Just a Freaking Kluster (The JFK Airport) Part 1.

I have returned from a fabulous vacation to Turkey, and it was wonderful and amazing, and glorious, and most importantly, wedding stress-FREE. But right now, what I really want to do is write about the complete inefficiency of John F. Kennedy International Airport and Delta airlines. Isn't that something? I just ventured to the only city that spans two continents, a magnificent blend of ancient and modern, and I want to sit here and rant about my return journey home. No worries, rant-free posts about the actual trip are in the works, but for now, the insanity of two nights ago is fresh on my mind. So I give you this.

It all started when our Delta Flight 73 was delayed 45 minutes due to a reason nobody could clearly define. "Technical issues" was all that was stated, the timeless offering of gate agents who have no idea. Our 12:15 departure was now scheduled for 1 PM. We did actually take off somewhat near this time, probably about 1:20. But with an 11 hour flight time, a  late arrival into New York would cut it extremely close for our 7 PM connection to DC.  In New York, we would still need to go through immigration, customs, and check back in for the next flight. However, there was nothing I could do about it, except sigh and sit back. Sure enough, due to plenty of turbulence and our late departure, we arrived in to JFK at 6 PM, and finally deboarded at 6:20. Suspicions confirmed. We would not be on our 7 PM flight to Dulles.

Clearing immigration and getting our bags actually took no time at all. This was the more pleasant part of the ensuing two hours. Once retrieving our things, we set out to find a Delta representative who could tell us what to do. This task proved to be fairly easy as well, considering that the line of passengers and their frustrations could be seen snaking around the ticketing area from afar. This monstrosity of a line was only exacerbated by the inconceivable reality that there was ONE gate agent dealing with rebooking half the passengers of a Boeing 747. ONE. My heart sank. Getting home that night was looking like a grim possibility and arriving at work on time the next day a lofty ideal. It was just the two of us, (the rest of the group went on to Greece-insert sad face here) and I had high hopes that it would be a breeze to rebook. Hopes were dashed after seeing that line, and dashed even further when after 10 minutes, we hadn't even moved. Even if there was a hope of getting on the next evening flight out, by the time we would actually get to front of the line, we might as well order breakfast. I took matters into my own hands and called Delta reservations while still in line. I was informed that we had already been rebooked on a 6 AM flight to DC......via Atlanta. Atlanta?? Um. No. I regretted to inform the agent that this would not be happening and that I would need a sooner flight, asap. All in my best sweet, yet desperately urgent tone of voice. She got the message and got us on an 8:30 landing at a different airport. Wonderful. It was 7:20. We would have just enough time. I hadn't reckoned on the evil labryinth of chaos and confusion though, also known as the JFK airport.