Fear and Underwear in Atlanta

I will let you into a little secret about me. I hate to be late. I get to movies with time to get a snack, find my seat, go to the bathroom, play on my phone and always see the previews. I am not a person who ever likes to show up for things “right before.” I married someone just like me.  We simply don’t know how to show up anywhere without being the first people there. Often before events, you can find Scott and I in the car debating…”Is it socially acceptable to go in yet?”

Never is this more amplified than when I need to catch a flight. I mean, you never know when the people in front of you in the TSA all of a sudden move in slow motion. Despite being TSA PreCheck and knowing how to navigate most airports, I am still always at the airport at least 90 minutes before the flight takes off, 60 minutes before boarding. It works for me. I have time to get through security, randomly look at entertainment magazines I never buy, get a snack and wait at my gate, and catch up on email. I know, I know…it sounds like my early arrival usually is centered around a snack and that might very well be true.  But, for airports, it is always around a fear of missing my flight. I don’t want to miss something or let anyone down because I couldn’t get myself there on time. This mindset will become important for what I am about to write…

It was Atlanta in July and I had just finished a day and a dinner with our Local Investment leaders. As they are a new team to me, I absolutely loved spending time getting to know who they were, how they worked, and generally figuring out how I could add value to such a high performing team. It was a quick trip. I was on the 8am flight the next morning back to Chicago with plans to go from the airport to the office for an important client meeting at 11am.  I didn’t have much room for error, but as long as my flight was on time, I would be fine.

As I got back to my hotel room, I called my husband, and he asked what time the car would be picking me up and I told him 6am. He reminded me of Atlanta traffic, the size of the airport and that my flight would board at 730am. (Really just to say that maybe I should have  the car picking me up earlier). I was too lazy to change it and told him I just planned to be downstairs early since they usually come 15 minute before picking up anyway. With that, I packed up except for the dress I was wearing the next morning and my shampoo in the shower. Now, this would be a very boring story if I had just gone to sleep like I should have, gotten up and went to the airport. Nope. That is not what happened. 

I could not sleep. I usually sleep well in hotels, but after a full day, a big dinner and a peach martini (I was in Atlanta after all), I was wide awake. So, I finished the book I was reading.  I am a self-professed nerd, so I will tell you it was Dune. Also, I will tell you, Dune makes a lot more sense if you are mildly buzzed. And it broke me. That book broke me, and I could not stop thinking about the dangers of messiah-like figures in society…until about 2am, when I finally fell asleep. I checked my alarm, set for 5am, and finally went to sleep.  You can guess where this is going.

I woke to my alarm ringing but instantly noticed that it was very bright in my hotel room. I looked at the clock next to my bed. 6:45am. For a second, I didn’t even react. And then it hit me. I was one hour and forty-five minutes past my alarm. What the fuck, Shelby? I bolted out of my room, having changed into my dress in 5.2 seconds, go the elevator down from the 42nd floor and ran to catch my car. I got to the car at 655am.  I was in downtown Atlanta and needed to make it to the airport, through security and to my terminal in about 30ish minutes. I am usually sitting at the gate with coffee and email by this time.  And I am still at the Westin.

In the car, I am rationalizing that I am not perfect and worst-case scenario, I will miss my flight.  A quick search tells me there are no other later flights that can possibly get me to my meeting on time.  That is okay, I am not the only one in the meeting.  Things happen and if I can’t make it, my coworker will be able to handle the meeting.

My text chimes. It’s my coworker/co presenter for the meeting:

Bad news:  I have covid. You will have to handle the meeting on your own.

Fuck.

Well, my worst case scenario just got worse.

Upon getting to the airport, I catch a glimpse of myself as I go through the glass doors of the airport.  Rumpled dress, crazy hair and makeup smudges from the night before.  All this, coupled with my backpack and roller bag. I looked the mess I felt. It was like a special kind of corporate walk of shame.

I don’t know the Atlanta airport well, so I have to take a moment to figure out where to find TSA pre check.  I am panicking.  I have to make this flight. I finally see TSA and it is across the terminal, far away and there is a line. The airport is busy, and the lines are not short. I get the notification that my flight will be boarding, so I just start running.

I am breathing like an elderly dog chasing a squirrel as I sprint through the airport. My backpack is hitting me in the back and my roller bag has a squeak.  All while, I look like a person who just woke up.  Oh, right, because I HAD just woken up. As I am running what feels like the Chicago Marathon, I feel someone grab my arm. Not just my arm, but the back of my arm. The same soft spot my mom used to pinch when I wasn’t paying attention in church.

I let out a scream. 

Yes, I found a way to draw MORE attention to myself.

”WHAT? Why are you touching me?” I yell going down to a quick walk. I am almost to the TSA line, and I am not going to actually stop now.

The woman who grabbed me power walks next to me and says “STOP.  Your dress is tucked into your backpack.” 

Yep.

As I ran, the damn thing shimmied right up under my backpack.

I was running through the airport showing all of ATL my undies.

This was not just a peek.  I was running past hundreds of people in all my Hanes glory.

It was a wonder I didn’t feel a breeze. I’m telling you, if an Arrakis sandworm had shown up in the American Airlines terminal of the Atlanta airport, I would have jumped right in its mouth. (Dorky Dune reference for the normal people who are thinking “huh?”).  But alas, no sandworm, so I just had to fix myself and go through pre-check and ride the tram with about a hundred people who likely went home and told a different version of this story.

If you are wondering. I did make my flight after all.  I feel for all the people in row 23 that had to sit next to the unshowered, sweaty lady who was breathing heavy from panic for at least the first hour of the flight.  I was able to stop at home to wash off and I made it to my meeting on time as well. I think I am ready for Amazing Race.

So, my ask of everyone who has made it to the end of this story. If you are ever watching videos on social media and see a really funny video of a woman running through the airport in her underwear, please don’t hit “share”.