Let’s go

The packing is done, the suitcases closed, the hand luggage ready with a change of clothes.

 The house is clean, dishes washed, beds made, bathrooms tidy.

The passports and tickets are safely ensconced.

 Take a deep breath, pet the dog, load up the SUV

 Airport here we come.

 Reach the airport, say our goodbyes to the child, automatic doors, queue at the counter

Bags checked in, hit the lounge for a bloody mary and snacky stuff

Head to our gate, wait for our group, head down the hallway and onto the plane.

Seat belts on, fiddling with the TV, my husband settles on Beverly Hills cop

I keep scrolling. The flight is to leave at 7 pm.

Time passes, we get water and pretzels, an announcement of a delay

Due to mechanical reasons.

At 9 we are deplaned and a line of 157 people starts bubbling into confused circles.

A bright young woman steps up saying, “I am a passenger too, but we need to form a line

So the folks here can help us. “ Her smile and firm persuasion establishes order.

We are peckish now, and chips and water shows up.

 People start to bond. Some have urgency. Others have connections onward.

Conversations about hotels and ubers and travel concerns.

One gentleman does not have a phone, he is travelling to Greece.

How to call him an uber/organize hotel/get him his new travel itinerary?

Notes are written for him, remarkably patient customer service.

Elderly folks are calling children to appraise them of change.

The lifeline of the phone, the tired shoulders of us all.

We are all in the same boat, or airport seating area.

At 10.30, a computer program kicks in to give us all alternate flights.

Today was Tuesday, No flight out tomorrow. We get an 8 am flight on Thursday.

 Time to head home. Child won’t answer phone till we call girlfriend and he comes to the airport.

Peckish, but what is open in Cincinnati at 11.45 pm? White Castle forever.

The next day we just spend a normal day at home, working, cooking, watching TV.

Up on Thursday at 4 am. The uber arrives at 4.30 and we head out again.

 Three miles from home we hear a thump. Flat tire. On I-71 at 5 am on a cold wintery day.

The driver says he can fix it. We sit in silence.

One of those rare occasions in life where there is no one to blame. Flat tire?

The rules are that you should not drive on the spare more than 50 miles and not faster than 50 mph.

We left at 6 am and got to the airport at 6,30. No one did the math.

Paid the driver, unloaded, joined the queue, headed to the lounge for breakfast.

Boarded the plane and still held our breath.

Reached Newark, found our gate, boarded the plane and still held our breath. 

Watched the movie Mrs Harris goes to Paris, ate, slept and woke two hours from Delhi.

Life is a journey, and always an adventure.