Airport Assholes

Seth and I behave very differently at the airport.  Where I am calm, compliant and obedient, Seth is cantankerous, indignant and defiant. 

He starts bitching about having to take his shoes off for security before we've even parked the car.  And then promptly launches into a diatribe about how these"safety measures" are all bullshit, and nothing has really changed, etc, etc, etc.  I won't share with you all of his complaints and the reasons behind them because you aren't married to him and therefore shouldn't be subjected to his absurd ramblings. I mean, the man deliberately puts a gallon of water in his carry on, and then scoffs when he gets caught violating the four ounces of liquid rule.  He makes horrible faces, loud, annoyed sighs, and rolls his eyes within 20 feet of any security guard.  And then wonders why he gets patted down.

I've been around his asshole-ish-ness enough now that I simply head to the furthest line from him so I don't have to witness, and get mad about, his ridiculous airport attitude.  I will have gone through security with Lakeland, collected our belongings, put my shoes back on, made a bathroom stop and arrived at our departure gate before Seth has finished chugging his carry-on gallon of water and getting frisked.

When it's just Lakeland and I, traveling is easy.  She is great in the airport, and has traveled by air so often that it's kind of a norm for her.  We usually arrive early for our flight, and she holds my hand quietly while we wait in line for our boarding passes.  Once we've dropped our luggage, we zip through security (because I am not an asshole) and find a nice place to sit and relax until our plane takes off.  While I sip my coffee and she crushes pizza and ice cream, we people watch and I make fun of others (in my head, not in front of her...she doesn't need to know how mean I am). 

The best is when a frenzied mom, (look around next time you're at the airport and you'll find plenty of these women) is traveling with her children, and spends all of her pre-flight time screaming at them, yanking their arms right out of the sockets, telling them not to drink anything or they'll all have to pee in flight, trying to stop them from emptying their Spiderman and Dora backpacks all over the ground, and imploring them, loudly, to be quiet.  All the while these women are carrying 47 bags, plus jackets, shoes, stuffed animals, pillows and anything else the kids can jam under her armpits.  Oh, and she's carrying a baby and a 43 pound toddler.  She's dripping sweat and her hair is all kinds of jacked up.  And she's still got a good 6 hours of this before she arrives at her destination, whereupon, I'm pretty sure, she'll drop her kids off on some relative and check herself into a psychiatric facility.

And there I am, sitting smugly with my well behaved child, whose belongings are all neatly tucked into her carry on.

Until my last flight from Grand Rapids to Baltimore.  That was the flight where I turned into an airport asshole.  Lakeland, overtired from the trip to Michigan, was an absolute nightmare.  A complete basket-case.  She refused to hold my hand (until I yanked her arm), was full on running, smashing into people and yelling "PEOPLE MOVER MOMMY" at one of those flat escalator things, then tripping balls while mounting the moving walkway and giving me a heart attack while I stared helplessly from ten feet behind her, weighed down by luggage.

This is the bag, jammed full of all our stuff.

You see, I couldn't keep up with her because I had forgotten to pack all of our dirty laundry from the week into my checked suitcase and so, stupidly, shoved the dirty clothes, including super sweaty, stinky, heavy, wet workout stuff, into my carry-on.  Which wasn't a backpack or anything convenient like that, but one of those big ol' non-closeable bags with handles that makes your arm break off after carrying it for five minutes.

So there I was, screaming "Lakeland, get back hereyouarebeingawfulandyouareneverwatchingTVagain" and running behind her, all sideways style because my right half was loaded down by my stupid carry-on full of a pile of dirty laundry, plus coloring books, snacks, crayons, hardcover books, jackets, blankets and stuffed animals.  My hand was numb and my fingers that painful purpleish white from hanging onto this albatross.  Plus I was sweating like a hog, hair everywhere.

Once I finally caught up to her, I immediately laid into her about not listening and obeying, and she promptly sat. right. down. and. refused. to. move.  I briefly considered using a sharp crayon as a weapon, but I was too tired to dig through the laundry to find it.  So instead I started bartering with her.  Right there, in the middle of the concourse. 

You know those carts that bring the elderly or disabled to their gates?  The ones that beep, beep, beep through the airport and you are supposed to move over for them?  Yeah.  Lakeland gave all those carts the equivalent of her middle finger, and stayed planted where she was.  Those carts can whip around people if they have to, just FYI.

Anyway, when haggling went absolutely nowhere, and yelling even less effective, I pulled the tried and true move of abandonment.  I said "Fine.  I'm going.  You can stay there if you want." And I started walking away and she started screaming like she got hit by one of those beeping carts.  But she still wouldn't move, and I started noticing those looks that people give horrible parents like me.  I would have gone back for her, just to wipe off those judgy faces, but I seizing up from all the tension and the damn carry-on, so instead, I just sat. down. too.

We had a Mexican stand-off with each other while the beeping airport carts whirled around and between us, like we were the orange cones in a police obstacle course.

All of a sudden I heard on the intercom "Final boarding call for Grand Rapids.  The gate will be closed in 2 minutes."   I leapt up like a cheetah, grabbed my little wildebeest and ran to my gate while shitting my pants.  

We made it just in time, and I could not wait to get back to DC so I could pass Lakeland off to Seth and drink a box of wine, but when we landed, Seth had left me a message that he was stuck in traffic and still an hour away.  I found an empty steel bench, laid my head down on my dirty laundry bag, and closed my eyes while Lakeland opened both of our suitcases and dressed up the vending machines with the remainder of our clean clothes.