Thursday, June 16th, was to be Fly Day to the Midwest for both me and my grandchildren. Megan had scheduled our flights so that they only had to make one trip to Sea-Tac. My flight to Indianapolis would have two legs: Seattle to Houston, then Houston to Indy. The kids' flight, scheduled for an hour's departure time later, was a direct flight from Seattle to Milwaukee where their father would pick them up. They were flying unescorted, due to their ages. (Meg had already called the airline to be certain she would be allowed through security in order to take them to the gate.)
The family dropped me off at the Southwest curbside check-in, knowing that I would have wheelchair support, then went on with the kids to park the car. Since there would be time to kill, they planned to meet me at the gate for my plane. The checked baggage is taken at curbside, so all I had with me to go through security was a small suitcase on wheels and a soft bag about the size of a large
purse. And me, of course. At Indy, they didn't even look twice at me. I hadn't had to remove my shoes and was only required to walk through a metal detector. My carry-ons came through with flying colors. Smooth. At Sea-Tac, however, the whole picture changed. I had to remove my shoes, take off my hoodie, stand in a full-body scanner in spread-eagle position for a split second. They kept asking how old I was. Apparently, if you are 75 or older, you are exempt from some of this. But, of course, I am "only" 69 so still suspect. All I had to do then was wait on the other side of the scanner for my carry-ons to clear before moving on.
But they didn't. My purse-sized bag did, but the little suitcase "alerted". Now I was in the hands of a very polite African-American woman who knew the routine by heart. (My wheelchair pusher seemed annoyed.) She opened the suitcase to inspect. Inside were: my laptop computer and power cord, a leather mousepad, a wireless mouse, my nebulizer machine with tubing, and (in a clear plastic bag) the mouthparts for the nebulizer and an open foil pack of Albuterol Sulphate cartridges (my breathing meds). Oh...and a dish towel and dirty nightgown for padding. The gal took a piece of some kind of test paper and ran it around the inside edges of the suitcase, then stuck the paper in a machine. She said it alerted for gun powder! This is where it gets amusing. Here I am, an old gray-haired balding lady, barely able to walk, with a little suitcase (purchased just for this trip) that has gun powder residue in it, and already made it through security at Indy once???
Okay...so the suitcase went somewhere else for more screening of some sort, but then there was ME to deal with, little terrorist that I am. Although I had already been through the scanner that shows everything but your bones, I now had to have a full-body pat-down. The TSA gal asked me if I wanted to have it done in a more private location. (You mean other than right there in front of God and everyone else going through security??) I told her no...let's just get this done right here. She explained what she was going to do. I couldn't have cared less. She looked in my hair. (What hair??) Then she moved down. I was felt in the crotch, down the legs, under the boobs, in the armpits, up and down and over and under, all the way to my fingertips, etc. (Felt good, actually!) Had to pull up my shirt so she could secure my waistline, front and back. Then she started in on the wheelchair (which was the airport's). I wasn't offended...just a little bit annoyed because I knew what the outcome would be. I just wanted to get through it. And I did. Shortly thereafter, my little suitcase came back, cleared, and I was free to go.
What was so amusing? By now, you surely know how my mind works. All I could think of were the lyrics to Jan and Dean's old song, The Little Old Lady from Pasadena. "The terror of Colorado Boulevard. Go, Granny! Go, Granny! Go, Granny, go!"
My "pusher" took me to the gate where I waited for my family to show up, which they did. We chatted and visited until it was time for me to pre-board. I departed from gate B6. The children were slated to leave from B12 an hour later. We said our good-byes on a sunny morning, praying for each other to reach our destinations safely. I had already informed Megan that we all needed to be out of Seattle air space before their cheer went up! (Truth be known, she's a weeper. More likely she would cry to be shed of her mommy and her babies on the same day, no matter for how long.)
I got a window seat on the left side of the plane on Meg's recommendation if I even hoped to see Mt. Rainier on the way out. I'd already seen it from the ground several times during my visit, but from the air? Hmmm... There was a lot of cloud cover as we ascended. Nothing on the ground could be seen. Nothing but lovely white clouds below us. And then, suddenly, there was this huge mountain covered with snow above it all. FAR above it all, in its glory: Mount Rainier! Meg had advised me to take pictures with my phone, but I was so entranced by the sight that I never even thought of it! I'm kicking myself now. Megan sees Mt. Rainier on a daily basis. I, however, don't...and I blew my last chance to have it as a memory. Damn!
My seat-mates on the first leg of the trip were both women and both sleepers. I caught myself nodding a number of times but never did actually sleep. Lots of fluffy clouds below. Not that much to see.
When we landed in Houston, it was 93 degrees on the ground. The pilot said, "If you have a connecting flight, bless your heart." I wasn't sure what that meant but figured it out soon enough. There weren't enough "pushers", so I was taken up the ramp and into the terminal, and left there for a few minutes. One mobile passenger bystander finally alerted someone that I had been abandoned. I appreciated his concern, but I really wasn't stressed and hadn't asked for his assistance. Shortly, a pusher showed up to take me to the restroom, Chick-fil-A (my choice), and to my next gate. It was a LOOONG trek. (I should have known I was in the south because he kept saying, "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am". For us Yankees, it almost seems artificial.)
When I boarded the flight for Indy, there was a spunky little lady there who said she would push me to the plane. The boarding agent had other ideas, but since she also had a pre-boarding pass, she followed us down the ramp and into the plane. I took a window seat. She chose the aisle seat next to me. The plane had three seats abreast, and it was 100% booked. We had an empty seat between us which was soon taken by a very attractive Indian woman, probably in her early 50s. The spunky lady turned out to be a gabby retired teacher from the southern Indy 'burbs who flies to Houston every six weeks or so for health reasons. The Indian woman was crocheting a baby blanket for a child for whose baby shower she would attend in Indy. In the course of our flight, we women all talked. The Indian woman lost her husband to cancer five years ago. She is still grieving. As she talked to us, she cried and we listened. I supplied the tissues so she could. (Thanks, Meg, for buying me more pocket-sized tissues. You never know who will be comforted by such a simple thing!!) She did manage to finish the edging on the baby blanket before touchdown. She lives in Houston. Her husband had worked for NASA. She is very attractive and young enough, I hope to God she gets beyond her grief to find someone of the Indian persuasion to take care of her. I feel bad that I didn't get her name!!!!
Once we hit the ground, around 10 PM, my pusher took me to baggage claim to get my stuff (which came out early, for once), then took me outside where we pushed the button for a taxi. Instantaneous! My driver from Crown Taxi Service was Kenyan. Once he figured out where he was taking me...correctly...we chatted all the way home. My plane had hit the ground just before 10:00. I was in my driveway no later than 10:30. The cost? Twenty dollars, plus tip. The driver brought my bags into the house. I gave him $30 and told him to keep the change. He was happy. I was happy. It was the best $30 I ever spent! (Well...maybe that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea.)
The house was just as messy as I had left it, but it had been a looong day. I got word that the grandchildren were on the ground and in the clutches of their father by the time I hit Houston. All went well for them.
In retrospect, I had a glorious time in Seattle. I'm not sure that my family had the same experience, but we all left on a happy note. My grandchildren will be with me, off and on, in the next couple of weeks. I just need to get with the program!
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