Thursday, November 17, 2011

Part Two

God answered my prayer with a miracle! I was instantly thin and athletic and sprinted the remaining one and a half miles with absolutely no problems.

Oh wait. That's my fantasy. Welcome to it.

In real life, I limp and half-walk, half-run the rest of the way, wheezing and gasping for air like an out-of-shape person who has been sitting for the past ten years trying to run a 2 mile marathon in heels.

It is seriously the longest two miles I have ever traveled in my whole entire life.

(By the way? I INTENTIONALLY chose to wear those boots. It was my choice. I could've worn my runners. But oh no. I wanted to look half decent while traveling. I would wear my comfortable mom-sneakers in Disneyland. But on that plane? And in the airport? And at the car rental agency? And as I check into the motel? I wanted to look long-legged and put-together. Like George Sands always says, "Vanity is the quicksand of reason.")

As I get to the US border line up, there is an official in the midst of all the cars, directing traffic. The two lanes open up to six lanes at this point. He looks at me and says, "On your way to Disneyland? That taxi over there is your ride. First go into the office, around the corner, over there."

This is somewhat embarrassing.

When I get to the office, Drew, Danica and Max are waiting for me. We add our bodies to the Asian-filled line-up with Max, in a soothing tone, assuring me that we are going to be out of there in no time. He is confident we are going to make our flight.

I just keep on praying.

"Are you on your way to Disneyland?" the fellow behind the counter asks as he waves us forward. "I'm not quite ready for you yet, but I'll take you next. You're the O's, right?"

He's a friendly chap; apparently him and Clint had a lengthy conversation. In no time at all (15 minutes) we are told to have a good time, and encouraged to run to our taxi that is waiting for us over at the Duty Free. First we have to give the orange slip of paper to the guard in the secured area outside.

She sees us coming, with our luggage and big fat red sweaty faces (oh wait, that was just me) and points to the taxi.

It is now 11 am. Our flight leaves at 11:55.

The taxi driver, Rummel, and Clint hop out of the van as we approach and grab the suitcases and backpacks. Rummel wastes no time getting us onto the I-5. He is fully aware of our timeline and is frantic on our behalf.

"Wow. That was something," I say. "Every single guard we came across knew our story... they even knew where the taxi was parked."

"Yeah," Clint replied. "I wasn't sure where to meet up with Rummel and well, he came into a secured area, and uh, yeah, we created a bit of a ruckus. They told us to park up here...."

Good Lord.

This is not how I do things.

"Traveling with children is a whole lot different than traveling with girlfriends," I observe.

"Traveling with men." Clint corrects me. "Traveling with men is different than traveling with women."

We somewhat laugh at our circumstances thus far, and I'm concerned that nothing in Danica's 17 years of life has prepared her for this weekend with the O's.

Clint has chosen a movie soundtrack as a backdrop to our adventure so far. And he tells Rummel that he is going to run through the Bellingham Airport with the Home Alone airport montage in his mind. Run Rudoplf Run is his theme song. Rummels breaks the bad news to him... "You're going to run out of airport after 10 steps. You never flown outa here before?"

Rummel, bless that man, got us to the airport just as they are announcing "last call for Long Beach". I butt in to the very front of the line, and apologize for being late "there was this line-up at the border and we ditched our truck..." The ticketing agent promises to take us next.

By the grace of God, we are given boarding passes, and are amongst the last ones on the plane. We are not assigned seats - we will have to sit on any unoccupied spot. Festival seating - just like a Led Zeppelin concert in the 70's. We so don't care. We are on the plane. Going to Disneyland.

1 comment:

The 3 Peas said...

This whole trip experience? This is a trip that I understand. Good on ya for living to tell the tales :)