The Dirrrty South.... What?!

Guys, this weekend was tough. I stepped outside of my safe space. I went below the Mason-Dixon line to ATL, aka HOT-lanta, aka The Dirrrrty South-- just because my cousin's wife decided to get knocked up.

And it took me 15 hours to get there.

I hate Delta Airlines. Like Southern character actress Delta Burke, it is shifty, untrustworthy, and full of dead weight. It failed me terribly.

Here is a timeline of the madness, which I logged as it happened, because it was so unbelievable. I don't know why I'm surprised that I was oppressed, seeing as I was heading to the South.

4:00pm: Sojourner and her mother* hop on Delta flight 521, a direct flight to ATL.

7:00pm: A voice comes over the intercom system: "Hello folks, this is Captain Everything-I-Say-Is-Unintelligible-Except-For-The-Word-'Turbulence'-And-'Stay Calm.' We've got some storm clouds and have been circling up here for a while now and are starting to run out of fuel. We're going to divert to Augusta for a moment to refuel. Just sit tight; we'll be on our way."

7:45 pm: We land in Augusta, Georgia, so that the plane can refuel. The engines are turned off, which cuts off our air conditioning.

Sojourner, along with 183 other passengers, sits in an airplane with no air conditioning for TWO HOURS.
In Georgia, in August heat.
Can you handle this truth?

9:45 pm: We are allowed to get off the plane and stand on the tarmac to keep cool. I've never been on a tarmac before. There are fire trucks and everything. I feel like it's the end of an action movie, and I'm hoping that Bruce Willis is going to get in the cockpit and make magic happen.

10:30 pm: We are all rushed back on the plane by the flight attendants/lying whores. Still skeptical, I slowly saunter onto the sauna that is Delta Flight 521. I won't believe we're taking off til the houses look like Christmas lights.

10:50 pm: We are ushered off the plane, as the Captain (who I now call "Asshole") says that due to FAA regulations, pilots cannot fly for more than 8 hours in a shift-- and we've just run out of time.

We head into the Augusta, Georgia "airport"-- at best, it can be described as a rest stop with plane-like paraphenalia on the walls. This airport has a seating capacity of about 200, and their "food court" is a yogurt stand. Which is closed. No one is allowed to get their stowed luggage, and our only sustenance is to be found in a vending machine.
Did you know Fritos come in a chili-cheese flavor?

12:15 am: We are told an alternate plane will arrive at 1:30 am, with a new, refreshed crew ready to take us to ATL. We are also told that food is on it's way.

12:30 am: An airport worker wheels in a cart filled with bottled water, potato chips, and hostess cupcakes. This is our "food"-- a trans-fat caravan. I got better eats on the plantation!

1:54 am: A plane still hasn't arrived. We are told by a sassy, surly Augusta airport whore that one will come at 3:00 am. I am sitting in the first row of seats, watching a rerun of The Nanny on Lifetime.

Now is not the time for Fran Drescher and her screechy comedy of manners. I am going to die.

3:30 am: Still no plane. Suddenly, a new airport wench tells us a plane will arrive in "3 to 8 minutes," and to use the bathroom and generally prepare to go.

4:15 am: I have decided that Delta time is the equivalent of dog years. I am talking to a nice firefighter and a sassy gay man, lamenting our fate. One man says, "We could have flown to Australia in all this time!"
I shed a tear for my lost love.

6:40 am: A plane finally arrives. I pass out as soon as I take my seat, but before my XXX-rated Harry Potter fantasy reaches a crescendo, I am brutally awakened by harsh lights.

Did I mention the flight from Augusta to Atlanta is only 20 minutes? It's also a mere 2-hour drive. Had Delta (Burke) Arlines had any sense, they would have gotten some busses and driven us to freedom (I never thought I'd refer to the South as freedom, but this is what Delta has done to me).

And when I arrived, bleary eyed and surly, I had a few hours to sleep before going to a baby shower, where good times were had by... some... I think.

This is me wearing a diaper made out of toilet paper. This was supposed to be a GAME. This 2-ply padding was rapidly applied by my mother as we competed against other female pairs. I was not allowed to help her in any way, other than raising my legs and turning my bum.

I am holding our first place prize: moisturizing antibacterial hand soap.

That's so a thing a baby shower would give you. Lame. The hostess should have been handing out condoms and IUDs, so that others don't suffer her fate.

*Who knew Sojourner's mother would still be alive?!