I'm leaving on a jet plane....man, that's a cheesy title
Ah, just saying the words "airport in Detroit" brings back some funny memories of a trip I once took with my friend Julie (mom to the adorable Celia). We were heading down to New Orleans for a conference and had to fly out of Detriot. With Steve as our chauffeur, we entered Detroit a couple of hours before our flight was to leave and we whipped out our car map of Detroit to search for the airport. Since Steve was driving and Julie was in the back, I took control of the navigations. If you know me at all, I was already getting antsy at this point. I mean, you are supposed to be at the airport a couple of hours before hand, and we were only looking for the airport on a map since none of us knew where the hell we were going. Scanning over the map, I located the airport in the center and began directing Steve towards our destination. The roads leading up to the airport were not very busy and as we neared, our surroundings seemed to get...how do I say it...gloomier. The buildings were run down with broken windows boarded up, and even the sky seemed a little cloudier (well, maybe I'm making that part up). Steve slowed down as we passed the front of the airport, which was surrounded by a wire fence that you would expect to find around an adolecent detention centre. We peered out the windows of the car in astonishment.
"This can't be it...can it?" we all wondered.
The planes and helicopters that were in the large lot were anything but safe looking (at least for any trip of significant distance). Kind of like a graveyard of airplanes. I'm sure the years since the incident have painted them a rustier colour in my mind than they actually were. I was getting a little nervous at this point. There was no way I wanted to fly out of an airport that looked like this. The airport looked dead. Like a plane hadn't flown out of it in seven years. How could Detroit have such a horrible airport? Even the neighbourhood we were in seemed a little less than inviting if you know what I mean. We noticed two men working at the entrance to the airport and sweet ol' Julie decided to be the one to get out of the car, approach the men, and ask them if we were in the right place. No paper-rock-scissors even necessary, what a champ! After a short chat, Julie re-entered the back seat and shut the door. She then relayed the conversation that she had with the two men.
In so many words:
"We are at the wrong airport. This is Detroit City Airport and we want to go to Detroit Metro Airport. They also said that on our way out of this neighbourhood, even if we were to get a flat tire, to not get out and just keep on going through..fast."
Comforting. Very, very, comforting. Especially because we had just stopped at a McDonald's in the area just minutes before to get directions to the airport.
While I was frantic because we had wasted all this time searching for the wrong airport and needed to bust our butts to get to the other end of the city in time, I was quite relieved that the machinery taking me 25000 ft. in the air would not be leaving from this dirt hole.
It is funny to look back on, like now. So if any of you are in the same predicament, three words: Detroit Metro Airport. I still tend to wonder what people are flying out of the Detroit City airport though...
So back to the present. We take off on Monday morning at 9 am. I'm very anxious about Gord's first out-of-country trip, and a little worried about what he's going to be like during the flight. I'll definately let you know how it goes. Hope all are having a great weekend!