MY Way

ONE WAY

 

This did it! I'm angry. My heart is racing. I'm out of control. It is definite this time, absolutely definite. My planned traveling days are over. They are on the heavy side of 85 and I have had enough. Decision finalized, written on my waiting tombstone,  I am ready to take on any relatives, friends, a few enemies,  who still wish to see me, to come to me as flying is great- for the birds- not me. My wings were clipped on my last flight to New York. Now as I try to catch my breath, find even one of the five extra pairs of eye glasses I so carefully packed, I consider myself lucky that I found even one in the bottom of my pretty but overloaded hand bag and see the tip of my boarding pass under my check book. Already my mind is too far ahead, contemplating my return trip.

 

Arriving at Virgo AMC Airlines for flight 910, leaving 7 a.m. for Las Vegas I was early, had plenty of time, if I felt the urge, to have a ridiculously high priced cup of coffee and a brioche but was saved the $5 cost when I was placed by a porter in the wrong, long, line. Two lines moved, I stayed where I was told, frozen for fifteen minutes, until another porter informed me that I had to go inside for my boarding pass. Yes, he took me and my one piece of luggage inside where I waited for a mortuary attendant to print my coveted, very necessary 5"X 7" piece of paper with my name, flight number and seat. Another fifteen minute of pre- boarding time went up the chimney.

 

'Take the escalator all the way at the end on your left, follow the arrows to Security, then arrows thru the tunnel, check in with a flight attendant, if you need a wheelchair. My brain was shocked with electricity. Why did she think I needed a wheelchair? It would have been a great luxury, but I didn't need it, thank god. One look at the height of the escalator I was about to get on, still pulling my roller carry on, topped with my humongous, bulging, heavy purse, visions of both of them dragging me down two flights of moving stairs, truly, truly frightened me. Noone could have been more surprised and delighted than I to reach ground level all in one piece, unless I count the purse and roll-on, then three of us arrived safely.

 

And there it was, after I showed my driver's licence and boarding pass to three guards chatting together, paying little to no attention to me, were the tiers of stacked tubs for everything but my birthday suit. Not an attendant, guard, offered me any assistance to get all of my 'stuff' into the tubs. The scenario began. The curtain was going up and I was already drowning in a tub of anxiety. Off came my black flat sandals, their velcro straps grabbing my nylon ankle-high nylons, ripping them to shreds. Into almost filled tub #2 went my light weight jacket for traveling, one with lots of good pockets to hold directions, times, phone numbers when I land. It was half way thru the first x-ray lap, when my precious computer had to emerge from its roller suitcase. The double zipper jammed. Three supposed guards, those who could help someone in distress, were oblivious. A kind young man behind me saved me from certain extinction when he unjammed it and disappeared before I could even say 'thank you.'

 

A strong recorded voice blared at me. 'Remove watches, all jewelry, everything that is in your pockets.' While I was doing that and getting more upset than I every would believe possible, I found space in my addled brain to try to watch for someone stealing my over-loaded purse that was waiting at the end of the converter belt. Or was my puter to be there when I was finished being photographed, right thru to my bones, raising my arms, being patted down? Frazzled, frightened, exhausted, I gathered all of my belongings and was actually escorted by a stranger to an empty bench when he noticed big tears free- falling down my cheeks. The possibility of my passing out for a moment or forever seemed possible to him. His interest, caring brought me back to reality. I thanked him with all of my heart. All he said was de nada as he led me to Gate 9  at the very end of the airport, which I believed might also be my end. 

 

Every single seat on my flight to Boston was filled. There was mo more than two inches between knees and the backs of seats in front of passengers. A refreshment cart could not make it thru the aisle. In flight for one hour and the stewardesses asked their charges what they would like to drink. I chose black de caf one sweet & low and that had to be enough for the 1500 mile flight. We were not even give a small bag of peanuts or a cracker.

 

The flight was smooth as glass and I complimented the captain as I finally reached the exit door. He smiled from ear to ear, stopped short when I finished my sentence. 'The flight being smooth doesn't mean I enjoyed it.'

 

 I was sure he was shocked but didn't care. I won't be flying any more any how. 'So E- friends e-mail me as often as you can, want to,  send snail mail unless the postal service ends forever. I'll be here at 1777 N. Alhambra Rd., Boston, MA. As long as the good lord doesn't cancel my lease.