FLASHBACK SEQUENCE: The airport shuttle arrived as we found a place in Economy Parking. "Do we need ALL the doors open," I asked Geri as she scurried around her sedan, gathering her tote, her carry-on and her tiny red purse with a million pockets. I slammed half of them shut and began to walk to the waiting shuttle, pausing as I heard her say, "What are my car keys doing in the back seat?" I hurried back to verify their secure placement in a zippered compartment of her luggage. Confident that we would eventually be able to drive home when we returned from Florida, I boarded the bus. Geri was still shutting doors. "I'll pay you ten bucks to leave her," I whispered to the driver. She headed toward us, glanced back to realize that she'd left the trunk open, and reversed direction. "Twenty," I hissed.
"What time should we get up tomorrow," Geri asked for the millionth time that first night at our resort. We had successfully evaded establishment of a determined time but Geri was determined to establish it. So it was that Savannah and I, because we were not related to Geri and therefore could not ignore her tortuous demands, were up at 6:30 am ON OUR VACATION. "The commercials do say Vacation like you mean it," Savannah said comfortingly to me as I stood blearily in line for another shuttle. Early hours began at 8 and I was ensconced in a castle, throwing out my arms in delight and shouting, "It's snowing!" by 8:45. I would call that a magical success. Geri called it an outright failure and pushed for an earlier departure time the next day.
Geri also has her own interpretation of "Please secure all loose articles" during a ride as she shakily disembarked from The Amazing Adventures of Spider-Man Ride. "Drat it," she said, giving her pockets a perfunctory pat-down, "I lost my cell-phone." She immediately reversed direction and salmon-streamed her way through the rapid river of riders to talk to the operators. Savannah and I empathetically shook our heads, grieving the technological loss of one of our own. But no...Geri was back. "They'll find it on the tracks tonight after they shut down and then take it to lost and found," she told us before shepherding our group to the next attraction. Poor thing. Didn't she know that the Spiderman Ride takes up 1 1/2 acres of mayhem which includes destructive environmental elements such as wind, water, heat and fog? We experienced a 400-foot sensory drop, for pete's sake! Touringplan.com called the ride "frenetic." IF she got her phone back...IF...NO WAY would it work! Well...she did and it did. And then proceeded to lecture me about my definition of "luck." AND was upset that she'd also lost her pocket comb. Thank goodness she had a spare.
Occasionally, Geri and I find that we need an interpreter when Western-New-York-Born meets Raised-On-Long-Island. "Here Savannah, I'll hold your bag," Geri said graciously, to allow the rest of our group to jump in the ever-growing line at Transformers. That was so sweet, I thought, I'll stay back and keep her company. Startled when I caught up to her, Geri said, "Oh, are you not going to ride? Here take Savannah's bag," before rushing off. Leaving me...holding...the...bag. I was reminded of this clash of cultures: The "subtly polite" versus the "Just say it already" mentality at the end of our trip after we'd successfully gathered up our luggage. "Do you need to use the restroom before we go," I asked, dancing around a bit. "Yes," she replied, again...leaving me...holding....the ...bags (and my almost bursting bladder) as she rushed off. "Why didn't you just say so," she said impatiently when I told her what had happened. I sighed. I don't know.
And, to top it all off, there's Geri's "I love to relax" speech. We get to hear it EVERY time we go on vacation with her. All Geri wants, she claims, is a chance to lay by the pool/ocean/puddle of water and read. We've been through this little experience a million times. She settles in for five minutes and then leaps up and sets out for a six-mile hike. This is a woman who got me kicked off a private beach. We famously had a knock-down, drag-out fight that even incorporated the (really) bad word because she once accused me of not using a rental bicycle enough. Relax, shma-lax.
So we're headed home and the Orlando to Philly flight is REALLY booked (as opposed to just booked) and they're requesting volunteers to check their carry-ons, free-of-charge. "We should do it," Geri said, sort of suggestive-but-more-demanding like. "Well...okay," I answered, doing a mental inventory of what I should grab out of my bag, just in case. Just in case there's mechanical problems when we switched flights in Philadelphia and we get onto a third plane meaning my bag had to follow us successfully from Plane 1 to planned Plane 2 to surprise Plane 3. ID...check. Journal that could get me sued for libel...check. Secret stash of money...check. Good to go! I watched as the man attached the helpful identification tag to Geri's luggage. "Ger..." I timidly suggested, "Do you think that maybe we should get your car keys out of there?" Check!
You know it and I know it. If that had been MY bag with MY car keys in it...that bag would have ended up in Tupelo instead of Buffalo. But because it was Geri's, my worries appeared both ridiculous and unwarranted. Just like her cell phone, her bag showed up, riding that luggage carousel like a kid at an amusement park.
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