Tell All Your Single Friends!!: Four Airports in One Day!

I'm back -- no thanks to the airline industry. Read on....

With my tooth abscess medicine in hand and backup medicine in checked suitcase, I proceed to my gate at 5:30 a.m. for my 6:20 flight to IAD. I sailed through security which seemed a good omen given my last experience in June.
With coffee, muffin, and exorbitantly expensive water, I settle in at my gate for a blissful 3 minutes before an announcement tells me to get my ass back to the front ticket counter as my plane is missing a piece and won't be leaving Richmond any time soon.
A panicked jog back to the front gate, a nervous 15 minute wait in line, and I'm transferred from United to Delta flying via Atlanta to Las Vegas -- and only arriving 1 hour later! What about my bag? "No problem, ma'am. I'll call down to the baggage room and have them move that over to the Delta side."
Another wait in line at Delta to get a boarding pass and I'm informed that my bag is not their responsibility, so they won't be able to give me a baggage claim ticket. I am informed that I won't be allowed on the flight if United has not moved my baggage to Delta.
Back to United where I am assured that all is well.
I proceed to security for second time, discarding coffee, muffin, and water, only to be flagged by the dreaded SSSS on the bottom of my boarding pass. This apparently means special screening is required. I'm taken to the side, frisked, shoes removed and checked for substances, made to show the bottom of my feet, and all of my purse and carry-on contents are examined. Hooray -- I pass!
Jogging down to the gate, I am rewarded with "now boarding all zones" and I confidently approach the check in. REJECTED. The thorough frisker neglected to hole punch my boarding pass, so I'm given the stink eye and asked how I "got around security." A call is made to security to send down a female security officer to discuss the matter. Speed was not her mantra as yet another security guard ambled towards my gate. Still unfailingly polite, I am subjected to the same procedure -- frisked, shoes, bottom of feet, all objects examined -- AT THE GATE. Yes, the boarding passengers were avidly observing the process.
I finally get a (middle) seat and the chatty cathy young man next to me proceeds to talk the whole way to Atlanta. For the most part he was tolerable, not revealing himself to be a McCain supporter or Hokie until the actual descent. You just never know who they will sit you next to on a plane.
I arrive in Atlanta and checking my cellphone (note: WEAR WATCH WHEN TRAVELING), I realize that I have 17 minutes before my next flight leaves. I RUN 20 gates to find the doors closed and other passengers pleading to be let on board. "The tower makes the decision about when we stop boarding." The tower can bite me.
Directed back to the Delta service area, I join a long line of missed-flight sad people and wait my turn on the courtesy phone. I explain why I'm not on United. I explain that I didn't miss my flight -- DELTA missed me. I'm told that there are no more direct flights to Las Vegas until 9 p.m. I sputter. But wait! Am I willing to travel to Salt Lake City on my way to Las Vegas to arrive at 2 p.m.? You betcha!
As directed, I make my way to my next gate assignment and ask the counter agent to print out my boarding pass. She doesn't do that. She and the courtesy phone woman need to get their stories straight. I head back to the courtesy phone area and pugnaciously walk around the long line and get in the shorter line to speak to an actual person. Save your judge-y looks, fellow passengers, I think, I got screwed harder.
After witnessing a 9 minute flirtation between the counter agent and the person ahead of me (he came out from behind his desk to POINT down the hall for her) and then a thorough cleaning of his workspace, I am waved forward and I get my boarding pass.
I jog down to the gate in time to hear my song, "Now boarding all zones!" At least I'm on an aisle this time.
Good thing I ran -- we sit on the tarmac for nearly an hour.
When we finally take off, I order a beer and a $6 movie on the mini-screen in front of me. I repeat this cycle, much to the dismay of the teetotaling old man beside me.
Turns out I had the right idea because 45 minutes outside of Salt Lake City and just after receiving our small cup of 'almost there' water, we hit the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. We bounced up and down for a good 10 minutes. I could not control my arm which floated up and down violently in the aisle splashing water all over me and the guy across the aisle. Teetotaller is head between his knees praying, people are screaming, and I'm thinking that this was a shitty day to fly.
And then, a toddler being desperately clasped by her grandmother in the row ahead bounces up into view and laughs. The best ride she had ever been on, it seemed. So despite the fact that we were soaking wet and passengers were gasping all around us, our row smiled. And then we broke through and the plane leveled off.
Clearly my luck had changed, right?
Wrong.
We land at 2:35 MST, the exact time my connecting flight to Las Vegas is due to leave. Ever the optimist, I sprint down the aisle and run 6 gates down to find....nobody. Plane gone. As I sadly trudge back to my original gate, the Delta employee directs me to the courtesy phone. Like I didn't see that coming.
I call, I'm booked on the 7:45 flight and standby for the 3:15. Smarter, I insist that the counter agent print me out a boarding pass before I leave the courtesy area. Then I sprint down to the gate for 3:15. Yep, it was on another concourse.
The 3:15 flight is overbooked and volunteers are getting $200 vouchers and a meal ticket to take the later (my!) flight. I get nothing and try not to be resentful. I fail. I approach the counter agent and offer my mastercard begging for a seat in first class, a seat next to the pilot, anything. Nada.
The 3:15 flight leaves without me and I overhear another woman say, "well, at least we have a seat on the 5:30." What?!?!??! Screwed over by courtesy phone agent again!
On the plus side, my vacation buddy who has been waiting patiently in the Las Vegas airport since 9 a.m. has located my baggage, although the mean baggage agent won't give it to her. I guess there WAS time to make the Atlanta flight to Las Vegas.
I get standby on the 5:30 and head to the bathroom for a breakdown. A short cry later (Yes. Sue me. I was supposed to be in Las Vegas six hours ago.), I go to the bar, order a beer, and call my mother. While bemoaning my fate, Wombat calls and screams, "YOU HAVE TO GET TO CONCOURSE E!" Slightly befuddled and definitely deflated, I inform her that I AM at concourse E. Where I will probably die. Alone. Never having seen the dogs at Best Friends. "GET TO GATE 84! GO! GO! GO!"
I go. Wombat can be pretty convincing. "Give her your ticket and ID." Miraculously and without any kind of explanation, I'm handed a new ticket and informed that we will start boarding in 15 minutes. I look up -- I'm going to St. George! [Note: The St. George (Utah) airport is closer to Best Friends than Las Vegas, but flights in are much more expensive. Unless, of course, you fly from Richmond to Atlanta to Salt Lake City and give up on Las Vegas.] Wombat has managed this feat in addition to getting my luggage and she is now off to pick up our rental car to come fetch me in St. George.
As we walk out onto the tarmac to board the 24(?) seat plane, I'm filled with a sense of calm. I'm on my way. I climb the stairs, beaming at the attendant, and proceed directly to seat 2A. Except, there IS no seat 2A. Oh my freaking word, I'm going to miss another flight. Turns out the seating chart was wrong and I am allowed to sit in 2C. My heartbeat returns to normal.
And we are off! I am treated to a fabulous panorama view of the Great Salt Lake -- truly immense -- and an orange-fire-red sunset. I chat up my seat mate who turns out to be an assistant DA for Salt Lake City. He doesn't even get mad at me when I insist he look at the view at the same time the stewardess is handing me my drink and it spills in his hair. He is that nice. He promises that I may call him should I ever be arrested in SLC. Not that I'm planning to go back.
I land in St. George and am greeted by a room with a car rental counter. I care not. I'm 2 hours from the puppies and I'll walk if I have to. Fortunately, Wombat pulls up an hour later and we officially begin our vacation.