"Let...go...of...me," Brad insisted, fighting his way out of my pythonian-grasp. "Go on," he yelled after he raced back to the van and locked the doors. If he had had small pebbles, I believe he would have chucked them at me. I clung to my carry-on and rolled my way into the airport...alone.
FLASHBACK: That very morning between the unreasonable hours of 3:30 and 4:45 AM...somewhere after Brad had wondered why dogs sport so little fur on their bellies. Word-to-the-wise: Don't tell someone who gets up to drive you an hour to the airport at 3 AM that "You don't care" about their thoughts. "Which airline are you flying?" Brad asked. "Foxtrot," I answered confidently (at 3:30 AM).
RETURN TO PRESENT: "Ma'am? Can I help you?" the courteous representative asked as tears began to stream down my face when my confirmation number failed to work at the self-serve kiosk for the thousandth time. Looking over my travel papers, she quietly directed me to the correct airline. "It's early," she reassured me as I slunk away, glad that she offered insufficient sleep rather than idiocy as my excuse for jumbling my jets.
I mostly made it through security without incident. Fearing that it would be chilly on the plane, I had dressed in layers. Layer One: Dachshund T-shirt. Layer Two: Dachshund Sweatshirt. I made it into the pneumatic tube time-traveling device that freezes you into a Dance-Dance-Revolution move before things went south. Or actual equatorial. "Ma'am? Could you lift your shirt? Oh excuse me...shirts?" Uh...no. "And hike up your pants a little bit." Wha...? "Now spread your feet a bit more." Had I inadvertently stumbled onto the set of a porn movie? They closed the pneumatic tube but were not satisfied with the results. "Ma'am," the agent said, holding up one blue finger, "I am going to probe your waistband. It's a bit bunchy." Wow. That did WONDERS for my self-esteem. Talk about your short-lived careers in the porn industry.
Somehow, I managed to make it successfully to The Windy City. I had thirty minutes before my next flight and I was determined to live life to the fullest. First, I found a Pepsi! YES! Then, with the keen eye of an airport predator (which may be why I was bogged down in security for so long), I scanned the landscape for my target: Aunt Annie's Pretzels! Twelve people in line? No worries. A predator is patient when hunting its quarry. I glanced at my watch: 6:58. Boarding would begin at 7:06. But I was Group 5. I hunkered down.
Pepsi and pretzel in hand, I boarded victoriously! So what if I had a middle seat? One cannot be sad with cheesy dipping sauce. I strode, unhindered to my assigned place; surprised to encounter a papillon. You'd be surprised how often this breed of dog shows up in my blogs. Its owner was NOT very welcoming as she stood to let me in. Turns out, the fate of her world hinged on my lingering in the pretzel line too long to make the flight. As I settled in (and my new furry friend complimented my snack selection), the flight attendant hurried over and cryptically said to my seatmate, "You are going to have to decide what to do NOW...the flight is scheduled to depart." What on earth did THAT mean? Decide what? The woman, in tears, called a friend for counsel before leaping to her feet, cramming her canine into a kennel, grabbing her stuff and leaving the plane. What a mystery! But with some deductive investigation on my part ("Hey, what happened?" I asked my seatmate who'd scored the window), I discovered that the crate the woman was using for her dog was NOT regulation size. If I hadn't come to claim my seat, apparently the dog could stay. But since I (the evil villain) appeared, the dog would have to be...gasp...CHECKED. I would have hated me too. Rather than relinquishing her precious pet to the belly of the beast, she left...leaving me and Window Seat with the most prized of all plane possessions: An empty seat. Never were two seatmates happier. Luxurious legroom. Elbow space aplenty. I polished off my pretzel with wild abandon. Was this a plane or a magic carpet? We landed in San Diego. Window Seat and I high-fived. "They say every dog has its day," Window Seat said as we walked off the plane, "Apparently today was not that dog's day."
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