Fairbanks, Alaska
Thursday, 10:15 p.m. AKST
The Wallisch family boards the airport shuttle. The term “shuttle” is used loosely, for the hotel where my mom, dad, sister, and I stayed provides a coach bus to bring residents to the airport every half hour. Quite luxurious for a family expecting a school bus or a small van. We are disappointed that our 17 day Alaskan adventure has come to a close, but beyond prepared to return home, especially to see our three dogs. We saw many sled dogs, but it does not make up for our canine family members. Plus, sled dogs’ personalities are far different than that of our mutts. Sled dogs are disciplined; Wallisch dogs are rebels. For example, a few years ago those troublemakers learned to do their business upstairs because they won’t get caught. For this reason, we installed a gate at the bottom of our staircase. They might be a pain, but we love them dearly.
Thursday, 10:35 p.m. AKST
The Wallisch family arrives at the Fairbanks airport and reports to check in. Dad attempts to print our boarding passes from the touch screens, but struggles in the process. My parents aren’t known to be the most tech savvy, so I roll my eyes as my sister goes to help him. He asks the lady behind the counter for assistance. Turns out, Expedia had screwed up the names on the boarding passes for my sister and me. Instead of reading “Lastname/Firstname Mid," it reads “Middlename/Lastname Fir.” So I, Abigail Elizabeth Wallisch, am to carry a boarding pass that claims my name as Elizabeth Wallisch Abigail. As a result, my ID did not match my boarding pass. The lady instructs us to head to security and hope for the best.
Thursday, 10:55 p.m. AKST
The Wallisch family arrives at security. To our delight, not a soul is in line ahead of us. Normally we stand in the security line for at least 50 minutes, but today we head straight to the front, where a security lady checks IDs and boarding passes. When she realizes that two boarding passes fail to match their respective driver’s licenses, she calls for a supervisor. Her supervisor explains that we just need to sign a paper and we can move on. Just when we think we’re in the clear she takes a closer look at my ID. It wasn’t until then she realizes I’m a legal adult, which makes the process a bit more complicated. I get additional screening while my sister, who is only few months away from adulthood, gets out free.
Thursday, 11:35 p.m. AKST
A security woman who appears to be only a few years older than me instructs me to stand on the mat with yellow footprints for my pat down, and I comply. The low, bright sun of the Alaskan summer comes through the windows and straight into my eyes, blinding me. I could not shade my eyes, for they had to be straight out, making me appear to be the letter T. The security lady goes into detail on exactly what she will do during my pat down and I consent. I glance at my sister, who cannot keep a straight face as Miss TSA grazed my buttocks with the back of her hand. I glanced at my mom, who looked extremely distressed. She doesn’t realize that I don’t feel violated during any part of the pat down process. I understand it is merely protocol.
Thursday, 11:45 p.m. AKST
The security lady stood across from me at a metal table with my items that just exited the first, and normally only, part of carry-on security. They open my carry on and laptop bag, remove the contents, and check everything for bomb residue. Only problem? I get lazy packing before returning home. My luggage fills up quickly, so all that doesn’t fit goes in my carry on. They test sweatshirts, shoes, sunglasses, jewelry, chargers, a rain coat, notebooks, my laptop, and even my phone. Nothing. They let me go. They thanked me for my patience, especially because I didn’t seem upset or intimidated, like many people do in similar TSA encounters. I explained I wasn’t worried, for I had nothing to hide. The only reason I was there was a slight misunderstanding. I smiled and left, reflecting on how painless the process was. Getting randomly selected in Pittsburgh a few weeks prior was a much more frightening experience, and that was also a relatively unproblematic encounter.
Friday, 12 a.m. AKST
The Wallisch Family is reunited at a restaurant outside of security. Mom fakes a smile on her tear stained face and Dad grumbles about members of the TSA being “assholes.” I attempt to explain that I was treated very well and they were simply doing their jobs, but my parents seem too upset over what just happened to hear me. They kept saying they couldn’t stand seeing me treated so horribly. I don’t understand where they are coming from, I was not mistreated in the least.
Friday, 1:15 a.m. AKST
The Wallisch Family boards our flight to Seattle. I heard a few hours earlier the sun is supposed to set tonight. However, I will never know if it dropped below the horizon, for we have to close the windows to allow other passengers to sleep. I appreciate the gesture from the crew, for I am also exhausted from dealing with air travel this late at night, but I end up having very little sleep on the plane.
Seattle, Washington
Friday, 4:25 a.m. PST (3:25 a.m. AKST)
The Wallisch Family arrives at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport and drowsily enjoys a tired breakfast. None of us order coffee in hopes of sleeping on the next flight.
Friday, 5:45 a.m. PST (4:45 a.m. AKST)
The Wallisch Family arrives at the gate for the second flight. My mom and sister choose a place on the floor to sleep. In public. My dad is the only one decent enough to sleep in a chair. I choose to stay awake and on my phone, so that we don’t miss our flight. With the approximate half hour of sleep I had had on the previous flight, I feel truly sleepless in Seattle.
Friday, 9:25 a.m. PST (8:45 a.m. AKST)
My family members are awake and fully functioning, while I struggle to keep my head up and eyes open. We board flight number two. I struggle to sleep with all the plane windows open and lights on. Then, however, an idea pops in my head. I throw on my hoodie, tighten the strings so the hood covers my eyes and leaves a hole to breathe, and within minutes I sleep like a rock.
Somewhere near Chicago, Illinois
Friday, 3:40 p.m. CT (12:45 p.m. AKST)
I’m shaken awake by my sister who laughs when she sees my face hidden inside my hood. I untie myself as she explains we will be landing at 3:55 p.m. CT. I fall back asleep and she wakes me up again. This happens a few more times before I look at my boarding pass, to see that our next flight boards at 4:30 p.m. CT. I tell the family so we can hurry to the next gate when the time comes.
Chicago, Illinois
Friday, 4:20 p.m. CT (1:20 p.m. AKST)
To our disgust, the passengers in front of us on the plane had made a less than hasty exit and we are just getting off now. We run to the departure boards to find that although we are in Terminal 2 Concourse F, we need to be in Terminal 3 concourse L. Meanwhile, my sister insists on getting a snack and using the bathroom before we leave. She refuses to go alone so I accompany her in a short walk she can take by herself.
Friday, 4:50 p.m. CT (1:50 p.m. AKST)
We barely make it to our third flight before it enters the sky. What a relief the previous flight was not delayed. We would have never made it. I try to fall asleep again, but my attempts are in vain. Thank The Lord I had on the last flight.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Friday, 7:15 p.m. EST (3:15 p.m. AKST)
The Wallisch Family arrives at Pittsburgh International Airport. What a crazy journey home I thought to myself. Luckily, we can get our bags, board a shuttle, get in our car, eat dinner, and go home. No more airport mishaps! I released a sigh of relief.
Friday, 7:30 p.m. EST (3:30 p.m. AKST)
The Wallisch Family arrives at baggage claim. We check the boards. Chicago planes let out luggage at two claims, B and D. Our flight number was listed next to baggage Claim B, so naturally we go there. Unfortunately, someone messed up when logging which bag goes in which claim, for we were chilling there for a half hour before realizing that our bags are at Claim D. By the time we notice, Claim D is already turned off with are bags sitting motionless on the conveyor belt.
Friday, 8:20 p.m. EST (4:20 p.m. AKST)
The shuttle finally arrives after what feels like forever to bring us to the car.
Robinson, Pennsylvania
Friday, 9 p.m. EST (5 p.m. AKST)
I witness the first sunset I’ve seen in over a week from a hilltop parking lot. Although it was cool to have 24-hour daylight in Alaska, I had missed the feeling of nighttime, so the sight of a sunset surrounds me with a feeling of elation. We enjoy a hearty meal at TGIFridays and watch a few innings of the Pirates’ game.
Place where I live, Pennsylvania*
Friday, 9:45-11:59 p.m. EST (5:45-7:59 p.m. AKST)*
The Wallisch family runs into its final airport mishap, ironically, nowhere near any airport. We are super excited to fall into bed and sleep until the end of time, but the second we walk in the door we are attacked by the putrid scent of dog poop. We walk into the living room, see a small pile, clean it up, and think that is the end of it. Then I start heading toward my room. I notice we left the gate open at the bottom of the staircase before leaving, and never informed the dogsitter it needed to remain shut. Slowly I ascend up the staircase and peak my head at the sure disaster that is waiting for me. “Oh, sh*t,” I say under my breath. Normally, I would laugh at my own pun. Not tonight, for it is worse than I had feared. Seventeen days of three dogs marking their territory, there was no square foot left unaffected by the tragedy. All four of us team up to fix this stinky situation.
Saturday, 1 a.m. EST (9:00 p.m. AKST)
We finally make it to bed and fall asleep. Our 23-hour journey of airport mishaps has finally concluded.
Saturday, 10:05 p.m. EST (6:05 p.m. AKST)
I finish the details of my wacky experience to share with the world. Everything is normal except for the stench of dog poop coming from upstairs. I still haven’t made it to my room; my suitcase is sitting in the downstairs hallway. Hopefully the last and smelliest airport mishap will no longer leave a trace.
*Times and locations are left vague to protect my location
