It Could Only Happen To This Uber Author

Of course I have an airport/traveling story. Of course I was delayed. Of course I wasted another day of my life on a dirty tarmac. Was there any doubt that Gennita Low aka the woman whom Atlanta airport loves to jinx would have another late arrival to her destination?

First, there was a mass of harried travelers wandering around the hub when I arrived from Florida; all planes had been delayed due to bad weather and there was a back up of flight take offs. From the glass windows, I could see planes queuing up on the runways like giant winged insects following each other into their nest. I thought, Not good, girl.

I took a deep breath. I went to fortify my spirit with liquid spirits. Many mourners around me seemed to agree as we toasted each other.

2 hours on the Atlanta tarmac. 2 hours circling the air OVER DALLAS (and not allowed to land due to dark clouds) 2 hours in WACO refueling and waiting for the storms to move on.

But I was a smart bitch this time. I bought some of that fortifying spirit with me and put it in my bag. What did I care about delays? I'm beating old Atlanta Voodoo at her own game; I bought my ticket to arrive a day EARLY, which means, I have 24 hours to play with.

No more following the human crowd to next counter and the next counter and the next counter looking for help. I didn't have to run around like a lost elephant, trying to find the fastest flight. I sipped on my fortifying spirit, smacking my lips, and once in a while, stuck out my tongue at nobody in particular. It just felt good to do that.

"Ladies and gentleman, I'm sorry, but they have diverted us to Waco for refueling and to wait the storm out. I know you're all uncomfortable but we haven't been cleared to de-plane while we're there."

Stuck on another tarmac hours later. What do I care? I bought a LOT of fortifying spirit. I sat back, sipping away. I was supposed to have arrived at Dallas five hours ago but hey, I'm a day early. Ha. Sip. Sip. No more Wonder Woman acts. No more swinging from chandelier to chandelier (like last year's shenanigans), trying to get from train station to hotel to hotel room to lobby to signing event in half-a-freaking-hour. I had nineteen hours, babeeeeeee.

The plane finally landed in Dallas at around 11pm. In my stupor, I managed to remember to call the hotel to tell them that I was still arriving. I took the shuttle, which took me to the WRONG Hyatt Regency. At that point, I just shrugged and asked for a taxi cab. Finally made it to the RIGHT Hyatt at the stroke of midnight.

Oh look, Cinderella's castle!

At which point I remembered that I had not eaten since a thousand hours ago. No wonder, the fortified spirit was happy as a kite all day. I trudged into the hotel, still so damn happy that I startled the few guests wandering in from a late dinner. "I'm eighteen hours early for signing!" I chirped brightly to one bookseller I recognized.

At the hotel registration counter, the nice young man told me I had the last room available and it was "not exactly a room" but it was "bigger than a standard room."

"Okay," I said, staring at him glassily.

"It's called a Parlor room," he said.

"Okay," I said. I was a writer and this man was playing word games with me. What exactly was a Parlor room?

"We're going to give it to you cheaper."

"Okay," I said. So succinctly at 12.30am. So wonderfully eloquent. I handed over my credit card.

The Parlor room, as it turned out, was the parlor in between two suites. So it was a bigger room than a standard room, with a dining table and a kitchenette even. So why was it cheaper? I looked around. I picked up the phone and called downstairs.

"Umm...I forgot to ask an important question," I said, my voice husky from the slight weariness of a beyond-fortified spirit, "Does the Parlor room come with a FUCKING BED?" Okay, I didn't say fucking. I was very polite. Because I was fortified, remember? I was 12 hours early for my signing, remember? But you know I was thinking it.

The young man had omitted to tell me that the Parlor room had a sofa bed and that was why he was giving me a cheaper rate. I was the last guest of the day (midnight hour) and it was the last room available, so what could I do? No Hyatt Dream bed for me. Sofa bed it was.

Somebody downstairs (or maybe upstairs, if you know what I mean) took pity on me and sent up four huge fluffy Dream Bed pillows and a big glass of Toasted Jenn Almond (my favorite drink). Oh, More Fortification!

I, Gennita Low, am fine. Instead of whining, I'm wining. I'll wait for your stupid delayed take-offs and diverted landings. I'll even sleep in a sofa bed in a five star hotel. Yawn.

Nice drink. Maybe I'll have another tomorrow. And the day after that....

And oh, welcome to RWA Conference Day One with Gennita Low. I made it EARLY to my signing.

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