1115 NW5737 BOS TUP 1030 1315 CRJ 8A
TUP MEM 1630 1730
NW5743 MEM XNA 2346 0100 CRJ 12D
was 1930 2041
was 1116 NW5932 MEM XNA 0935 1050 CRJ 4A
was NW5737 BOS MEM 1030 1249 CRJ 8A
NW5799 MEM XNA 1435 1554 CRJ 8D
was CO8800 BOS ABE 0955 1125 BE1 2A
NW3757 ABE DTW 1206 1401 CRJ 10C
NW5829 DTW XNA 1514 1644 CRJ 10B

The odd original itinerary was based on award
availability not through Newark.

Got up, took a rush-hour train, got in about 8:15.
Did the checkin machine thing, which referred me to
an agent, who informed me that as there were weather
oddities on the east coast and the mid-Atlantic in
particular, she'd be more comfortable routing me
through Memphis. So I was sent down to Northwest
in Terminal E with an endorsed ticket where cheery
Ginny, who was the same agent who had authorized the
transfer, checked me in in moments. Of course, as I had
a musical instrument with me, I got a quick but thorough
secondary at security; then to the gate. I haven't
been inside Terminal E in quite a while: it's been
very snazzed up on the outside but is a little sad
inside, somewhat dingy, stains on the floor, plywood
patching missing panels of some of the jetways: Boston
doesn't show itself a world-class city, and aside from
the newer terminals A and B, Logan basically cries
out "seen better days." Not much in the way of food -
Wok 'n' Roll, Sbarro, McDonald's, and Au Bon Pain or
the equivalent. The shops, also, were pathetic. Sat in
one of those white rocking chairs for a while, looking at
the somewhat dreary grayness alternating with the somewhat
dreary computer screen. They announced preboarding,
and there was an enormous crush at the gate - all
but a half dozen passengers rushed forward. Then
there was the usual milling about, as they called
rows 8 to 12. As I needed the overhead, and Ginny had
put me in row 8, I hustled aboard only to find that
most of the forward rows had been occupied by
an assortment of wild-eyed teenagers and extremely
elderly folks, but luckily the aft overheads were
sufficiently empty. Gradually the plane filled with
an odd assortment; I felt lucky that the seat next
to me remained empty, until just before the doors
closed, when a largish gent tried without success to
make himself comfortable in the rather severe confines
of the CRJ. I fell asleep with him still attempting to
adjust to his surroundings. Woke up a few minutes
before scheduled landing, with the flight attending
announcing that we'd be on the ground in twenty. Well,
twenty minutes later, we were still wandering aimlessly
amid the thunderheads. Presently it was announced that
we would divert to Tupelo. I grunted to my seatmate
that this gave me an opportunity to see an airport that
I would normally never have flown to; he let it be
known that, although he was actually flying to Jackson,
as it was cheaper, he had been born and raised right
there in Tupelo and was coming back for a visit. He
did not look like Elvis.

Landed after some more thunderstorm dodging and played
the waiting game; after an hour of getting clearance
to take off and then having the clearance revoked,
they decided first to let people abandon the flight
if they chose (good for my seatmate) and then
subsequently to let the rest of us out of the plane,
after we'd run out of pretzels and water on board.

Tupelo airport is tiny - a couple waiting rooms, a
couple gate agents, a couple arrival gates, a
couple car rental booths, and one departure gate.
And a batch of cops, security screeners, and the like.
As soon as we set foot inside, we were deemed to have
exited the secure area, so when the time came, we had
to do the whole TSA thing again - ID, boarding passes,
shoes off, and so on. But that didn't come for a couple
hours. There was one vending room open - a snack machine
and a drink machine, plus free coffee for those whose
nerves weren't frazzled enough already. So we sat around
for a good long time, doin' nothin'. I called Carol, who
got her agent to put me on the waitlist for the 7:30.

We were told to hang around, as we could be summoned
back at any time, so there was no opportunity to explore
the fine dining opportunities of Tupelo or even to take
a quick cab ride to the birthplace of the original
Hound Dawg. So the airport was full with the millings
about of two diverted aircraft (the other on its way to
Columbus); I asked a lurking Statie if this was the most
excitement that airport had had in a while, but he said
that in fact during a tornado alert a couple years
previous, there had actually been four commercial planes
there at one time.

Eventually it was time to board, so we went through
security and got on the plane, where Jennifer, the
hitherto quite chirpy and agreeable flight attendant,
had acquired significant bags under her eyes. Especially
when they stopped boarding again. Luckily, those already
aboard were made to stay aboard (threats of lightning),
and luckily, the plane had been recatered with water,
pretzels, and a full drink cart. And luckily too she
declared the bar open. And guess what, not only was
there water to go around, she found a stash at the back
of the cart with 5 Courvoisier minis ... I got the first,
whereupon the guy across the aisle asked for the same,
only mine was a VS, and he got the only VSOP of the lot.
Oh, well, it was a very good-tasting VS, considering.
After the front passed through, the others were allowed
to board, and we took off between the end of one front
and the beginning of the next (which, according to the
CNN reports, spawned numerous tornadoes). The rather
bumpy 90-mile ride to Memphis took an hour, during the
10 calm minutes of which Jennifer managed a full drink
service (another hit of the same, thank you - she got
a nice comment card).

By which time my flight to XNA had left, a mere 2 hours
late. They put me on the 9:30 am the next day but didn't
offer any accommos, so I went down to the Fort Smith
gate to try to beg on that, but others had had the same
idea, and it was full. The next XNA was the 7:30, now
set to depart at an indeterminate time in the future. I
inquired about my status on the waitlist and was told
that I hadn't made it at all. So I told the agents at
the desk I'd buy a round if they fixed me up, and they
did get me 12D, the last seat, in the right rear of
the airplane, just in front of the rest room. They asked
for two Dr. Peppers and a Coke, saying that they needed
the caffeine hit if they were going to make it through
the day. A bargain, and I threw in a few candy bars,
which the newsstand sold for the fire-sale price of a dime
over retail. So I was set, but my flight was expected to
go at 11, and it was just 6 something.

As Courvoisier and pretzels do not a dinner make,
Corky's beckoned; unfortunately they sold only wet, and
I had a rib dinner (wet). The ribs were oversmoked and
then overstewed in sauce; a mustard and celery seed
slaw was pretty decent; and the beans were quite good,
although in deference to the sensibilities of my future
seatmate I didn't finish the serving. My plan had been
to hike down to Interstate and order the same thing
there, but my stomach chickened out, and I just took a
walking tour of the whole airport, ending at the US Air
gate, which was deserted and had a working power outlet
(many of the outlets in the airport are shorted out or
otherwise broken - some crooked contractor probably
made away with a bundle). At 9 I decided to try the
Interstate, only both locations (by B20 and at the B
concourse split) had just closed. Wandered about a bit
looking for any open beer outlet, of which there was
one only, right by my departure gate A5, called Vito's
or something - it was supposed to have closed at 7,
but someone cleverly decided to keep it open a few
hours given the day's circumstances. I got a pint of
Ultra, which tastes like Bud diluted with soda water;
then, before I had the chance to sample the other
draft offers (Bud and Bud Light), it closed down
around 10. I nursed the drink until I noticed that the
outlet I was plugged into was nonfunctional. Went in
search of working electric, which took me to a Delta
gate where I stayed until a cop told me they were
closing the concourse. Told him my flight was supposed
to be leaving near midnight, so he let me stay; but
feeling slightly unwelcome I left the area around 11.
I was wondering what would happen if they cancelled the
flight: they'd cancelled a long-delayed Moline flight
within earshot not long ago, telling the passengers
that there were no local hotels available any more,
and they were putting out some mattresses near Arby's.
But if they cancelled us, they would certainly have
run out of mattresses, too.

At 11:15, our equipment arrived; we boarded shortly
thereafter - my seatmate was a pleasant, jolly woman
of unfortunately about twice my size. It was not a
comfy trip for either of us. We took off shortly
before midnight and landed shortly before one.

Surprisingly, my bag came out: it was 1:30 when I
collected it and went to the driveway to meet my ride.

Turned out my original delayed itinerary would have
gotten me in 6 1/2 hours earlier: my ABE plane,
although half an hour late, would have been covered
by the DTW plane, which was 20 min late. But who knew.