The Traffic Cone Should Have Been a Warning

The Traffic Cone Should Have Been a Warning

When you show up to the airport four and a half hours early for a simple direct flight home, you expect to be bored. Maybe grab some overpriced airport food. Scroll your phone. Board the plane, land, and drive home.

I did not expect to spend the next 24 hours living through every travel nightmare simultaneously while my 13 year old son watched me problem-solve our way through airline bureaucracy, power outages, hysterical passengers, and the question of whether $460 for baggage fees is reasonable (definitely not).

But let’s back up. Because this story actually starts with a traffic cone on a hockey rink.

The Day Started With a Literal Hole in the Ice

The universe gave us an actual sign. We just weren’t paying attention.

We’d arrived in Alaska on Thursday for Tanner’s 14U B hockey tournament. Six teams battling it out over four days in Anchorage. We played two games Friday, one Saturday, and finished second to last. Not our best showing, but the kids learned a lot. Mostly they gained a new appreciation for rink ice.

Which brings me to Sunday morning’s consolation game.

By 8 AM, we were at an outdoor rink in 24 degree weather with 30-40 mph wind gusts, the kind of conditions that make you question your life choices as a hockey parent.

We showed up ready to freeze our faces off, only to discover the game was delayed. Why? Because the rink staff had managed to create a hole in the ice. Not a small crack. A legitimate hole, about the size of a pie pan, worn straight down to the concrete.

Apparently, when prepping the ice the night before, someone left the water dripping. All night. Physics did its thing, and by morning there was a crater.

The staff spent an hour attempting to patch it. Then, in a move that perfectly foreshadowed the rest of our day, they decided the solution was to place an orange traffic cone on the ice and make the 14U kids play around it. We were saying WTF, somebodys going to get injured with that thing.

Those kids played an entire hockey game with a traffic cone as an obstacle, and not one of them touched it. It was simultaneously the most absurd and most impressive thing I’d seen.

Tanner’s team won 5-0. I thought, “Well, the weird part of the day was over”

Oh, how wrong I was.

Killing Time in Anchorage

After the game, we had hours to kill before our 5:45 PM flight. A couple of the other hockey parents and I took the kids to the local mall. Released the teenage mall rats into their natural habitat.

We grabbed lunch while the boys roamed free, doing whatever 13 and 14 year olds do in malls on Sunday afternoons. Afterward, we wandered down to the frozen bay to take some photos. The ice stretched out across the bay, mountains with snow on the peaks in the background. Beautiful.

Tanner mentioned that morning he was getting a head cold, but it wasn’t bad yet. He’d played through it just fine. I didn’t think much of it.

The drive to the airport was ten minutes. We returned the rental car, forgot to refill the tank, oops, and checked in with Delta by 2:30 PM.

The other parents had different flight times. Luck of the draw. They’d get out before the chaos.

Lucky them.

“This Should Be Easy”

By 2:30 PM we were at the Anchorage airport, bags checked with Delta, ready for our 5:45 PM direct flight to Seattle.

The plan was simple, chill at the airport for a few hours, board the plane, sleep on the flight, wake up in Seattle, drive home, collapse into our own beds. It was Sunday. Tanner would make it to school Monday morning, and we’d be sleeping in our own beds Sunday night.

There was a windstorm that had been hammering Anchorage for days, but the weather report said it should taper off by flight time. The smaller Delta planes were still flying, it must not be that bad, right?

When “Delayed” Becomes “Canceled” Mid-Conversation

I was checking the app when I got the notification, flight delayed two hours. Annoying, but it’s fine we weren’t connecting anywhere. I walked up to the counter to see if I could change our seats.

While talking to the agent, she suddenly looked at her screen and said, “Oh. They just canceled the flight.” Just like that. Casual. Like she was informing me they were out of pretzels.

Turns out our plane had been circling the airport for a while, couldn’t land in the wind, and diverted to Fairbanks from Seattle. Which is the wrong direction. By a lot.

“No problem,” I said, channeling every ounce of “control what you can control” energy I had. “What’s the next flight?”

The Agent offered a couple of options, 12:30 AM or the 9:45 AM on Monday. Hmm, sleep in my bed or wait till tomorrow…. I said, lets do the “12:30 AM.” That’s not the best time to fly, but fine. It would be very late, but we’d make it home.

She kept typing. Then stopped. “That one just canceled too.”

At this point, it looks like Delta auto-booked you on the 9:45 AM flight do you want to stick with that one or we can check other options? I still wanted to get home, I responded with, “what are my options”? she was started checking every airline. Alaska had a 12:30 AM flight still showing.

I said, “Let’s do that one.” She started moving us to that one, and then…

The power went out.

“Acts of God” Don’t Include Hotel Rooms, Apparently

The entire terminal went dark for just a second. Maybe two.

I’d seen this before—the kind of power bounce that means emergency generators just kicked on. Power restored almost immediately. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

Turns out Anchorage airport’s systems weren’t exactly configured for graceful power loss recovery. That one-second blip was enough to crash everything. The network went offline. Every terminal at every gate went offline. The whole system just… stopped.

I looked around. What the hell? How does this happen at an airport?

The computers in front of the agent were completely down. We stood there for fifteen minutes while they tried to recover the system. Nothing. The network was offline. It seemed odd to me that the network wasn’t set up as a critical system, but there was nothing anyone could do.

The agent looked at me apologetically. “The ticket agents outside security still have working systems. Can you head over there?”

I walked to Tanner and told him what was going on. We started our way to the main ticket counter.

The walk through the terminal took about five to ten minutes. Anchorage is pretty small—just a few terminals, easy to navigate. The terminal was oddly empty.

We walked out of the secure area to the main ticket counters.

Delta’s agents did their best. We had two options:

1. Wait until Monday for the 9:45 AM Delta flight (which eventually delayed until noon)
2. Try for the Alaska midnight flight

I asked if they’d cover a hotel for the night if we waited.

The agent smiled sympathetically. “Wind is an act of God. We don’t cover hotels for acts of God.”

I felt the frustration rising. “So the airline doesn’t cover passengers when flights are canceled? You expect us to sleep here? Does the airport close?”

She explained it was an old rule. Acts of God don’t qualify for hotel coverage.

I knew the hotel we’d stayed at all weekend was full when we checked out. Going back wasn’t an option anyway.

They did give me a meal voucher. Small victory.

I chose the midnight flight. Work was waiting on Monday. Tanner needed to make school. Better to push through and get home.

They got us rebooked on the Alaska Airlines 12:30 AM flight. Their jets were still flying, bigger planes, less affected by wind. The Delta agent mentioned their smaller jets were shaking on the ground like they were in heavy turbulence.

The Baggage Saga

Here’s where things got truly absurd.

Since I was now ticketed on Alaska instead of Delta, I needed to retrieve my checked bags and re-check them with Alaska. Simple, right?

Nope.

The power outage had killed TSA’s bag screening system. Every. Single. Bag. had to be manually inspected. By hand. One at a time.

Alaska Airlines, in a moment of triage brilliance, decided they would only accept checked bags from passengers on flights leaving within the next hour. Priority screening only.

This meant hundreds of people floating around the terminal with luggage, waiting for their turn.

My flight was in 8 hours. We had time. We collected our bag from Delta baggage claim and walked into the Alaska chaos. I need to get my bag tags, this way I would have one less thing to worry about. I tried to use one of the kiosks but I wasn’t able to get it to work with the ticket number I had. I parked the bags with Tanner in the terminal so I could sort out the ticket problem. He charge his phone and headphones while I walked to the coutner.

I explained the situation to the Alaska agent. “Our flight’s at midnight. I need to get bag tags, but your kiosks are not recongizing my ticket number.” She looked at me, sympathetic but firm. “Our systems are down. You need a confirmation number, not a ticket number.” Ok, so how do I get that? You need to use the Alaska app. I tried. The app rejected the number. She shrugged. “Our computers are down. If Delta issued you the ticket, see if they can help out.”

I walked back to Delta. Stood in the Silver status line (which felt ridiculous since I was the only person in it, but I wanted to make a point, you need to help me). The Delta agent—same one who’d helped me earlier, clearly working through the night—listened patiently. “We can’t give you an Alaska confirmation number. That’s their system.” She called Alaska. They confirmed their systems were down. “You’re going to have to figure out the app,” she said sympathetically.

Now i’m in travel limbo. I walked back to Tanner, he was sitting with our bags, still charging his phone and headphones. His sinuses were completely stuffed by this point, and he just looked miserable. I asked, you want to eat something?

Round 1: Pizza, Perspective, and the 50/50 Odds

Right next to the Alaska ticketing area was a pizza and brewery place. Just feet away, maybe within listening distance of the agents.

Tanner and I slugged our hockey bags, sticks and luggage into the restaurant. I sat at a tall table and used the Delta meal voucher.

“What happened?” he asked.

I filled him in on the power outage, the rebooking, the bag situation. Then I leveled with him.

“I’m giving us a 50/50 shot of making this flight.”

He looked up from his phone.

“The ticket confirmation might not work itself out,” I explained. “Worst case, we get on the 9:45 AM flight tomorrow. We’ll get home. Just might not be tonight.”

He nodded. Processing.

We sat there for a while, talking about the tournament. How the team could’ve won more games. My theory was the cold and wind played a role in the results. Overall, the team was improving.

We talked about the pond ice—how much fun that was.

“We could just leave the airport,” I joked, “and go skating instead.”

In hindsight, might’ve been a better option.

Eventually, he looked a little more stuffed up. The head cold was getting worse. His sinuses were bothering him, but he wasn’t complaining yet.

Round 2: The Confirmation Number Mystery

Around 8 PM, we left the restuarant I was starting to get a bit anxious about the bag tags. I needed to get this sorted out. I had Tanner hang out at some seats nearby with the bags. I figured he could continue to charge, he didn’t need to stand around with me.

“Sit tight. I’m going back to the ticket counter again.”

He nodded and went back to his phone. The only entertainment available at this point was people watching in the terminal. It was full of people milling about in various states of travel despair. But that wasn’t really Tanner’s style. The phone was more his speed.

I messaged my cousin who works for Alaska. Called Alaska customer service (1-hour wait, opted for callback). Messed with the app for 30 more minutes.

Then I walked back to the Alaska desk. Different agent this time.

She pulled out an iPad. “Let me see if I can get you a confirmation number.”

The first agent hadn’t done this.

She poked at the iPad for 10 minutes, scratching her head, muttering. Finally, “Here we go.”

She printed my updated tickets and linked them to my Alaska account. I could have hugged her.

Round 3: The $460 Bag Fee Incident

With confirmation numbers in hand, I walked around the terminal looking for a working bag tag kiosk.

Offline. Offline. Out of paper. Finally found a working one in the first-class area. Of course.

I entered my confirmation. Selected my bags.

Six checked bags (2 hockey bags, 2 hockey sticks, 2 suitcases).

The screen displayed my total if I checked all six bags: $460!!!

I paid $350 for my plane seat.

I nearly lost it right there.

I ended the session and speed-walked back to the Alaska counter, trying to stay calm.

“Why am I paying $460 for bags? Delta moved me to this flight.”

“Do you have baggage receipts from Delta?”

“No, I used my status. No receipts.”

“Then you need to pay for it. Or talk to Delta.”

I ran—back to Delta. I wasn’t sure when they’d call my flight, and I was not about to lose this battle to airline bureaucracy.

Delta’s agent nodded. “We’ll reimburse you. Keep your receipts and submit them.”

Fine.

I went back and checked 4 bags ($160). Kept our 2 carry-ons. You’re not getting that extra $300 from me, Alaska.

One more crisis solved.

The Waiting Game: Death by a Thousand Cuts

Around 11 PM, we were camping near the gate when the agent made the announcement.

Flight delayed to 2 AM.

It was like air being let out of a balloon. Everyone deflated a little more. Not one big disaster—just another paper cut. One more delay. Not too bad on its own, but we kept getting them.

2 AM wasn’t terrible. Just a few more hours. We could handle it.

We just sat there. Relaxed. Waited. Tanner on his phone. Me watching the terminal.

Tanner was taking his cues from me. Staying calm. Rolling with it. “Control what you can control, right.”

He nodded, looking like a zombie, but hanging in there. This was his first big travel fiasco. He was handling it like a champ.

“The Pilots Didn’t Show Up”

At 2 AM, they finally started boarding.

Thank God. We’re actually leaving.

I gate-checked our carry-on bags and collapsed into my seat. Put in my earbuds, played some rain sounds, and immediately fell asleep.

About 15-30 minutes later, Tanner shook my arm.

I woke up groggy. His eyes were barely open. Sick.

“Dad. The pilots didn’t make it.”

I blinked. “What?”

“They’re delaying us again. Until 6 AM.”

I deflated completely. Shook my head in disbelief. We didn’t have a full flight crew when we boarded? Was this wishful thinking? If we fill the plane, pilots will come?

It was around 2:30 in the morning.

We dragged ourselves off the plane and back to the gate.

That’s when the real chaos started.

Most of the passengers were connecting through Seattle to other destinations. They mobbed the counter trying to rebook. The line was easily 50+ people deep.

There was a woman in her late 20s or early 30s, loudly on the phone, sobbing “That’s not fair! It’s not my fault!” She was extremely upset. This went on for a good 10 minutes.

Everyone was watching. She kept repeating it, louder and louder, until airport police arrived. A woman officer spoke with her quietly and walked her out of the area.

The gate staff didn’t even look up. They just kept working through the line of people trying to rebook connections. Almost like it was any other day.

Another woman showed up with a 2-year-old in a stroller. The kid was completely overstimulated and screaming, kicking both feet, full meltdown mode. With snot dripping from the nose, crying. I’ve been there. I know that look of desperation.

She waited next to the counter, hoping the agent would acknowledge her.

She didn’t.

The next person in line stepped up for service without even glancing at her.

She snapped. “I just need ONE MINUTE.”

Asked her question, got an answer, walked away. I didn’t see her again.

We just sat back down. Away from the chaos.

For the next hour, the gate was a circus. Everybody was worn out by this point, exhausted and fraying at the edges. By 4 AM, the chaos finally died down. People started trying to sleep, waiting for the 6 AM flight. No point in leaving, just wait it out.

We tried to sleep in the gate seats. Our bodies contorted into uncomfortable positions, but we were too tired to care. The terrible sitting-sleep where your head bobs forward and jolts you awake every few minutes.

Around 4:30 AM we finally dozed off, heads bobbing, too exhausted to care anymore.

The Empty Plane and the Lost Bags

At 6 AM, the pilots finally arrived.

The plane was nearly empty. Maybe 15 people left. Everyone else had scattered to hotel rooms or other flights.

It was odd, our row was filled, but the seats around us were empty. The stranger next to us was kind enough to move to an empty row. Tanner and I stayed where we were. He was tired, and I wanted to keep an eye on him. I knew he wasn’t feeling well.

We tried to sleep, but neither of us sleeps well sitting up. The rows around us were empty.

The takeoff was bumpy—all that wind—but I fell asleep immediately.

During descent, Tanner was in serious pain. Stuffed sinuses, ears not repressurizing. The sinus pressure wasn’t letting his ears clear.

I had him try the nose-pinch-and-blow trick to manually pop his ears. It helped a little. I gave him Tylenol. Not much, but maybe it would help with sinus inflammation.

By the time we landed, he looked miserable.

We landed in Seattle around 10:30 AM.

An empty plane should mean quick baggage claim, right?

Nope.

It took almost two hours.

I could see our plane number on the board, but the times didn’t match. I didn’t think much of it at first. But we were standing at the baggage carousel alone. Where was everybody else?

After 30 minutes, I walked over to the Alaska baggage team. They were busy—Seattle’s a decent-sized airport, and they had their hands full.

“Excuse me, our bags were supposed to be at carousel 15. It’s been 30 minutes. Where’s the luggage?”

She looked at me, puzzled, and got on her computer.

“It’ll be a few minutes. Let me get back to you.”

I stayed calm. “Okay.”

I was too tired to fight. I just hoped my gear wasn’t lost. They weren’t sure if our bags had arrived before us. I gave her my bag tracking numbers so she could locate them.

She started walking between locations, updating me in the process. She wanted to let me know they had them—they just needed to get them onto the baggage claim belt.

Time seemed to drag on. Then the bags finally appeared.

We grabbed everything and walked out.

By 12:30 PM we had our bags. By 2 PM we were home.

We’d started our day Sunday at 6:30 AM for an 8 AM hockey game. Expected to fly home at 5:45 PM and be home by 8 PM Sunday night, ready for work and school Monday morning.

We walked through our front door Monday at 2 PM. Twenty-four hours later. Tanner missed school. I missed work.

But we made it.

Would I Go Back?

If somebody asked me if I’d go back to Alaska, the answer is yes.

Absolutely yes.

Not for the tournament placement. Second to last out of six teams isn’t exactly a highlight reel. But the kids learned. They got better. They gained a new appreciation for hockey.

What stuck with me was Westchester Lagoon.

In Alaska, during winter, all the ponds and lakes freeze. Westchester Lagoon wasn’t officially open yet, the city was still prepping it for hockey and skating, hot-mopping the ice. But it was stable enough to play on. Full-size trucks were driving on it. It was good to go.

We’d take the team there during off-time between games. The kids would just jump on the ice and play. No drills. No structure. Just hockey. I skated around with them, played a bit, had fun. Snow-capped mountains in the background.

One night we played with glow-in-the-dark pucks. The black of night. A glowing puck. Street lights in the background. The cold air. It felt freeing.

The pond ice wasn’t perfect like cut ice at a rink. It was rough, full of imperfections. Hot-mop ice. But it was free. Available 24/7. You could just show up and skate.

We don’t have that in Seattle. We have to drive to a rink and pay to use it. The environment isn’t available the same way.

That rough ice forced you to skate better, handle a bouncy puck. It could make you a better player. We envied the teams that had access like this.

Tanner had a great time despite the ending. The tournament was fun and challenging. Skating with his friends was the best part. The freedom of just walking outside and jumping on the ice—that’s what he’ll remember.

That’s what I’ll remember too.

Not the traffic cone (though that should’ve been a warning). Not the Delta-Alaska baggage fee ping-pong. Not the woman sobbing “it’s not my fault.” Not the $460 bag fees. Not falling asleep only to wake up to “the pilots didn’t show up.”

I’ll remember the glow pucks. The mountains. The freedom.

And Tanner learned something important that day. When everything goes wrong, you just work the problem. Step by step. One crisis at a time.

Life’s an adventure. Things will go wrong. You work through it. You’ll be better in the end.