What Now

SUNDAY MARCH 18/ CHARLOTTE & FT. LAUDERDALE AIRPORT

You know, traveling alone isn’t so bad. I mean, I don’t think I would want to go on all my vacations alone, but there is something to be said about not having to worry about anyone else while you explore to your heart’s content. No offense to anyone I’ve ever traveled with, but I like to look at stuff and some of you don’t, so it was nice to be on my own this time, problems or not…well, most of the time.

When the idea was first broached that I fly to Florida sans companion, I was terrified. Literally, I grew up so sheltered and protected that the first time I ever drove to Birmingham alone, I was 22 and my mom STILL had kittens about it. She had me convinced that I was going to be murdered and buried in a shallow grave before I could get home. Trust me, I love my mom, but the woman has pretty much stayed in a 20 mile radius of where she grew up, so I think the idea of me being outside of that comfort zone scares her silly.

But I digress.

I had a few weeks to acclimatize myself to the idea of flying to strange places alone, and I had gotten used to the idea in a “Country Mouse Visits the City” kind of way. When the whole debacle happened and I was stuck in Charlotte, I had a feeling that I was going to have a brief, but powerful, panic attack that would probably end up with me chasing a plane down the runway, begging it to let me onboard so I could go home. However, I had hit “Kill Me” mode, and I realized that if I was going to snap out of the country mouse state of mind, I was going to have to be an adult. Also, I was too tired to muster up the strength to have a meltdown.

As I lay in the floor of the airport, which was all I could do at the time, I tried to keep busy. I was lucky that I had my iPod and my busy box. As I’ve said many times, I don’t have idle hands, so I had brought a box in my carry on that contained tools for embroidery, crochet, and drawing. In the stretch of 7 hours I spent on that floor, I went through them all. I also just lay there and tried not to go to sleep. That was the worst part, being so tired and not feeling comfortable going to sleep. I felt that way partly because I was alone and didn’t want anyone to steal my purse while I was sleeping and partly because I waved at some random guy without thinking (Shut up, I’m friendly) and he kept walking by and staring at me. I didn’t want to wake up later and find that guy spooning me. It was an uphill battle, but I only dozed and jerked awake, never fell fully asleep. As I was lying against a concrete wall that seemed to be sucking the cold out of the air outside, I was freezing. I already had on my jacket, and unless I wanted to try and crochet myself a blanket, I was boned. Well, I thought I was. I had been eyeing this jacket that was on one of the chairs not far away from myself since I sat down. Since I watched it for at least two hours and no one came and got it, I stitched it and covered up my legs with it. I can’t believe I did that, because who knows where that thing had been! I was desperate.

As morning rose and the other passengers started trickling in, I saw some of them with coffee. Ah, coffee, sweet caffeine. I finally got up to stretch my cramped body and try to find the source of the coffee. I found it in one of the central food courts at a Starbucks that had opened. It was blissful. Armed with all of my baggage, a scone and a macchiato, I went back to my coveted corner and indulged in my breakfast. At this point, a lot of other people began to show up for the flight. I was terribly afraid that I would not get on the flight for a while. Some of the complainers of the night before came back and I swear, a good night’s sleep hadn’t helped any of them. There was one specific lady who was really irritating. She was saying nasty things about the situation and laughing like she was only kidding, but no one bought it. She wouldn’t shut up! We finally got ready to board and they let me on! Woo-HOO!

The flight was unremarkable in the sense that nothing bad happened. I made it to Ft. Lauderdale and called Steve to let him know I was there and on my way to get my luggage. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The joke was on me.
Apparently, the airline had lost my bag. LOST MY BAG!!!!!!! It was nowhere to be found. Oh, and I looked. The baggage claim area was packed with suitcases that had made it to this destination before their owners. Yet in this mélange of bags, mine was not there. I arrived at 9:45 am, and I looked until about 12:00 noon. I was thisclose to really losing my cool at this point. After all I had been through, I had finally reached my limit. One lady I didn’t know saw me on the verge of a freak out and helped me look, but to no avail. The kindness of that stranger calmed me enough to go over to the baggage claim office and file a report. Probably the only other reason I didn’t completely lose my composure was that the poor guy behind the counter looked chewed up and spit out, so I had pity on him. I had to leave that airport without my clothes, without my toothpaste and almost without my dignity. I finally just gave up my search and went outside to catch the shuttle service to Miami. It wasn’t a van as I had thought, but a very plush town car. I was stuffed in between two other ladies and we set off. The driver dropped off both of the other passengers and then we set off to the medical district. He spent the whole drive over there complaining that black people never tipped him. The dude was Cuban, so it struck me as funny that a man who was probably in our country illegally had the nerve to be racist. He did tell me a funny story about a professional basketball player he had once taken to a palatial estate in Miami. He said the man was a well-dressed black man who was extremely rude to him and snapped at him when the driver tried to be nice to him. When he, and his expensive luggage, were dropped off at this huge house, the passenger stiffed him on the tip. When he got back to his station, the driver told his co-workers about what had happened, and so they looked to see who his passenger was and they all said he was notorious for not tipping and being rude. As he put it, they all call the basketball player “Scotty Pippin-No Tippin’.”

Mr. Cuban car driver wasn’t familiar with the medical area so it took us a few minutes to find the address that Sara’s mom had given me. He dropped me and my luggage off, and I walked inside. I walked inside and found out that I was in the wrong hospital. Oy Vey.
So I set off to find the right hospital and walked the streets of Miami for a good 1/2 an hour before I found the right one. It was only later that I found out that I was only a five minute walk away from where I was supposed to be. I finally found Gail, Sara’s mom, and she took me upstairs to see Sara. Since Sara had no clue I was coming, she asked her mom where she had been and Gail told her there was a delivery and she waved me in.

I can honestly say Sara was surprised. She saw me, blinked and said “HOLY (expletive deleted)!” It was totally worth everything that had happened to see her face. We talked and all of us walked over to the Dunkin Donuts to get a iced coffee before Gail and I returned to the Transplant House to sleep. There are few times in my life where I have slept as deeply as I did that night.

I had made it to Miami, I saw my friend, and all was right with the world.