It’s been almost month since my last post, which left me dressed in virginal white and still scratching. While that whole skin thing has yet to be resolved (stay tuned) I thought I’d share a side effect of my 9-month itch distraction. As my 17 loyal readers know, October finds us in Key West, for a wonderful weeklong party called Fantasy Fest. This year was no exception and we were excited about the theme "Superheroes, Villians and Beyond". Except we almost didn’t make it. I have always been the chief trip coordinator and navigator, and I’ve been off my game. I blame the contact dermatitis for my lack of focus and attention to detail. (OK, no reminders about Belgium either, thank you very much.) We reserved the accommodations last January. I shopped flights until July, when I finally pulled the trigger on cheap flights departing out of Midway…that was my first mistake. For the play-by-play I’m turning my blog over to occasional guest contributor, Dan.
To say Paula has been off her game is, well, analogies
escape me. Paula has been nuts. Buggy. Scratching in her sleep. Mildly crazy.
Able to turn any conversation into a discussion of her skin. “Hey, our
neighbors bought a new toaster because they got a bagel stuck in theirs and it
almost started on fire!” “Speaking of being on fire, have you seen the backs of
my legs? And DON’T get me started about the small of my back.” You get the
idea.
Fantasy Fest 2013—and the strong steroids promised by her
specialist--offered an oasis from the itching, and a chance for us to cut loose
with good friends and relax. And relaxed is just how the trip started.
A 3:30 am cab ride to the bus stop came off without a
hitch. We should have 20 minutes before the bus was ready to leave for Midway
in Chicago—but wait. The driver was closing the doors as we pulled up.
Exasperated, he opened them to stow our multiple large suitcases. Making light
of the situation, I asked, since we were leaving early, what time we’d make it
to Midway. To quote Don Henley, he looked at me like cows at a passing train
and spat “This bus doesn’t go to Midway. It hasn’t for two years.” Stunned, I
pointed out that the schedule we’d printed the week before showed that yes
indeed it went to Midway, at which point he waved me off and said to talk to
his boss.
I’ll leave most details out, but the previous two weeks
at work for me had included two meetings with an industrial psychologist, a
meeting with another co-worker that didn’t go well, and two clustering sessions
for our management employees. This on top of the aforementioned skin issue.
And did I mention I was really horny? “Which reminds me how my skin resembles the
skin of the Great Horny Toad of Southwestern Arizona. My God, if that burns as
much as mine…” You get the idea. And you know this skin thing started in
February? Nuff said.
All of this came to a head at a bus stop at 3:45am on the
way to the one week a year I Live For. I asked for a number to call a
supervisor. The driver supplied one. The first three seconds of the call went
well, until I asked about the discrepancy between the printed schedule and the
reality on the ground. “Well we haven’t updated our website in two years,” was
his reply (Wisconsin Coach Lines). Like the Eighth Air Force in WWII, the
F-bombs began to rain. At the end of my one sided tirade, we were herded onto
the bus with a promise of a shuttle from O’Hare to Midway. And that’s when Ms.
Itchy looked at the airline boarding passes. Yeah, our 9:30 boarding time had
been moved up to 7:20…
We arrived at O’Hare just before 6. Our Hobbit of a
driver told us the shuttle would be there in about 15 minutes. It was a time
for action. Eddie Murphy’s Reggie Hammond character in “48 Hours” had a line
that, cleaned up, goes “Lack of (lovin’) makes you brave.” I bolted from the
bus and sprinted for the terminal, asking where the cab stand was. We were
pointed toward non-functioning escalators, which, with two rolling suitcases
each were a challenge. Between her sobs, Paula’s cardio training paid off, and
we thumped our way to the absolutely empty cab stand at one of the busiest
airports in the world. Stunned, yelling, the young attendant asked if we were
OK. “We are so very far from OK…” was my reply. She called for the Emergency
Cab. From a pocket of some unseen clown, a Scion XB was deployed and screamed
up to the stand.
Having done my time in a Toaster, I know the ins and outs
of an XB. But the power of Reggie was strong. We filled the interior with
suitcases and before we climbed in to this clowniest of clown cars, I told my
new BFF Aziz “You need to get us to Midway As Fast As Possible.”
“What time is your flight?”
“7:20”
“I’ll try.”
Aziz strapped in and lit the candle of that
base-Camry-motored car, and took off. I know at times we went slower than 85,
but I mostly hid behind the headrest not wanting to see. Horns blared. Brights
flashed. We slid from lane to lane. Suddenly we were at the Midway terminal.
Aziz got a $20 tip for a $50 ride and we sprinted for the terminal. Ours were
the last bags checked on to the plane, and we got into separate security lines.
Mine went faster, and I ran to the gate.
“How many minutes until this door closes?” “12” “My wife
is stuck in security—she’ll be right here.” “The door closes in 12 minutes.”
Look of unspeakable horror. Attendants retreat from the door. Paula arrives
five minutes later. We are the last two passengers who board, and we are waved
onto the plane without comment.
Music that resonates:
The Boys are Back in Town - The Busboys
You two crack me up! Love the guest writer's very vivid description—entertaining the whole way through!
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