mama said there’d be days like this

We are just back from depositing jesus, our daughter albatross’ “miracle child” at the airport for his flight back to cali. On the drive to ATL we stopped at a chicken centric drive through for some food. The OB&C had never been through one and had some difficulty with the concept. There were several cars ahead of us and when they stopped the OB&C thought we were supposed to order. He asked how the hell were we supposed to know what they had if there wasn’t even a sign or anything, but rolled down his window anyway and started talking into some nearby shrubbery. I explained that we needed to order at the kiosk and when we finally got to the menu and a chirpy voice asked what we’d like he to order he acted like he was having an hallucination. He stared dumbly at the brightly lit wall of heart attacks in sacks until the ethereal voice repeated her question, this time with a decidedly sharper tone. He snapped out of his bewildered stupor and launched into a few ice breakers. He introduced himself and gave a brief rundown of where we were going and why.  By now the chirpy voice had been replaced by a fairly stern tone demanding to know what we wanted to order.

Phase two involved his requiring a verbal description of what every posted item was and what exactly was the difference between chicken strips and chicken nuggets. And what was the deal about having waffle looking things instead of real french fries. Was the spicy chicken really spicy or just kinda spicy because he grew up in new orleans and likes things really spicy. And what about the grilled chicken salad, it looked pretty good, but what did she think, would it be too hard to eat while he was driving.

In the end he became so flustered he ordered both chicken strips and nuggets,  plus some of those waffly things, a spicy chicken sandwich, a lemonade for jesus and a double bourbon for himself, ten packets of texas pete and lots of extra napkins because texas pete is really hard to wash out of clothes, right? By then there was nothing but the sound of a dial tone coming from the speaker, miss chirpy voice had retreated to the back and was spitting into our order.

The rest of the drive to ATL was uneventful except for the fact that the clock was ticking and we were deathly afraid jesus would miss his flight. The OB&C dropped us off in the middle of the construction site that passes as the departure area and we hauled out jesus’ massive suitcase and hotfooted to the southwest check-in, and did I mention I have both a bad knee and a bad hip. Surprise, surprise, surprise, it was the last counter at the other end of the terminal. There was a pretty long line to check in so I got into the short line labeled full service. I got up to the counter and a woman with a very bad attitude asked if I was on their a list, I said no but I do need full service (and pointed to the sign that said full service) because I have this pathetic little child who is an unaccompanied minor and will likely miss his flight if she didn’t help us. Unmoved she pointed to the end of what was now an even longer line.

We managed to get through that line only to be faced with a disney world line at security. Anyone who has had the misfortune to take offspring to that place knows of what I speak. Instead of “it’s a small world after all” their theme song should be “it’s a long line after all” …when bandoliera saturnalia was six I took her, and despite my extensive research on how to avoid the lines (planning the landing at omaha beach was less complicated) it was hopeless, until I spotted some poor disabled child’s empty wheelchair, threw bs right in there and poof went the lines, magical… sorry kid.

But I digress, with every switch back of the line I would flail about to grab the attention of a tsa agent to give us a boost but they were all in deep conversation with their cohorts or examining their nails, and got no love there. Those people must go through some sort of insensitivity training, I swear I could knock someone in line in front of me unconscious and they wouldn’t bat an eye, but just let me forget that 4 oz bottle of very expensive eye crème in my carry on and they’d on me like beans on rice.

Jesus’ airline flies out of the terminal that is closer to cincinnati than downtown atlanta so we had to descend into the bowels of the airport to catch the tram to its very last stop before crossing the river styx into hades. We bolted out of that thing like ballistic missiles only to discover that his gate was, wait for it, the absolute last one in the place. Sweating bullets (Please god don’t do this to me. Just as there are no atheists in a fox hole there aren’t any at the airport when your grandchild is late for a flight back home.) We arrived as they were loading the last passengers, I knew jesus needed to go to the bathroom but figured he’d just have to man up like us old folk and hold it. I handed him off to the person behind the counter, kissed him goodbye and collapsed. I’ve been offloading kids onto airplanes for decades and I always followed the rule that when the plane leaves the gate my job is done. Oh no…said the gal in red polyester, not so fast granny, you have to stay until the plane takes off. That just seemed like piling on.

I had arranged for the OB&C to meet me at the hotel. I was so ready to check in and forget the previous 12 hours that I blew right past him at the front door, I obviously have the makings of a damned good tsa agent. I went to the reception desk and gave my name,  no reservation. Turns out I’d booked a different hotel. Seriously could this day possibly get any worse?

So the OB&C was sitting next to the lobby door alternately sulking and fuming. I approached him like I was headed to the gallows, and tried to put the best light on the situation, which was actually made a bit worse by the fact that he’d already parked the car to the tune of $32. I did manage to get the desk clerk to reverse the parking charges after I explained that I’d most probably be dead in the next hour or so and it would be a nice parting gift.

Good news is that our real hotel was across the street from the one I didn’t book, because if we’d had to go through 5pm atlanta traffic to get there I surely would have been a goner. Needless to say, it was a chilly ride twixt hotels. The minute we got to our room I sent the OB&C straight to the lobby bar to drown his fury and crumpled onto the bed, hoping to live to see a better day.