After landing 4.5 hours delayed on my American Airlines’ flight from Tampa to Chicago, I was pleasantly surprised to see Chicago O’Hare was empty. The long hallway with the variety of international flags overhead had few people inside, giving me hope I’d missed the rush from earlier in the day.

However, my hopes were quickly crushed when I realized those who remained at the airport must all be in the taxi line with me.

The sign said it would be a 45-minute wait, but I had been told getting an Uber or Lyft was quite a hassle at ORD, so I opted for the line and had positive thoughts. After all, I’ve waited in extensive taxi lines before (looking at you, Las Vegas), and I have been pleasantly surprised when the line moved quicker than a Chick-Fil-A drive-through.

Unfortunately, this was not that kind of experience. To give away the ending, it was 48 degrees and I waited the entire 45 minutes.

I stood alongside super-dads in t-shirts and shorts with carts full of their family’s vacation luggage. I heard a business woman be told her fare would be approximately $200, and she looked too cold to argue. I watched two people survey the line, get in with the rest of us, then decide there must be a better fate and leave. The longer I stood, the more creative options I began to contemplate (like renting a limo or cheating the system by hopping on a hotel shuttle and requesting an Uber from that location instead).

As time passed and we inched our way closer to the front of the line, there were a couple of heat lamps overhead to keep potential passengers warm in the Windy City. Funnily enough, the heat lamps were on a timer, and clicked off every 15 minutes or so, leaving those of us still in line to hit the button to fire them back up again.

In the end, I was able to share a cab downtown with a kind gentleman behind me whose wife was traveling to my home of Sarasota, Florida (small world). Therefore, my 45-minute wait resulted in only a $30 fare and eased my frustrations a bit.

Turns out, this story is just one more taxi woe in my travel repertoire. I once was jolted back and forth in the back seat of a cab in New York City on Christmas Day. My driver habitually slammed both the gas and brake pedals, despite empty streets and no one to appreciate his NASCAR driving skills but me. I’ve also been driven from Pasadena to Costa Mesa by a cabbie when my original request was to see Santa Monica Pier. In all fairness, I was young, and he must’ve thought I was a Hollywood starlet who was going to give him a wad of cash after driving me around all day. My parents are just glad I made it back to the hotel without being kidnapped.

In the end, waiting for 45 minutes for a cab isn’t the worst thing in the world. Truth be told, you can write a blog while you wait and munch on a granola bar while appreciating accurate signage.

Lemons to lemonade? My pleasure.

— Carrie Cox, account executive