway, it happened. That split second when you're certain you're about to crack your head open and be found unconscious (and naked) in your bathroom will really get your heart rate up. Also, you think for a brief moment that you ought not to have mocked the LifeAlert adverts ("Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!").  On the brigtside, it happened when someone was on their way to my house so it was at least comforting to know that it wouldn't take them days to find me.  Bumps and impressive bruises aside, I was fine and yet, it was still with a surprising degree of nervousness that I stepped back into the shower. Tentatively. Two days later. That's right. It took me two days. Shut up...