When we last we had seen our intrepid travelers, they were in Detroit Wayne County Airport, waiting for their first trip in First Class. First up was a breakfast of Mongolian Hash for breakfast at P.F. Chang’s. Then came the waiting, A five-hour layover.
The funniest moment was when a mother and her young son, maybe 3 years old, were on the nearby moving sidewalk. She was holding an even younger girl and suddenly, her son lay down, face-first, on the walkway. He just lay there. The mother looked down, a bemused smile on her face. I motioned to Robin, who looked over and gave a laugh. The mom looked over and shared a smile with Robin that said, “Boys.”
The time finally came for us to board. Robin and I board a bit early, as we both use canes, and we need some extra time to navigate onto the plane. We made it to our seats, which looked nice. They are definitely wider than coach, have more legroom, foot rests, and slightly bigger viewing screens. There was a bundle that had a blanket and a pillow, and a small, fabric bag that had a toothbrush, toothpaste and other small sundries. According to the card, it was handmade by a child laborer in Mexico. Aha! A sweatshop!
There was also a nice set of padded, over-the-ear, noise-cancelling headphones to plug into the viewing screen. We had a menu of the meal choices for the flight, along with a drink menu. Things were definitely looking up!
There was a family sitting in the middle section. Mom, dad and two young children, a boy and a girl. They also had a service dog. It looked like a pit bull puppy, which seemed young for a service dog. It seemed to have a sweet disposition, and was very well trained. However, I made plans on how to kill it if it lost its mind and started biting people’s faces off.
We were on a 767, so there were a lot of people to board. We were getting settled in when an announcement came over the intercom. There was a mechanical issue that needed to be resolved, and the plane would have to be de-planed. There was some audible responses throughout the plane, but Robin and I were like, better to find out before you take off, rather than at 36,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean.
So off the plane we went. We sat back down in the waiting area, and were told it would be a couple of hours. I had to stretch my legs a bit, so Robin stayed with the bags, and I went for a walk. One of my favorite past times is people watching. Airports are great, because you can watch people in stress, and add their behaviors to your threat database. Yes, that’s how my mind actually works.
I turned a corner, and things immediately looked up. A duty-free store! Scotch I’ve never heard of before, and cigars! My mouth literally watered. I wandered up and down the aisle, trying to decide which one I was going to buy. Then somebody walked across my grave. I felt a chill, as if the gates of Hell opened and Lucifer stepped through to say,”You’re mine, bitch!”
I saw it clear as day. I came back from my walk with a bottle of scotch, a box of cigars and a receipt. The Vortex of Death spun up over Robin’s head, and the sweet smell of vanilla filled my nostrils. Next I saw myself standing in front of the Pearly Gates, and St. Peter looks down at his book and starts laughing. “Steve Satterly,” he says, wiping his tears from his eyes, “You are in the wrong place! We don’t take dumbasses up here!”
Needless to say, no scotch or cigars were purchased. I did get a Starbucks Mocha, and got Robin a refresher she likes. When I called to ask her what she wanted, she said they were finished mitigating whatever issue the plan had, and we would be re-boarding shortly. I got the drinks and headed back.
We went through the deja vu moment of re-boarding, and got back to our seats. Robin and I hoped that this didn’t become a vuja de moment. You know, that feeling that what you are going though you will go through again.
The only issue we had before takeoff was the mother with the service dog was having a Karen moment. She was on the cell phone, after the flight attendant told her to put it away. She was explaining that her dog would have to be quarantined at the Honolulu International Airport, and because we were delayed, there might be a problem. She was getting adamant, and I was creating a plan to hit her with the dog. They Delta flight crew got together and, to the dog’s delight, I didn’t have to use him as an improvised weapon. They used the phone the Captain has to call the Honolulu Airport and make the necessary arrangements. The flight crew did an excellent job of problem solving in a tremendous act of customer service, but I really was looking forward to whacking the Karen with her service puppy.
The flight itself had an instant right after we passed over San Francisco. Oddly enough, it involved Karen’s son. Apparently he got sick in the bathroom. We found out when the dreaded intercom announcement was heard, “Is there a doctor on this flight?” I was prepared to jump up and rush to the scene to perform an emergency tracheotomy, but I saw a gentleman come from the Ultra First Class section. Disappointedly, I figure a doctor would be sitting in Ultra First Class, and that my emergency surgery skills would not be needed. When I told Robin, she patted my hand and said, “It’s just as well, dear. You didn’t stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.” Damn it, she was right. Again.
It was amusing to see a number of people get into their bags and put masks on. I rolled my eyes. The boy had thrown up all over a restroom. While it may have smelled (For which I had no frame of reference), such a thing is not transmitted via aerosol. The flight crew locked the restroom and left it for the cleaning crew, which was prudent.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, but long. We finally landed in Honolulu, deplaned, and got our bags. We then got our rental car, and drove to the Waikiki Banyon, where our condo was located. Robin and I had been up for 24 hours, and were beyond exhausted. We were only to happy to hit the sack, looking forward to the start of our tropical paradise vacation.
As I slept, I dreamt that St. Peter was laughing at me, for no apparent reason. I’ll have the last laugh when I slap him with a pit bull puppy, outa nowhere.
Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy 