Before getting married, I’d been on a total of one flight. Because of this, I’d missed out on a lot of important life experiences. I’d never experienced the joy of riding a moving sidewalk, for example, or felt the triumph of packing a bag that weighs exactly 50 pounds. Most of all, though, my lack of flying kept me from knowing what true disappointment feels like.

Deserae and I got introduced to the complete, soul-crushing disappointment that only airlines can provide on our first big vacation after our honeymoon. We were young and excited and stupid and wayyyy too trusting of the airline industry. The cruise line tried to warn me when I booked the trip over the phone.

“You’re all set! Just make sure you arrive at the port three to four hours early to get through customs before the ship leaves, because they don’t wait for anyone.”

“No problem!”

“If you miss the ship, you’ll have to meet it at its first stop as long as you have a passport. You have a passport, right?”

“Nope!”

“We recommend getting a passport.”

“Well we’re flying into town the night before, so it should be OK, right?”

“…”

“Hello?”

“We recommend getting a passport.”

We did not get passports. We also did not use the airport 5 minutes from our house. We got Deserae’s parents to help us save $75 by shuttling us 45 minutes to Akron’s airport because, again, we were stupid.

Shortly after we arrived at the airport, I received a text message from U.S. Airways.

“Your flight has been delayed. Call this number or see a gate agent for details.”

I saw the gate agent.

“Oh, there’s just some weather in Charlotte,” she said. “The flight’s running a little late, but it’ll be here shortly.”

I walked back to Deserae. “It’ll be here shortly,” I said because I was stupid.

If you have ever flown, you know how the next couple of hours played out, but since I was new, it all came as a surprise to me.

The second delay. A surprise.

The announcement that the Charlotte weather was clearing followed promptly by an “Actually, never mind.” A surprise.

The half-hour line of angry people in front of the gate agent. A surprise.

The reassurance that we would definitely make our connecting flight followed by some quick mental calculations that proved the gate agent was horrible at either addition or lying. A surprise.

The bouncing around U.S. Airways phone support until just after the Akron airport food court closed. A surprise.

The 11 p.m. announcement that the Charlotte flight would not be coming after all, also we would not be reimbursed for a hotel stay. A surprise.

Being new to the process, I did not realize that the airline industry has perfected the art of stringing out angry mobs with just enough hope to keep them from burning down the airport until it’s too late to burn down the airport because all the torch and pitchfork stores have closed for the night. At 11 p.m., Deserae and I were left with no food, no bed and no pitchforks.

The airline industry has perfected the art of stringing out angry mobs with just enough hope to keep them from burning down the airport until it’s too late to burn down the airport because all the torch and pitchfork stores have closed for the night.

After standing in an annnnnngry line for 45 minutes, we got our tickets for 6 a.m.

“You’re sure this flight will be on time?”

“Yes.”

“We have to be on time because our cruise will leave without us if we’re late.”

“You’ll definitely make it.”

“Just like we were definitely going to make our connecting flight?”

The woman flashed her “you poor, naïve little boy” smile.

As we walked away Deserae asked, “What are we going to do?”

It was too late to ask her parents to make the 1.5-hour round trip to pick us up and too expensive to stay at a hotel for five hours. Not when there were rows and rows of perfectly good benches at the airport.

I found a nice, quiet spot next to the baggage claim, pulled two benches together and laid down. “Ta-da!” It was too small to lie with my legs straight, so I had to pull them toward my chest, which shoved my hip into a screw. “Come on, this is perfect!”

Deserae glared at me and maneuvered her body onto the makeshift bed. We laid silently for a while.

“Dus?”

“Yeah?”

“This is the worst.”

Surprisingly, it was not yet the worst.

After a while, my hip became numb to the screw and I started to fall asleep. That’s when the Charlotte flight came in. Deserae popped awake. “Wha?”

In an instant, we found ourselves surrounded by a sea of smelly people. We stared at them with red eyes. They stared back with red eyes of their own. Twenty minutes later, they were all gone. That’s when the next flight came in. Finally at 1:30, the airport cleared out and we could finally get some sleep. The cleaning crew started vacuuming.

At 2:30, the vacuuming stopped. Maybe now we could slee…

“You can’t do that.”

We looked up. One lone cleaning guy glared down at us.

“Wuf?” I asked.

“This is a public place! You can’t be doing that in here.”

I looked down. He was staring at my arm, which was around Deserae.

Deserae opened her red eyes. “Wuf?”

“You have to pull these benches apart.”

We squinted at the janitor to see if he was serious. He stared back. I tried to explain.

“We’rejus… tryingto…”

“You can’t be doing that in here!”

Akron-Canton Airport would NOT become a Den of Iniquity. Not if Paul Blart Airport Janitor had anything to do with it.

Akron-Canton Airport would NOT become a Den of Iniquity.

“We’re SLEEPING!” Deserae said.

Paul Blart stared.

“And we’re MARRIED!”

“Do you want to take it to the police?” He pointed at the lone police officer looking at his phone on the other end of the airport.

“YES! YES WE DO!”

Paul Blart did not understand the fury he’d unleashed. The three of us silently marched the length of the airport – me trying to figure out how to keep us from getting banned from Akron-Canton Airport for life, Paul Blart excited about his most daring moments on the job in months and Fired Up Deserae ready to tear out Paul’s throat.

When the cop looked up, Deserae and Paul started talking over each other.

“He said…” “They were…”

The cop took Deserae’s side, allowing us to reclaim our prize of the World’s Least Comfortable Bed. Of course, Deserae could not fall back asleep.

“I’m so mad.”

“I know.”

“Dustin, I’m SO MAD!”

“Yeah.”

“In the morning, I’m going to find his supervisor, and then I’m going to…”

That pretty much took up the rest of the night.

While stumbling back to the gate at 4:30 a.m., we met up with a fellow passenger who was just as fired up about injustice as we were.

“I looked at my radar. The weather was fine in Charlotte last night,” he said. “They could have gotten that flight here; it would have just meant the airline would have to pay overtime to the crew and they didn’t want to do that. They need to give us something to make up for this mess.”

“Yeah!”

Our new patriot friend told us about a “corporate customer service” phone number meant for bigwigs and big problems where we could find justice. We thanked him and got on the plane, which fortunately got us to our ship on time.

When we got back from vacation, I called U.S. Airways to inform them of the horrible treatment we received. Perhaps the good folks up in corporate didn’t realize what the monsters on the ground were up to. After a few calls back and forth, Deborah from corporate customer service called me with the decision.

“I’m sorry. It was weather-related, so there’s nothing we can do.”

“But but but, the radar and the overtime and the…”

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t want to do it, but I pulled out the big guns. “If this is how U.S. Airways treats their customers, then I can’t fly you any more.”

I’m not sure why, but I imagined that the threat of a 25-year-old kid never flying a multi-billion dollar airline again would have a pretty big impact.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Deborah said without missing a beat, probably while also wearing her “you poor, naïve little boy” smile.

I hung up dazed.

A few years later, I did fly U.S. Airways again. I got their credit card, spent $8.50 at Chipotle to qualify for the 35,000-mile sign-up bonus and flew to Bermuda for free. Then I cancelled the card.

I like to think that was disappointing for them.

LIFE LESSON #81

Always bring your own pitchfork to the airport. Just in case.