By Sara-Jessica Dilks

New Year’s Eve: a night intended for celebrations, parties, and resolutions. A night to watch the confetti fly, hear the shriek noise of party blowers, and see the colorful fireworks light up the starry sky. Well, all of my hopes and dreams of a stereotypical New Year’s came crumbling down three years ago. In 2008, my New Year’s Eve was spent at a sketchy half-price sushi joint run by middle-aged Italian-American men with excess facial hair in the small town of Nutley, New Jersey.

My family’s week-long trip to the East Coast over Christmas break was coming to an end, and we bid farewell to my extended family and headed for Newark airport on the afternoon of Dec. 31.

Just as I expressed my relief to my mom that I would soon be back in good ole’ KC, we arrived at our gate, only to notice hundreds of other angry-looking travelers.

We waited for three hours on the cold airport ground and eventually found out that our flight was overbooked. Understandably, my seventh-grade self was ready to have a mental breakdown, and my little brother was growing antsier by the minute (he might have Restless Leg Syndrome).

Dennis, the sassy Continental Airlines employee, refused to give us any answers as to why our flight was cancelled. Instead, he went into denial mode and sulked behind his computer, acting as if he was fixing the issue. I could tell by his nervous posture, darting eyes and perfectly trimmed mustache that he was not capable of this.

It was then that my father decided to take matters into his own hands and verbally abuse Dennis. For about a half hour, my dad “lost his bacon”. He complained that that our New Year’s would be ruined. Dennis finally admitted that he had accidentally over-booked the flight, leaving hundreds stranded in Newark Airport, unable to return home for New Year’s plans.

Dennis’s compensation? A pleather case bursting with exciting novelties, which included a shower cap (it was patterned!), 2-in-1 cucumber scented shampoo/conditioner (since when are toiletries flavored with a variation of squash?), a coupon for two free Haagen-Dazs sundaes (there were no franchises in the airport) and travel-size Dove hairspray (I thought it’s a chocolate brand?).

Defeated, exhausted, and armed with a goody bag of useless items, we returned to my grandparents’ house in Nutley. Even more depressing, my 67-year-old grandparents were out partying it up with their friends at a classic Italian restaurant, only reminding me that my plans back home to party at PowerPlay Arcade were ruined.

With nothing to do and nowhere to go, we eventually agreed that we were all hungry and that our Haagen-Dazs coupons would not suffice. And so we set out for Yum-Yum’s Half-Price Sushi, as it was the only place open within 50 miles.

Upon entering Yum-Yum’s, we were seated immediately, as we were the only customers for the entire evening. I sighed when I received a text from one of my friends, who was clearly concerned for my welfare. It read: “lol omg we r having so much fun @ powerplay!! WHERE R U?!?”

Forced to accept that my New Year’s had turned into a disaster, I settled down and ordered some sushi, hoping that the evening would be marginally enjoyable.

With full stomachs, we left Yum-Yum’s at around 11 pm, and traveled to the local Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up some donuts for the morning. A lonely worker, decked out in a ridiculous pink and orange uniform, was excited to have customers, and initiated a friendship with us, insisting that we hear his life story about his home in Yugoslavia.

After spending about twenty minutes listening to our extremely talkative new Eastern European pal Marty, we regretted that we needed to get home. We wished him  a happy new year, and promised that if we ever visited Yugoslavia, we would be sure to call him up.

Much to my surprise, our New Year’s semi-disaster ended up turning out better than expected. We scored some sweet deals on half-price sushi, earned squash-scented shampoo, and gained connections for possible travel to Yugoslavia. You’d think I was being sarcastic about now appreciating these seemingly-insignificant memories, but I’m not.

I took out of it something far more important than any rip-off PowerPlay arcade gift. And that is a family bonding experience; now we can look back and laugh at our 2009 New Year’s Disaster. Mishaps, especially while traveling, are bound to happen during some point over Christmas Break. My final advice to you: don’t stress over disasters, but instead try to make the best out of any holiday horror.