Just In Time

After what seemed like a month of Sundays, we are finally back in the greater Vancouver area.  We had an eventful journey. During the two day production that it was, I almost got banished from an airport lounge, made deals to smuggle food, and nearly had a heart attack due to bad weather.

My over industrious spouse, P, ever prone to bright ideas, decided that we should bring back three tea sets, a couple dozen wine glasses and some ornaments with us. If I didn't put my foot down, he might have added the seven dwarfs and a travelling circus to the mix.

He bought three flimsy suitcases, each one more styling than the next (that's sarcasm folks), to fit all these. After much swearing and bubble wrapping, or in other words, excellent multi-tasking on my part, they were all packed and ready to go.

As we were leaving the house, I realized that almost two days later, when we hit North America and had to retrieve our luggage in Chicago before resending it to Vancouver, we might have no recollection of what the new pieces look like. 

My mother, like Doraemon, always has just what we need, so I ran up and got some red ribbon to tie on the handles. Not very classy, but I figured it would save us the drama of figuring out what is ours in a limited amount of time.

With that, we set off to the airport with our five year old, Lanes, pasted against her father and me with my handbag on my knees, praising myself for my foresight in operation ‘Luggage Gate’.

I was rather pleased to see the cases off at the airport counter, little red ribbons flapping in the wind as they went off through the conveyor belts, only to no doubt we shoved, thrown and abused in transit (we had several casualties, as I anticipated).

P, the mileage king, got us a spot in the business class lounge, even though we were barely one step up from cargo class.  I was relieved since the seats were comfy and we had time to spare.

The added bonus for me was the provision of refreshments and access to a low traffic public bathroom.  Nothing makes me happier than a buffet.

So what did I do? I angled my ample behind into a seat and turned to check on Lanes. My backpack, still on my back, whacked a glass lamp on a coffee table and it fell to the ground with a huge CRASH BANG BOOM.

All passengers who were asleep were now suitably awake and all eyes were on me and my Mr.Bean moment.  Luckily, I didn't break the glass top of the table as well. P looked on in amused horror and Lanes rallied to my side, stunned at the dazzling spectacle before her. 

Much embarrassed, I went to the front desk to confess.  The receptionist did not look amused. If she had a spare dunce hat and a stool, she might have asked me to sit in a corner and think about what I did.

I felt like I was going to the Principal's office or perhaps directly to jail without collecting $200.  Someone eventually showed up to calculate the damage.  Initially, I was asked to pay for it (at which point P started to sweat a little).

After the manager assessed the situation, he decided that the accident was because I was bumbling buffoon and not because I was intoxicated, so I was let off the hook, after I promised to make a confession in writing.

P, stunned into giggles by my lack of grace, was acting as if though an invisible man was tickling his armpits. He went on with a charming spiel about how these things only happen to me. An hour or so later, P's hilarity was cut short by the sudden emergence of a bout of diarrhea.  I think the only way we will be welcome in that lounge again is if we go in disguise and with false documents.

He was looking rather queasy as we were taking off. The plane taxied for a long time, and just when the engines revved for takeoff, a massive thunderstorm hit. Talk about timing!

Water was skirting the floor and the windows were rendered opaque with curtains of water. I had a really uneasy feeling about the huge plane on tiny wheels racing down a runway with so much water on it. I had visions of it spinning off the airstrip like one giant gutter ball.

I had a minor panic attack and chose that moment to become very religious. The engines sounded like ancient propeller planes and we could hear the rain beating on the shell of the aircraft.

I couldn't stop looking out the window and the plane was wobbly upon take off. Against all regulations, I slammed the window and my eyes shut. It was a good time to click my heels and wish we were somewhere else.

Luckily, before I needed oxygen or a stiff drink, P had another bout of the runs, and that distracted me. He has such considerate bowels. 

On the miserable fourteen hour flight, which boasted all kinds of fancy food options since it was a 'five star airline', we had to wait a small eternity for our turn to come.
My temperament is very dependent on my access to tasty food, so I decided to do some investigating to see what the hold up was. I also sometimes fear that I could die from starvation if I am not fed every two hours.

I heard the flight attendant serving us whispering in Thai to a coworker that there was a shortage of food, and that only vegetarian options were left. Hold on, what am I? Jessica Rabbit?

I spied the entrees of some of my luckier neighbors who were actually served before us, and was disgusted that the veggie dish was some sort of lentil rendition, rice and mystery green goop. That was not going to make me happy.

 
As the flight attendant ran down the aisle, I stopped her, stunned her by speaking Thai and told her that vegetarian food just doesn't cut it for me and asked her if she could be so kind as to hook a sister up. Fortunately, Lanes chose that moment to look up with big eyes, looking suitably like a cute baby seal.

The attendant, delighted to find someone who shares her native tongue, dutifully saved me random chicken meals.  I was kind enough to share them with my spouse, who was not amused by that time, having bumped his head while reaching under his seat because the person in front of him was almost on his lap. 

I was not faring much better because my seat wouldn't recline and the lady in front decided to bash my knee in while putting her seat all the way down.  I was spilling out into the aisle and several ladies en route to or from the loo kept swatting their scarves on me as they sashayed up and down.

Since I am petrified of germs and public toilets I imagined those scarves touching the toilet seat and then landing on me and I had to break out the disinfectant wipes. Then the man next to me, who was wolfing down vegetarian meals and whisky like he was qualifying for the Olympics started to have a sneezing fit for the last four hours of the flight.

Resigned to my fate, I watched a horror movie from the screen that was now one inch from my face thanks to the annoying lady in front of me. Considering I am as brave as a gecko stuck in a jar, I was jumping out of my skin and grabbing Lanes’ knee from time to time much to her amusement.

I was never so happy to land in Chicago. We were exhausted, and the lines at immigration were long. The luggage was piled off the conveyors and I saw familiar  red ribbons in the distance and rushed P to them.  He ignored me as I trailed behind with a cart, praising myself for my brilliant idea to mark them.

So, turns out, twenty four other people on that flight had the same plan, because there were two dozen or more suitcases with identical burgundy red ribbons on them. We were left to rely on memory and glimpses of name tags once again as we realized our stuff was still on the conveyor belt.

After much ado and rerouting, we tried to get to our next gate, but the train that was to take us to the terminal we needed was broken. Passengers and crew were packed like sardines waiting and Lanes looked like she was about to melt.

One lady was in hysterics when she was told the only other way to get to another terminal was by taxi. She didn't realize that her pilot was standing right there behind her, and so the odds of her missing her flight were slim to none. I guess she is my competition for the ‘Genius of the Year Award’ for 2013.

Eventually, we got to our terminal with time to spare, which was a good thing because the airline was playing musical gates with all the passengers and due to storms, several flights were delayed.

The rest of the layover was a blur. Relieved to finally be able to stretch my legs, I fell asleep with my mouth open so wide that squirrels could have stored nuts in there for several winters.

The last flight of our trip felt like a long carousel ride, you know how the horses go up and down as they go round and round. It was not pleasant. That pilot really had his work cut out for him because he spent the majority of the four hours avoiding bad weather.

All three of us were delighted when we piled into our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous building with all its faults at 3am.  We were worse for wear, but Lanes was up and at it the next day.

P and I felt like we had a hangover minus the fun that brought it on, and so she was unceremoniously packed off to kindergarten, much to our relief and the delight of her teacher and her friends. The following day was her graduation.

As she got her 'diploma', she was asked what she wants to be when she grows up. All her friends said teachers, doctors, policemen and ambulance drivers. Lanes said 'I want to be a mom’.

I had a nice Hallmark moment, and then it was back to reality. Plans to find a job are on hold thanks to a souvenir bug from the Motherland that got a hold of me and my niece. Now that I’m ‘cured’, that miserable red rash has invaded my arms again. Although I can catch a cold from someone who sneezes in Portugal it seems I can’t catch a break! So hi ho hi ho, it’s off to the doctor I go. More musings from BC next week…