Missing a Flight in Turkey

I’m a bit of a worrier.

Which is close to the word warrior or the exact opposite of a worrier.

Being a worrier means that you need to get to the airport about a day and a half early and then constantly check the boarding time because you need to be one of the first people on the plane so you can guarantee your overhead space.

Don’t fuck with my overhead compartment.

When my wife – that’s still weird – and I were booking our honeymoon we decided it would be a great idea to book a flight to our final destination an hour after landing from the U.S. in Istanbul. You know because a small window between flights in a foreign land where they speak a different language would be easy to navigate for us seasoned – please read that sarcastically – ¬†travelers who were only outside of the “States” a handful of times (read: once).

Our flight from the states went wonderfully. We were fortunate enough to be gifted business class seats and now air travel has been ruined for me completely. Sitting in economy is like being on one of those trains in India where people are sitting on the roof of the car. Business class is basically heaven, so if the plane crashed it would be an easy transition.

We landed in Istanbul and panic set in immediately because I have severe mental issues.

It’s something about being in an unfamiliar place that really makes me completely shut down and revert to an infantile state where I complain and cry.

Much like a baby, it was gas.

I kept checking my phone constantly as we watched one bag on the carousel continue circling around like it got the golden ring that equated to a free ride. As each minute passed my heart started pounding faster and faster, my wife did her best to calm me down — it didn’t work.

Once our baggage finally made its way onto the belt we hurriedly collected our items and ran through the airport to the ticketing counter. The whole time I felt like we were in Home Alone when they were about to miss their flight to Paris.

Finally we reached the domestic departure area and looked up at the big board where all the flights were listed. Our first glimmer of hope was when we saw that our flight was still boarding and slightly behind schedule.


We shimmied through the line and got to the counter.

“We’re here to check-in”

“Oh.” Said the lady behind the counter.

My heart dropped. Not that “oh” has different meanings in different countries but what could this issue possibly be? Is Robert F. Peterson the name of someone who is on the “Do Not Fly” list? Is my wife a special ops soldier who has duped me into believing in this sham marriage? Are we going to be held in a foreign prison because our passports didn’t match the names on our tickets? – that one also happened to be the most likely scenario.

In this instance “oh” meant “oh, shit, you completely missed your flight and are now destined to be stuck here for eternity!”

That’s right, we missed our flight and now we were yelling at a lady who couldn’t possibly care why we were there or why we missed our flight because she had about 13 other people ready to yell in her face. Not to mention that we were fortunate because she spoke English, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t speak German, Spanish, and Chinese and if she did she needs to not work at complaint counter at the airport in Istanbul.

What was the solution to our missed flight?


That was just how I wanted to spend the first couple of hours on our honeymoon, buying a new ticket for a flight that got us in four hours after our original landing time.

I was in such a panic because all I could think about were those stupid Locked Up: Abroad shows and I was positive we were going to be picked up and thrown into a dingy cell with 12 other people where our water was rationed and you could only get some by licking the walls when the rain ran down the side.

I’m a bit of a worrier.

We finally got through security and took a seat in a nice little cafe in the airport. I saw a Starbucks and I’m happy to report that they really follow the corporate motto of being a complete prick to their customers in Istanbul too.

The coffee tasted like home and finally calmed me down.

We got on our flight and flew off to our destination and to an amazing honeymoon. But I’ll always remember missing the flight in Istanbul as an experience where my wife got to ask herself if she really wanted more kids than the one she went on her honeymoon with.



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