My day started pleasant enough—a sweet goodbye, a peaceful, iPod-infused bus trip, a friendly chat with the taxi driver, a speedy check-in at the airport, some Au Bon Pain (my best friend and I’s favorite after-school hang out), diet coke and a Cosmo read. It was all too beautiful to be true because now, instead of sleeping on a plane to Accra, I’m sitting in front of Au Bon Pain at La Guardia airport, and I’m sick of it. Sick of the bread. Sick of the coffee. Sick of the delictable soups. The sensation of food betrayal feels akin to the time I was served a stomach-lurching meal at Taco Bell, my former fast food love. But ultimately, my stomach suffers least. After my flight to Washington D.C. was delayed three times before its eventual cancellation three hours later, my alternative standby plane was then delayed two hours before they informed me I didn’t make the cut. Unfortunately, my luggage did. My belongings have now spent more time in my country’s capital than I, and I am now sleeping in a restaurant deprived airport.
Though I’m quite proficient at living off of the amount clothes I can fit into a carry on, the attitude I was given by United was ridiculous. The response to the first realization that my luggage was missing? “Your bag is either missing or on its way to Africa.” Really? Hopefully, if everything goes according to Plan E, I will now arrive a day later than originally intended and quite disgusted with United Flights and anything that resembles a bread bowl.