The Airport Saga

On Tuesday, Big Bro flew to Atlanta on his own to spend some time with friends. Getting him there was almost glitch-free... except when it came to telecommunications.

All our ducks were in their damned rows: Everything he'd need was either packed or would be bought at Wal-Mart in Georgia. We had all his paperwork printed out and organized, right down to a map of the Atlanta airport. Bathing suit and goggles, check. Underwear, check. Toothbrush, check (and you damn well better use it, boy!).

So, off we go. The parking lot shuttle shows up at our car just as we're locking it up. There's no line at check-in. Noah gets the ideal seat on the plane. Security's a pain but quick. Noah's gate is close and easy to find. So far, everything is running smoothly.

But then...

As we're looking for a magazine and some gum for his flight, Noah remembers that he left his mp3 player in the car. He's really attached to that thing, to the point that he was loading music specifically for the trip. Sorry, buddy, but you'll have to live without your music for two weeks.

OK, that was our glitch, right? Huh. Not so fast.

Then he remembered that he left his Benedryl and Tracfone card in the car as well. Benedryl he can buy in Georgia. The Tracfone card? BIG PROBLEM.

See, he's got this Tracfone that he never uses, so I had let the service drop. We stopped on the way to the airport to get him more minutes, because it was VITAL that he have a way to call me or his friend's mom when he lands. He's flying in to Atlanta, for Christ's sake. What if they don't issue Cori a gate pass? What if he's just standing there, wondering where to go and how to find her? How will he reach her? How will I know he's found her? AACK!

OK, deep breath. We had almost an hour before his flight leaves. I was going to see if I could make it out to the car and back real quick. Now, I know what you're thinking: I was smoking crack, right? Well, no; I'm just really inexperienced with flight. I actually thought I had a chance.

So I leave Noah with all his stuff right next to the gate and zoom out of the airport. I noticed on my way past security, however, that a line had formed. Red flags went up in my head --really, they were popping up in front of my eyeballs. But I continued, wondering what the hell my baby would do without a phone.

When I finally found the spot I was supposed to go to to catch the parking lot shuttle, I had just missed it. The next one wouldn't be back for another 15 minutes. Those red flags were now dancing. What if I couldn't get back in time, and Noah had to board without seeing me? How scared would he be?! Would they even let him on the plane without me there? And if they did --how dare they?!

I turned tail and ran back into the airport, stopped short by the now-huge line at security. Oh, crap. It was all I could do to not cut through the line and start somethin' with all these people who were between me and my kid. Once it was finally my turn, security was quick (it was just me and my purse and my thank-God-I-wore-these slip-on sandals).

I made it back to Noah just as they started boarding his flight. "OK," I said, "You'll have to take my phone and my mp3 player. It's a shuffle, but it's got lots of Green Day, so you'll survive." Off he went, with a quick hug and a slight look of panic in his eyes.

The only decent view of the planes taking off was from the airport bar. Poor me. I bellied up and ordered a brew, thinking it would be a while 'til Noah's plane actually headed up, up, and away. Not two sips into my beer, though, and there he went. I couldn't see the end of the runway, but I didn't hear an explosion or panicked announcements over the PA system, so I made myself relax. Finished my beer while reading my guidebook to the UK, dreaming of the day when I would be on a plane myself.

Alrighty, time to call the other mom and let her know Noah's cell number. Red flags went up again when the pay phone at the airport wouldn't work, no matter how many quarters I gave it or what number I dialed. Ruh-roh.

No big deal, Adesa, just find a payphone on the road and try again.

So tell me: have you tried finding a payphone lately? The damn things hardly exist anymore. I took exit after exit in an unfamiliar city, trying to find one. When I finally did, I used it to load the minutes onto the Tracfone that was to be mine for two weeks. I took off again, thinking I'd make all my other calls from the road.

Mwa-ha-ha! replied God.

Apparently, Tracfone did not program the phone properly, because after a bunch of attempts to many numbers, I could not get the damn thing to connect me to anyone, not even Tracfone itself. But I did manage to use 18 minutes of call time in the effort, which they damn well better reimburse me for.

By now, it's after 3 o'clock. Noah should have landed, and I'm flipping out. Frustration with the stupid phone situation had me on edge, I had a beer in me (just one, but it was a big one), and the mama bear in me knew my son had flown away. My brain was swarming with images of planes crashing and my baby being scared and alone while his plane was engulfed in flames, and of him standing in the enormous Atlanta airport wondering what to do and where to go and searching for Cori and of him having the same phone problems I was having and not being able to call her. I was losing it fast, and now I had to find another fucking payphone.

Just then, I spotted a sign for a rest stop, and intinct told me I'd find a phone there. They had three! Of course, the first one didn't work, leading to lots of loud "fuck"s and stares from strangers and smearing my mascara. But the second one worked just fine. I got right through to Noah, and asked if he had found Cori OK. He replied with that special tone of voice reserved for thirteen-year-olds, "Yes, Mom, I'm fine. I'm in their car now. Anything else?"

Shithead.

Once the drama was over, I realized two things. One, the charger for the Tracfone was in Georgia, so I wouldn't be able to use it after all. And two...

I get Noah's mp3 player for two weeks. Mwa-ha-ha!