As you can imagine, I'm not the calmest flyer. Well, I'm not the calmest anything, to be completely honest. So, I like to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare. I catalogue all the things that could go wrong: heavy traffic, extra long security lines, broken down computers, alien insect invasions, and I prefer to give myself as big a buffer as possible. The result this last trip was having almost 2 hours to spare. We ate an overpriced breakfast. We went to the bathroom. Twice. Then we went to the kids' play area.
The curious thing about the kids' play area at SeaTac airport is the 8 foot wall that doesn't go all the way to the ceiling. There are two diagonal ducts or something, but really, there's no practical reason for the absence of wall. Perhaps budget cuts. Budget cuts seem to be a logical reason. Who knows? The wall is the perfect temptation for a little person like Titus who loves to throw things at random, and throw he did. He threw his absolutely most favorite and necessary toy in the world: his Night Night. His whole world crumbled when I peeked over the wall from the top of the children's climbing structure and told him there was nothing I could do.
We had to go to our gate. It was almost time to board. You have never seen such a disappointed little person in your life, and even though it wasn't my fault, I felt so very, very guilty. I tried to find someone who worked at the airport. Apparently, no one works at the airport. They work for the airlines, sure, but ask them to help you find a person who works for the airport, and they look at you like you are a recent asylum escapee. I guess the airport just runs on robots and fairy dust.
I managed to find a ticketing agent who had small children who had favorite toys in the whole wide world, and she managed to find someone who worked for maintenance, I assume for the airport, but they could have worked for Denny's for all I know. We were told to go back to the play area and wait. So we did. And we waited. And they didn't come. The boarding time was now dangerously close. I had paid extra to get priority seating, and that didn't come cheap. It was now a matter of weighing my son's emotional and mental well-being against the extra $100 I spent to get on the plane first so we could get the seats we needed (we flew Southwest who doesn't assign seats). I could have bought him 10 new Night Nights for that $100, but somehow, it wouldn't be the same. He'd always associate the airport with this traumatic event, and, let's face it, I'd always feel guilty there. Since we utilize the airport frequently, I didn't want to shoulder all those negative feelings for the rest of my life. It was time for Mama to go over the wall.
I assessed the situation. There was a room full of children and their parents. There was a bench I could climb up in order to get to the top of the wall. There was a large man sitting on this bench. I thought, worse case scenario, he could help me back up. Or I could maybe shimmy up those diagonal ducts that were covered in enough dust to fill 275 vacuum cleaners. I took the kids in. I told them to stay. I went over the wall. The room behind me fell silent. When I got to the top, I saw two things: a long drop down and a metal cross bar that could help me get back over if I could manage to get a foot hold because it was at my eye level.
I landed with a very soft thud in dust thick enough to cover my flip-flopped feet. I retrieved Night Night, who was slightly dirty but no worse for the wear. He survived his flight. I threw him over and heard a very happy Titus. I knew I had made the right decision. Did I mention I was wearing black pants? Now to get to that cross bar. I had to take a running start, which kicked up a cloud of dust all the way to the ceiling that most likely settled on most of the people in the room. I hit the wall with a bang, got my foot up, pulled myself up with the strength of Hercules if Hercules was an out-of-shape woman with little to no upper body strength that was determined to reunite with her children and still make it to priority seating boarding.
When I came over, every jaw in the room had hit the floor. My pants, once black, were now a light grey. I used my white sweatshirt to wipe up the dusty footprints I left on the bench, and we were off in a little cloud of triumph mixed with humiliation with a generous sprinkling of smug on top. We made it to the gate right as our group was boarding, and all was right with the world, even if I was leaving a trail of dust behind me that would put Pig Pen to shame.
We had to go to our gate. It was almost time to board. You have never seen such a disappointed little person in your life, and even though it wasn't my fault, I felt so very, very guilty. I tried to find someone who worked at the airport. Apparently, no one works at the airport. They work for the airlines, sure, but ask them to help you find a person who works for the airport, and they look at you like you are a recent asylum escapee. I guess the airport just runs on robots and fairy dust.
I managed to find a ticketing agent who had small children who had favorite toys in the whole wide world, and she managed to find someone who worked for maintenance, I assume for the airport, but they could have worked for Denny's for all I know. We were told to go back to the play area and wait. So we did. And we waited. And they didn't come. The boarding time was now dangerously close. I had paid extra to get priority seating, and that didn't come cheap. It was now a matter of weighing my son's emotional and mental well-being against the extra $100 I spent to get on the plane first so we could get the seats we needed (we flew Southwest who doesn't assign seats). I could have bought him 10 new Night Nights for that $100, but somehow, it wouldn't be the same. He'd always associate the airport with this traumatic event, and, let's face it, I'd always feel guilty there. Since we utilize the airport frequently, I didn't want to shoulder all those negative feelings for the rest of my life. It was time for Mama to go over the wall.
I assessed the situation. There was a room full of children and their parents. There was a bench I could climb up in order to get to the top of the wall. There was a large man sitting on this bench. I thought, worse case scenario, he could help me back up. Or I could maybe shimmy up those diagonal ducts that were covered in enough dust to fill 275 vacuum cleaners. I took the kids in. I told them to stay. I went over the wall. The room behind me fell silent. When I got to the top, I saw two things: a long drop down and a metal cross bar that could help me get back over if I could manage to get a foot hold because it was at my eye level.
I landed with a very soft thud in dust thick enough to cover my flip-flopped feet. I retrieved Night Night, who was slightly dirty but no worse for the wear. He survived his flight. I threw him over and heard a very happy Titus. I knew I had made the right decision. Did I mention I was wearing black pants? Now to get to that cross bar. I had to take a running start, which kicked up a cloud of dust all the way to the ceiling that most likely settled on most of the people in the room. I hit the wall with a bang, got my foot up, pulled myself up with the strength of Hercules if Hercules was an out-of-shape woman with little to no upper body strength that was determined to reunite with her children and still make it to priority seating boarding.
When I came over, every jaw in the room had hit the floor. My pants, once black, were now a light grey. I used my white sweatshirt to wipe up the dusty footprints I left on the bench, and we were off in a little cloud of triumph mixed with humiliation with a generous sprinkling of smug on top. We made it to the gate right as our group was boarding, and all was right with the world, even if I was leaving a trail of dust behind me that would put Pig Pen to shame.
Mom of the Millennium! I applaud you! What a great story to remember whenever you're at the airport!
ReplyDeleteI tend to agree.
ReplyDelete