Part 2, Just a Freaking Cluster (Ode to JFK airport).

We got our boarding passes and looked around wildly for where to go. I asked a gentlemen who appeared to be working (leaning against a table) where Terminal 2 was, and he said if we would just wait five minutes while he used the restroom, he would take us there. Confident in my supreme abilities to navigate an airport and not wanting to waste another second, I politely declined his offer and we off we dashed. Into oblivion. You see, the person that designed that airport had to have just drawn a bunch of stick figures and buildings on  random pieces of paper, threw them all in the air, stomped on them, made a magic wish and then, with eyes closed, placed them into his blueprint.

We jumped on train that looked like as if was going somewhere important, such as a departure terminal. No such luck. In reality, we were headed out towards New York City, and I realized this at the last possible moment before it would have been too late. My traveling companion was not of much assistance, as this was her very first international trip, and only her second time flying. I was depending completely on myself and the kindness of strangers. We lunged off the train, and I asked the kindest looking person on the platform how to get to the Terminal 2. She pointed directly behind her, to the other side of the platform and told us to jump on there. Wonderful! It is now about 7:35, less than an hour until depature. We hop on, and wait what seems like an eternity until the train finally chugs into the stop we need. We get out. We see nothing even remotely "departure/lounge/check-in/security" like. Nothing. Perhaps if we head down the elevator. Oh but wait, there is a giant woman and her equally giant cat in a giant cat carrier blocking our way. Seriously??!! A giant cat?

Finally making it down the stairs, we find ourselves in no man's land, aka, a parking garage. This is where I start to feel myself crumble into a million little pieces. Back up the stairs, practically shrieking at yet another employee to find out where in all of God's creation is that blasted Terminal 2? She points to the direction from whence we came. no, No, NO! That was a parking garage! Back we go though, in hopes that a giant terminal will suddenly appear (perhaps to go along with the giant woman and her giant cat).  Of course we end up at the same spot in the same parking garage. Major meltdown is imminent. I am going to lose it right there on the asphalt. It was 7:47 and we were no closer to anything important, except large masses of parked cars. I literally had to give myself a peptalk/shakedown, ordering myself to GET IT TOGETHER!! We could not miss the flight and I was the only one that was going to get us to where needed to be....and I would be of no use to anyone if I was in a sad heap in the parking lot. Lo and behold, that same employee comes strolling out past the garage. Half-hysterical, I call out to her once again....beseeching her to tell me where in this forsaken place was TERMINAL 2??!!! She casually points over her shoulder to a large hangar-like building emblazoned with the words I so desperately was seeking. How was anybody supposed to find that? There were no signs leading or pointing the way, and one must arrive there by traipsing through a parking structure!! WHO DESIGNS THIS STUFF?? We dash for the Promised Land, run through the doors, gasp our way through the security (partly from panic, partly because it was 188 degrees inside, no AC). 7:57. Oh no. They want to take my snowglobe that I so lovingly packed into my checked luggage that became carry-on when all the Delta drama started happening. Blast. But another bright spot-the TSA officer let me keep it but took the box so that it would like she did her job. She then told me to just look really upset and/or angry when I left the screening area. No problem.

Finally, gate 27 is just a few steps away. We arrive, panting and sweating. There is some sort of medical emergency occurring in our waiting area, it is hot as Hades, and come to find out the next day, the would-be Times Square bomber was on the loose somewhere in the airport. Oh, and to cap everything off? Our flight is delayed one hour.

To finish this epic, (oh there is more, but I am over it) we arrive home safe and sound at 2 AM, only 5 hours after our intended arrival. It could have been worse. Enough of the airport drama, on with Turkey!!