So it seems California doesn’t seem to have any better luck with flights in the south either. [Read about Lauren McKay's journey up north]

Just to preface, this post does not end with too many angry people.

About an hour before my flight from Newark was to land in San Diego, the captain notified us of a last minute change of plans: We would be flying into Los Angeles International (LAX) Airport — a good 125 miles away from the fog (also known as a “marine layer”) that had blanketed San Diego. At the time, visibility in San Diego was apparently only 100 feet. We landed in LAX around 7:30.

When it’s an issue of uncontrollable factors like the weather, I can’t bring myself to really put the blame on anyone. The airlines are just thinking about our safety! (Can you imagine the outcry if they chose to fly despite being visually compromised? Now that’s a blog post.) It was only mildly irritating when, even after we had landed, by which the airport should have had a fair amount of warning about our circumstance, officials still didn’t know what to do with us. The flight attendants did empathize: “We have to get to San Diego, too,” I overheard one say to a disgruntled passenger. In any case, all we were told upon exiting the aircraft was “go to baggage claim and they’ll help you there.”

So to baggage claim I went, and there I stood, watching people, one after another, approach the only airport employee who I could visibly identify as a person of authority (i.e.,  she stood behind a podium). All she had been told, I’d overheard, was that shuttles would be arriving to drive us to San Diego, but she didn’t know when.

Around 8:15 I saw a herd of people heading for the shuttle stand, which could only mean that our shuttles had arrived. Sort of. A hundred or so of us were crowding onto the narrow median as shuttles took passengers seven at a time. Eventually, the shuttle workers realized they needed to manage the crowd, asking only those who flew in on JetBlue to stay on the curb, those from Continental (my flight), had to move back by the airport exit. Only about 10 people including myself moved. I sat down next to a man who explained to me the concept of marine layer (“It happens about 10 times a year, I don’t know why they’re not more prepared for it”) and his plan of action (“I don’t care what they say, I’m getting on the next shuttle out.”) He didn’t get on the next shuttle, but he did get on one before I did.

Only when the crowd was more manageable (i.e., about 30 of us were left), did order ensue: “I’m going to count you off and that’s the order you’ll get into the vans!” Only the next vans didn’t come for a really long time. By 10 PM the remaining few were getting restless and the employees got defensive: “We only found out five minutes before you landed.” But it had already been two hours since then and it didn’t help that half-empty shuttles were driving by, having what to us were obviously less important routes to fulfill.

Nevertheless, they brought bottles of water out for us and the bathrooms were relatively nearby. An argument between an employee and a passenger occurred a few feet away, but it wasn’t heated enough for me to hear the details.

By 9:30 (well, according to Twitter, 9:41), I was in aboard the SuperShuttle. I accepted a piece of chocolate from a passenger who had been on and off planes for the past 28 hours. If she could stay positive throughout this experience, I don’t know how anyone else couldn’t. Headphones in, I feel asleep for the next two hours until we arrived at San Diego International Airport.