TTFN, PNS! WTF, DFW?

I spent time with my extended family last week in Pensacola, Florida on the Gulf side of the Panhandle. Pensacola’s airport code is PNS. So unfortunate. There are so many letters in “Pensacola” that is seems that better options might have been available. Was it a coincidence that we saw a weenie at the baggage claim, or is this little fella always required to be there?

On our way home, my daughter forgot to dump her water bottle before going through security. She had the choice of abandoning her $30 Hydro flask or being escorted outside to dump her water then being rescreened. It’s a good thing we had plenty of time. That $17 very large glass of mediocre wine I sipped while waiting for my criminal offspring and her police escort to return felt justified. I practically MADE $13! This was only the beginning of our travel misfortunes.

We travelled back to Portland via Dallas-Fortworth, which is SO GIGANTIC that there is a Skylink train that transports passengers among the 4.81 miles between terminals. The car was crowded, but I didn’t worry when I didn’t have anywhere to hang on. Looking at this train car, you see very few seats. The hanging-on poles are spread far apart, and there are ZERO overhead bars between the two sets of doors.

I’m pretty spry and figured the Skylink was made for standing. Little did I know that I was boarding the Knight’s Tournament ride at Legoland.

This train ride seemed intentionally and aggressively rough. I know Dallas is proud of its Cowboys, but modeling your airport train after a damn BUCKING BRONCO is taking it TOO FAR, TEXAS!! The train SWERVED abruptly and then started SHAKING like a Polaroid picture.

I stumbled and took a step backward right onto a young woman’s foot which threw me off balance even more. After apologizing, I scooted over to grab a pole so I wouldn’t maim any other patrons before we reached our terminal.

My daughter was hungry and grumpy. Or perhaps she was still processing overwhelming regret for her lawbreaking activities at the Pensacola Airport. She didn’t even have the spirit to laugh at me. I was emotionally abandoned among stoic strangers, none of whom showed ANY amusement that I was just taken completely off-guard by this ridiculously hostile train ride. There’s no shame in stumbling, but I felt alone and embarrassed. AND THEN!!! This other young woman has the fricking audacity to STAND UP AND OFFER ME HER SEAT! "Would you like to sit down, ma'am?" Who the hell are you calling "ma'am," you whippersnapper??" That made me mad. I wouldn’t have sat down if both my legs suddenly broke right under me at that very moment.

We arrived at our terminal with everything but my pride intact only to learn that our flight was delayed because a bird was stuck in the engine. Aw, poor bird.

And also blech. So gross.

And also STUPID BIRD for making our flight delayed!!

After waiting around for an hour, we learned that the plane would not be able to fly, so we were directed to a different airplane at another terminal. Back on the damn bucking bronco! But I was ready this time. And when a woman got on behind me, I knowingly offered her part of my pole. And when she politely but naively refused, I was ready to move my toes away and catch her as she tottered.

After about a two-hour delay, we finally boarded the plane. My daughter and I weren’t seated together, so I settled in for a quiet ride with strangers. Tolerance is kind of my super power, but I was tired. A lot of my patience had been depleted by the unreasonably turbulent Skylink ride and by recent close proximity to dangerous sharks for the past three days. So I was disheartened to immediately experience whiffs of periodontitis and feet. Good Lord, people! THIS IS WITHIN YOUR CONTROL! Brush your teeth and wash your toes. It’s not Rocket Science! I rubbed mint Chapstick under my nose and tried to nap.

But the young man next to me kept putting his elbow on me. Boundaries, man!! Not hogging the armrest, but actually sticking his stupid elbow into my area of the seat.

A couple of times, I gently, then not-so-gently nudged his elbow back into the only space that he had paid for. After the third time, I deliberately removed my earbuds, touched his arm and gave him my most purposeful, straight-on, you’re-in-trouble Mom Face. “You are taking up more space than belongs to you. Keep your elbow on this side of the arm rest.” I pointed to HIS side of the arm rest lest there be confusion. His mouth silently hung open like a codfish. I could tell by his eyes that he was either scared shitless OR didn’t understand a word I said. Either way, I didn’t have any further problem with this bozo.

Enter Bozo Number Two. And I DOO mean NUMBER TWO. Some unfortunate individual was DEFINITELY pooping his pants during this flight. WHY are McDonald’s and KFC and TGIFridays offered at airports?? Dear Diarrhea, please come to my party! Mint Chapstick was underqualified for this fight.

How did your mom die, kids? *sniffle and eye dab* She survived a shark attack but contracted Diarrhea-related Black Lung Disease on her flight home shortly afterward. We’ll all miss her.

And THEN there was this demon sitting behind me brawling with the back of my chair. I remember the nasty looks I got while boarding an airplane with three young kids. I give a TON of grace and space to little kids on planes. I’ve intentionally taught my kids travel manners because I believe it makes vacationing more pleasant for my family as well as for everyone around us. Imagine my surprise when I caught a reflection of the kid sitting behind me. He was at least fifteen years old, playing on a device with his head and knees whacking up against the back of my chair. I had a mind to turn around and Mom Face him, but I know better. Teenage boys are unpredictable creatures, and THIS one was clearly undomesticated. I didn’t want to arrive in Portland with my hair full of spit and biscotti crumbs.

By the time we arrived in Portland, I had used up a hundred and seventy percent of my patience; it was as thin as a wire. A kid at the back of the plane decided to yell, “Go! What’s taking you so long? It’s not complicated, people! Goooooo!!!” over and over. He was probably around 11 or 12 years old, because his voice sounded like Shaggy from “Scooby-Doo.” The day could not be over soon enough.

It’s easier to practice gratitude when you are not tired or hungry or having your personal boundaries repeatedly violated. GRASPING for gratitude, this is what I came up with:

• I am grateful that someone was checking our airplane for safety.
• I am grateful that nobody was maimed on the fucking Skylink.
• I am grateful that none of those rude little shits are coming home with me and that my kids have manners.
• I am grateful that I don’t have diarrhea.
• Oh, yeah. And I am grateful that we are home safely AT FUCKING LAST.
• And I’m grateful that my life is pretty damned good so that this kind of Radical Gratitude is mostly uncalled for.

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