This is actually not a post telling you how to move during a superstorm, because I failed miserably. But I did get to New York, eventually.
Now to recap, I have been packing up my west coast life to move myself and the few remaining things I own from San Francisco to New York City.
I was supposed to move last Monday. I’d take a redeye from SFO to arrive in NYC early in the morning on Tuesday. I had no idea I was supposed to arrive at the same exact time as a massive winter “frankenstorm,” purported to destroy NY as we know it.
(I became aware from this tweet.)
I wasn’t exactly sure how I was supposed to fly smoothly into JFK through a “frankenstorm,” but figured I’d continue to pack and move all of my things, as planned. I didn’t really know what else I could do.
So here’s a summary of my attempts at moving:
Monday morning. Attempt #1. Get everything ready to go to catch my redeye on Monday night. Receive email from JetBlue telling me my flight is canceled, and to call to reschedule. I manage to reschedule a flight for Wednesday night. The storm should be over by then. Good. I have a little bit of extra time to clean and enjoy California, and I still have my apartment until Wednesday. This is ok.
Tuesday morning. Attempt #2. My mom is calling me in a panic, certain that my Wednesday night flight will get canceled again. She doesn’t believe I will make my Thursday night flight from New York to North Carolina, where I will be shooting a wedding in my hometown for the weekend. To appease her, I call JetBlue and manage to find a flight straight to North Carolina. I almost book. I pause to ask him if he thinks my original flight to New York will be canceled, because this is why I am attempting to reroute in the first place. He says that all flights will be resuming in the next 10 hours, and he is absolutely certain that there will be no more cancelations. I should just keep my flight to New York. I thank him for his time and go on my way.
Wednesday morning. Attempt #3. I wake up to an email telling me my flight is canceled. Fantastic. I spend the morning on the phone with JetBlue yet again, and manage to schedule a non-direct flight to North Carolina via Boston. It looks like I won’t be moving to New York this week, but at least I’ll make it to NC in time for the wedding. I should be homeless at this point, but my landlord offers to let me stay in my place a few extra days. The flight leaves at 7am Thursday. I will be out of California soon.
Thursday morning. 5:30 a.m. I arrive at SFO to the news that my flight has been delayed until 9 a.m. I’m slightly annoyed, but it just cuts into my 4-hour layover in Boston, so I don’t mind too much. I check my luggage and make it through security without a hitch.
8:30 a.m. My flight has been delayed until 11 a.m. I begin to get nervous. I drink two coffees and eat a prosciutto sandwich (airport breakfast foods have improved significantly).
11:30 a.m. I am still waiting to board. They tell us it will be soon, but now how soon. I explain that I absolutely must make my connecting flight in Boston. They tell me I should be fine.
12:30 p.m. They inform us that our plane will not be arriving and we will be delayed another couple of hours. I head to the front desk and tell them I am going to miss my connecting flight in Boston, and beg them to find me some way to possibly get to North Carolina by the following morning. They reschedule me for a redeye leaving that night, which will (ironically) stop in JFK for four hours, and finally make it to Raleigh by 11 a.m. At this point I realize I will be waiting for my flight for a total of SIXTEEN HOURS. I go in an empty corner of a waiting area and cry. (It’d been a long week at this point.)
3 p.m. I drink a martini and eat some french fries. 10 hours in, and I’m starting to feel at home in the terminal.
5 p.m. I am trying not to fall asleep on the airport floor, in fear that I will miss my last chance to move and will ultimately never get out of California. I am experiencing symptoms I haven’t felt since pulling multiple all-nighters in college. My body is cold and my arms are tingling. My tailbone hurts from sitting in airport chairs for over 12 hours and my legs are numb. I am ready to leave this strange California airport world.
8:30 p.m. 16 hours in. I drink a final celebratory glass of wine. Hope is all I have left.
9:30 p.m. We are called to board. I say goodbyes to California and go on my way.
Long story short, I was in the airport for a total of 30 hours. I didn’t sleep a wink, thanks to a screaming baby conveniently located in the seat behind me on the redeye. I finally arrived in New Bern, NC with one hour to spare before I had to begin shooting the wedding rehearsal festivities. By the time I made it to bed on Friday night, I had been up for 42 hours.
Despite the lack of sleep, the weekend in New Bern was amazing. I saw great friends and spent time with my family, which was a nice break from the chaos of my previous moving attempts. My Monday flight from NC to NY was a piece of cake, and by the end of the day, I was all settled into my new home in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
Goal “Move my entire life from San Francisco to New York City” complete.
GREETINGS FROM NEW YORK!