Saving money on a quick trip to a white Christmas

Just Passing Through

I’m not sure my Scotch ancestors would have been so proud of me this last week. I’m not sure I saved any money.›My immediate family celebrated by exchanging gifts before the big day, eating a nice pre-Christmas dinner, and taking the other family out to eat the fast food of their choice.

That left the week between Christmas and New Years when each of their families would be very busy. My brother and his family live in Colorado where it snows. I decided to spend a few days with them.

I discovered that flying out of DFW on Christmas morning was a great idea. The tickets are a bit discounted, and the planes aren’t crowded. There were other people there — lots of people — but we were a happy bunch, going through inspections without having to stand in line and joking with the young people who patted us down thoroughly even though they were not going to get paid until after the government shutdown was over.

The night before I’d parked my car at a small hotel near the airport and used their shuttle bus to get to the airport.›For free, I left my car in their parking lot. They took me to my gate and would pick me up when I came home the following Saturday night. It was easy. Together with a young man from Cincinnati, who was going home to surprise his mother with nothing more than a light jacket and a bottle of Xanax in his pocket, we wished each other a Merry Christmas and went inside.

The week was spent eating way too much, sleeping under a big pile of blankets, and thoroughly enjoying his family. I told wonderful stories and pretended to listen when he told his.›It was like going back to our teen years, except this time we told each how much we loved each other.›

There was snow, but Saturday had sunny skies even though it was about ten degrees outside. The moisture in the air was a gossamer veil of tiny ice crystals dancing in the sun. Everything was perfect.

It was until I got to the airport and realized “everyone in the world” was going home that afternoon. The lines were long, the unpaid TSA agents were a little grumpy, and the children had been given a “spoonful of sugar” and a week or so of exhausting fun. No “better watch out, Santa is coming” hung over their heads.

Although the plane was full, I had a good seat and the ride home was uneventful. We landed, waited on the tarmac, moved to another terminal, waited some more and finally de-planed thirty minutes late. Eventually my hugely overpacked suitcase came, and I called the hotel. The van was on its way.

Outside, several fellow travelers huddled around the “courtesy van” sign. Nearby parking, far away parking, the Hilton, the Sheridan, the Turkish Embassy and the Super 8 Motel south of the airport came and went. My friends left, and others joined me. The courtesy vans returned for another load — mine didn’t come. I called the nice little girl at the hotel several times. She got in touch with the driver, several times. I thought about taking a lay-over at the Turkish Embassy and then remembered they didn’t like smart-mouthed journalists. It was about thirty degrees out on that sidewalk. An hour and a half after I got my suitcase, my ride came.›

It was late. I was hungry. I thought about staying at the hotel another night but changed my mind when I saw the lobby was full. I found my car, drove the two hours home and got to sleep in my own bed. The next day, I woke up warm and happy. I had saved four dollars and fifty cents by not parking in the airport parking, but I’d had a great time and had a White Christmas. The rest was just a little spice to make me appreciate the sugar.