who's in the kitchen

Judy's back from Atlanta, happy, cranky

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For the last eight years, my daughter Jordana and I have discussed flying down to Atlanta to catch a few games at “The Ted,” another name for Turner Field baseball stadium, home of our beloved Atlanta Braves. We weren’t able to find an opening in each of our schedules when the Braves would be playing at home — until now.

Jordana looked for affordable flights and I checked out hotels not far from the stadium. I reminded her that the surname on my license and passport was Pollack, put it’s Joszef on my credit card. She booked the flights I booked the hotel.

Three weeks later, the night before our flight, Jordana sent me my ticket; to my horror, the ticket was listed under Joszef. At 11:30 pm, I called American Airlines and explained my situation. Their only solution was to issue a new ticket. They reduced the $200 fee to $100 — a bargain!

I arrived at the airport at 8:40 for an 11:27 am flight, to make sure there were no issues with my ticket. I checked in, made sure all was in order and bought a coffee while waiting for Jordana, who arrived by 9:30. We headed to Gate D, which was printed on our boarding passes, charged our phones, spoke about finally watching our boys in their hometown, and by 10:50 am we were wondering why we weren’t boarding. We walked up to the desk and noticed the flight info wasn’t up anymore. In a panic we inquired, and were told, “The gate was changed.” Really? “Would have been nice for someone to let us know.” No announcements at Gate D and no texts or emails.

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