Suffering Through a Severe Anxiety-filled Panic Attack and Surviving to Tell the Tale.
In order to avoid the last-minute Thanksgiving rush, a friend of mine booked a flight out of Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) the weekend before the family holiday. Even though she knows I hate LA traffic with a passion, she asked me to drive her to the airport. After all… What are friends for? I reluctantly agreed; knowing she’d book her flight at a convenient time when traffic to and from the airport would be minimal.
She didn’t.
Yes, she tried, but the only flight she could get out of LA departed at the worst possible time; 5 p.m. on a Friday. The height of the worst rush-hour traffic in any given week — much less the weekend before the most traveled holiday in America.
My anxiety kicked into overdrive as I tried to calculate the timing of the trip to at least circumvent the heaviest traffic. I live in Burbank. She lives in Panorama City. That’s 10 miles. Panorama City to LAX is 26 miles. And the last leg of the trip from LAX back to Burbank is 28 miles. Just one big circle of 64 miles on the most heavily congested freeways in the country.
She had to be at the terminal by 4 p.m. I talked her into getting there earlier. Which meant I could pick her up at 2:30, and depending on traffic, drop her off before 3:30, and…
