1,800 Seconds

Half an hour. 30 minutes. 1,800 seconds. There are a lot of things that can be done in 30 minutes or less. Baking a cake, watching an episode of Petticoat Junction or the Andy Griffith Show, a lunch break, if the clock didn't stop 2 quarters of an NFL game, an average 5k run time, the list could go on and on. Sometimes 30 minutes passes by quickly, other times it seems to drag on and last eternity.

As if telling my best friend goodbye wasn't sad enough, the 30 minutes directly following, I spent in sheer panic. The traffic had backed us up getting to the airport, so by the time I arrived inside I had 45 minutes to get to my gate. I took a deep breath and convinced myself everything would be just fine. I printed my ticket and got in the short line to check-in my bag. I handed my newly printed ticket to the lady at the counter and she quickly replied, "you have to check your bags 45 minutes before your flight, it's now 38 minutes."

I'd love to see the look on my face as she told me that. I do know the thoughts in my head, "SRSLY?!" I so badly wanted to play the, "my best friend just had a baby, got released from the hospital at 12:30, and we rushed across Phoenix for them to get me here" card, but my parents raised me better. Instead, I opted for asking what my other options were.

They were: 1. Take the next flight to St. Louis 24 hours from now or 2. Leave your luggage here with someone and take your flight. My thoughts: 1. I don't want to sleep in the airport or make my friends come back to get me. My parents are already driving to St. Louis. I don't want them to have to get a hotel, because I was 7 minutes late. 2. Does it look like I have a multitude of friends surrounding me waiting to keep my luggage in Phoenix?

Once again, I opted to keep my thoughts in my head and asked if she was sure there was no way I could get my bag with me on this flight. After 5 more minutes of debate, I came up with the idea, maybe it could somehow appear small enough to be a carry-on bag. That idea must have struck a chord with her, because she tagged my bag, reminded me any liquids over 3 ounces would have to be disposed, and said now run. Running is exactly what I did, at least as fast as humanly possible with a large suitcase in hand while going up an escalator.

Security was equally as pleasant as my encounter at check-in. To my surprise, ALL of my liquids passed! The best news I had heard in the past 15 minutes. I quickly slipped my sandals back on, grabbed my suitcase and purse, and ran for my gate. Thankfully I could tell the line was still long, so I wasn't going to miss my flight. I waited my turn in line, got my ticket scanned, and the lady told me I'd have to wait until everyone boarded to see if they had room for my bag. This is when I went into meltdown mode. I had made it this far, surely I couldn't get turned away now! I waited. I teared up. I waited some more. FINALLY, the line was through. The check-in lady informed me she had gotten word that my luggage would fit, I could board. Whew. I was saved.

Half an hour. 30 minutes. 1,800 seconds. When watching Andy Griffith or Petticoat Junction, those 30 minutes go by much faster and way, way, way more pleasant than the half hour I had just experienced at the airport. But much like the ending to most 30 minute sitcoms, all was well at the end of the day, and my little meltdown left me feeling quite silly.