The Butterfly Effect

I was just told that our flight is in the air, but since the runway has been shortened, it may not be able to land. There are a few obvious observations and questions prompted from this knowledge.

Observation – Aviation will never rise above Mother Nature.

1) From where is this plane coming? Presumably, it is approaching Charlottesville from another location, but arrival time depends on the city - Charlotte, D.C., Philly. On second thought, those are the only options, so I suppose the difference is negligible.
2) Why is the runway shortened due to rain? I understand that precipitation would render the path slick, but I would also imagine the whole runway would be slick, not just one section. Unless one section has superior drainage, in which case, why were the engineers not capable of designing a runway with adequate drainage throughout? The engineers probably did not come from UVA.
3) I think Charlottesville airport is one of the few airports worldwide that has a Christian radio station entertaining its guests. Irrelevant, but an interesting note, and I think it keeps the collective helpless at ease.
4) Perhaps the greatest question is why would I, the shameless skeptic of air travel, think it was a good idea to schedule a flight to Las Vegas at 5:45 on a Friday night? Had all gone smoothly, I would land in Sin City at 9:30. Late, yes, especially because that is 12:30 EST and I worked out at 6 this morning, but completely manageable. As it is, the earliest I will arrive is midnight, meaning I will either need a large power nap on the flight or a large vodka on the rocks.

For now, however, all I can do is sit. As others scurry around, frantically hoping to find arrangements, I relax. Perhaps it is because I just received an automated call from US Airways stating my flight to Vegas does not leave until 9:50.

A greater influence on my mood is belief in the butterfly effect, which is stronger than my frustration with air travel. Call it Divine intervention, chance, fate, or the hand of God, but there are times when a series of seemingly insignificant occurrences lead you to an unintended experience. This experience can be life changing or simply put a smile on your face, but you know it was not of your own making. As a believer in the hand of God, these little happenings impact me, if only because they offer the hope of Someone greater than I considering my well-being.

I had one of these experiences recently, and if I had to pin the causes, they would be my pesky obligation to follow through on commitments, desire to lend a helping hand, and food. (Obviously, food was going to be involved. It always is.)

Wednesday, I was feeling drained, mentally and physically. Apparently, after eighteen years of shutting down come mid-May, my brain and body were not prepared to press on through the summer months. This did not change the fact that we had a softball game, and while every inch of my body wanted to spend the evening on my couch, my spirit of team solidarity would not allow me to do so. I arrived at the game minutes before we sang the national anthem - just kidding, there is no singing of the national anthem in rec league, but that would be awesome - to find one of our players needed a ride home after the game.

No one was leaping at the opportunity, so I offered my taxi services. The game was brutal, although I blame our mercy rule defeat on lack of chemistry due to players being called from the minors on a minute's notice. Afterward, Andy and I hopped in my car, and during the drive across town, I noticed Fry Spring's Pizza Station. This restaurant is city-renowned for pizza, and since I was going to Vegas in two days, I had been battling the insatiable craving for grease and chocolate all week. White flag held high, I entered the bar in my navy shorts and navy t-shirt. The look was accentuated by a sweaty pony tail. I promptly sat at the bar, ordered a Diet Coke, and focused my full attention on the menu. Within moments, a young gentleman asked if the seat beside me was taken. I graciously indicated the chair was vacant.

Having him on my left was much preferable to the old gentleman on my right, who I knew was just itching to tell me about the ‘79 Eastern Conference Finals.
PanAm (explanation of nickname to come later) and I engaged in the standard small talk subjects, such as jobs, college, Mike Brown becoming the head coach of the Lakers. This was fortunate for the kitchen staff, because my pizza took an inordinate amount of time. Eventually it did come, and with it, my departure.

PanAm requested my number, and when he called to give me his, I asked his last name. Afterwards I thought it may have sounded a bit stalkerish, but really I just like having an organized contacts list. Since I did have his name, though, I decided to Google him as any normal girl would. It just so happens he is quite the wrestler, placing seventh in Division I, winning a bronze medal in the Pan American games. I felt comforted that he would not be overly intimidated by my illustrious collegiate tennis career.

So here I am, finishing this entry during my layover, where I was just informed the flight has been delayed yet again, landing in Vegas at one o’clock in the morning. Perhaps I should have taken an earlier flight. Perhaps I should have used my vacation days a bit more wisely. Perhaps I should not have gone. I think that is what life is, though. Occasionally, it may be impulsive, it may be falling into temptation, it may be acting in a way others would not. In spite of this, the hand of God has placed me where I am. In an airport. At 10:15 on a Friday night. Having spent forty dollars on a Pepsi. But, hey, PanAm just texted.