Five years ago, I flew out on a Monday, September 10th for a work trip to Durango, CO. It just was a terrible travel day as I lost an earring from Peter, had a bad flight and then was given no choice but a mini van when I landed. The week after this trip I was to transfer to a full time travelling position.
We woke up the next day (I was out with another girl from work) and went to breakfast. Since there is a time difference, during breakfast people told us that "a plane hit a building".
We sort of laughed it off nervously as we had to fly home in a couple days and didn't want to think about that. We didn't realize what was happening.
We went back to our hotel rooms after breakfast and before we went to the hospital to work.
I turned on the TV just in time to watch footage of the plane hitting the WTC and then a ticker on the bottom say "All US Flights are grounded".
I FREAKED OUT. I called a colleague at work, absolutely hysterical. She tried to calm me and told me to go check on the other girl. I later found out when I hung up, she cried and so did my supervisor.
I checked on the other girl who was ok but I wasn't. I was a mess and so was my family back home.
We went to work anyway as we were stuck there. We worked two days at the hospital. I actually remember how terrible I looked too. They felt very bad for us. I checked my work email at the hospital and saw that a sales woman at our company, Carol Flyzik was on flight 11. I freaked out again.
When we were done working (now the two days we were there the hospital told us to visit some sights to try to take our minds off things. Warning lights kept coming on in the mini van so I couldn't just take it and drive across country). I dumped the mini van at the bus station (no trains, no taxis). It took 12 hours to get from Durango Colorado to Denver by bus.
I did NOT want to get on a plane again.
The other girl needed to get home asap for a wedding and was willing to fly so in Denver she went to a hotel at the airport and I waited in the bus station. I was alone. With all my luggage (this was before I learned how to pack light). There were people standing, sitting, laying on the floor. It was wall to wall bodies and people pushing and shoving to get on the next bus. I was no where near getting to the front. I frantically called work again at 11pm Colorado time and got a hotel room for the night. I'd have to wait until morning to try for a bus again.
I went in the morning and got on a bus for another 12 hour ride to Omaha, Nebraska. Riding busses like that SUCKS. My family was frantic, I could only make quick calls as I had to conserve my cell battery. I'd call from pay phones at rest stops so they had an idea of where I was.
I was scared that someone would put a bomb in the luggage under the bus. No one was checking luggage.
I made it to Omaha and same story, too many bodies not enough busses. The next one was at 3am and I was probably not going to be able to get on it. I went to another hotel. I was just sick. Couldn't eat. A wreck.
When checking in, the clerk looked at my license. He asked me what I was doing there. I told him I was not going to fly so I am taking busses across the US until I get to MA.
He though that was just crazy and said "the same god that watches you on a plan is watching you in the bus so what difference does it make?" For some reason he made sense to me. I think I was just done. So I checked in, tried to eat and called travel to fly home.
It's now Saturday and I am at the airport. I had to transfer my ticket from United to American as United was not running. I asked the agent how she felt about everything. She looked me dead in the eye and said "right here, on the ground, in this building, I feel fine but I can't give you any reassurance on a plane".
I went to a pay phone and called our travel dept who came in on the weekend to help get everyone home. I spoke with a woman named Helen. I told her what was said to me and I was hysterical. I was petrified. Helen told me to go to my gate and look around. If anyone looked funny, I was to call her and she'll book me on the next flight and we can do this until I feel like getting on the plane.
I went to the gate and sat there and cried. An old Mexican man (who really couldn't speak English but tried to) was very nice and tried to comfort me. I did get on the plane. I cried on the plane and old ladies tried to comfort me. I got home and cried. I cried all night.
Sunday, I went to church. At the end of the Mass, they played a patriotic song and I cried so hard I had to sit back down. Old men passed down the aisle and patted me on the shoulder and old ladies stopped to hug me and they cried too.
I could cry again right now. I feel guilty about all this though. I mean, I didn't lose anyone I knew, or close to me. I was the lucky one so why was I a wreck? What right did/do I have to be so upset?
I went to high school with a guy named Brendan. His mom was an admin in the guidance office. He worked in NYC. His brother, Kevin also worked in NYC and was in the WTC. He was married four months. He didn't make it. Awful. Just Awful.
Believe it or not, I did transfer to the traveling position the week after the 11th. I did refuse to fly out of Boston though for a good 8 months and no one pushed me on it.
Still to this day, when I'm on a plane I watch everyone like a hawk ready to leap into the aisle if I have to in order to stop something. Our world has changed for good. We must never forget.
