I haven’t flown in over a decade. Since then, I have acquired an artificial hip, which I envisioned setting off bells and whistles as soon as I entered the airport premises.
I was expecting the worst, since I was flying a *certain* airline which has many complaints lodged against it–one of the newest being from my own niece who endured a fiasco trying to get to Florida last week.
I took a deep breath and approached the ticket counter, expecting anything. The clerk (is that offensive, is she really an Airline Customer Assistant Specialist?) was very polite. She was also well-trained to quickly tell me to place my luggage on the scale, exclaim, “That’s good! It’s 24 pounds,” and then inform me, “Just place your credit card in the machine, and you’re all set,” as the screen flashed that I owed $25 for a luggage fee. What happened to ye good olde days when checked luggage was free? (I always thought it was free because the airlines hoped to discourage carry-on bags.)
When I got to the security area, I went into Dumb Blonde mode. I always find this to be a assailant-disarming plan of defense. (Doesn’t work on the streets; that’s a different category. I have other strategies for that.) Since I have heard of so many troubles in the security area–being on the lookout for terrorists, and solving that problem by patting-down and strip searching Granny–Dumb Blonde immediately presents herself as someone who is not going to be trouble because she’s clueless, and hey, we can all laugh at her when it’s said and done. Yeah, whatever, I just don’t want any trouble.
I announced that I had not flown in a decade and so I am not familiar with the protocol. No, Silly, that’s not how Dumb Blonde says it: “I haven’t flown in ten years so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” See, that’s how it’s done. 😉 Three guys stood there, in their uniforms, smiled a smile that revealed they were holding back the laughter, and I knew I was doing fine. “I have an artificial hip, do you need the card from the doctor?” I volunteered.
“No, you don’t need the card. You’ll just need to go into that circular booth.” That’s the one where it goes around you like a big MRI machine and x-rays through your clothes. Nothing to see here, folks, just an old lady with an artificial hip and an artificial boob (breast cancer survivor) and a bunch of scars from surgeries. In fact, you might want to look away so that you won’t have to struggle to un-see it.
A woman informed me that I did not have to remove my shoes, to which I responded, “Yay!” It’s hard for an old lady with an artificial hip and one leg shorter than the other and a lift in one sneaker to put shoes back on without falling over. Trust me.
I completed my x-ray and proceeded to the waiting area for my flight. On the way, I stopped for a bottle of water and, I confess, a Hershey and almonds candy bar. The clerk (or is he the Sustenance and Cashier Specialist?) asked if I would like to purchase something for the troops. I am a sucker for very few things, but the troops–always. I bought the same candy for the troops. That was 8 bucks and change. Price Gouging is in effect. Yes, I’m officially on vacation now.
Onto the gate where my plane would be–in two hours. I brought a book which I completed. I then stared at CNN, which informed me that all the women in the universe want Trump to fire his campaign manager. (I won’t open a can of Trump today.)
Finally, it was time to board the plane.
Carry-on bags. Let’s open that can of worms, shall we? People lug suitcases the size of a Saint Bernard onto the plane and then attempt to squeeze it into the overhead bin, while grunting and cursing how small the bin is. Of course, one Saint Bernard takes up the entire bin, which leaves passengers 2 and 3 to stow their belongings under the seat, which protrudes into the aisle so that the man who forget to refill his Flomax prescription can trip over it all five times he goes to the bathroom.
We were herded like sardines into the cattle car; thankfully I had more leg room than usual, as you know, the artificial hip gets a little uncomfortable after sitting for too long.
A young man with no chin, er, the Flight Attendant, threw 2 small bags of pretzel-like treats at us, which I stuffed into my coat pocket for later consumption. The guy next to me had a magazine and did not want to chat, so I felt like a Lottery winner.
The flight was uneventful as far as there were no “terrorers” aboard, (Madea) and very few pockets of turbulence. Excellent.
I got off the plane, and followed signs to the baggage claim area, which felt like 2 miles and a train ride away. I finally found my luggage, and proceeded to find my shuttle to the hotel.
After waiting 30 minutes for the shuttle, we then had to make a stop to pick up some lady who I think was coming from the Arctic circle, as she was wearing a long winter coat and a hat. We circled the lot three times before she finally waved to the van, as she was speaking to the Hotel Clerk (?) who was on the walkie-talkie with our driver, explaining that she needed a ride. The passengers behind me groaned as she stood outside the van with the driver, pointing the other way and explaining something. Get.in.the.van.
We arrived at the hotel and Arctic woman was on line ahead of me. When the Hotel Clerk (?) said, “Next!” Arctic woman was off in the ozone as I had to tap her on the shoulder and inform her that she was next.
I hope I don’t get fired for that. Horrors.
This morning Mr. Porter and I had the breakfast buffet. I tried to pour the oatmeal onto my plate instead of grabbing a bowl, but thankfully Mr. Porter, aka Mr. Morning caught me in time. I didn’t drink my first cup of coffee fast enough, so when Mr. Coffee Dude came around to refill, I didn’t need one yet. When I did need a refill, I had to go beg the Hostess as I was obviously off Mr. Coffee Dude’s schedule. Note to self: Drink first cup of coffee quickly, and before attempting to obtain food. And stay on Mr. Coffee Dude’s schedule.
Mr. Porter took off for work business, so I walked 45 minutes on the treadmill and rode 30 minutes on the bike while watching HGTV.
My sweaty self is now finishing up this blog, so I can take a shower.
Fingers crossed that the Maid, er Hotel Cleansing and Maintenance Specialist is finished with our room.