I spent a month in Chicago last week: visiting my almost 90-year old mother; sharing meals with my siblings and longtime friend, Caryn; checking out knit shops and a Nordie’s that puts ours to shame; searching for a comfortable, wide gerth and flat depth bra for my mom (and the reason she needs a bra under her robe is????); having the same conversation over and over again with Mom (thank you, Alzheimer’s!); listening to her harangue Pat Sajak on Wheel of Fortune (one of Mom’s daily delights); and untangling her knotted needlepoint thread.
This is the stuff of life and what a daughter who lives 500 miles from her family should do—honor my mom and give my brother and sister some assistance, albeit in short, concentrated doses, in the caregiving of our parent. I packed as much activity as I could into my quick 48-hour visit and eagerly looked forward to returning home yesterday.
“Why do you fly into Midway? It’s so much farther to drive than O’Hare!” (Southwest lets me change my ticket—gratis!) “What time are you leaving?” (early afternoon) “Are you taking the Tollway? I wouldn’t because it’s under construction!” “Oh, you don’t take the Tollway? Well, watch out for the Dan Ryan! It’s a mess, too!” Family and friends alike felt my journey back to Midway Airport warranted much consideration and advice. I had no problem going from Midway to Winnetka, but perhaps the opposite lanes were laying in wait of my return and were going to rise up in detours, potholes, and delays!
After Mapquesting several options, I chose to take Edens Expressway to Cicero and just head South on Cicero until I reached Midway Airport. Realizing I chose the scenic route, I prepared myself to enjoy the sights and sounds of life in the Windy City. I delighted in seeing the divergent cultures melding one into the other–markets, mercados, lots of meat markets (real butcher shops, not pick up bars!), bunches of auto repair, parts, accessories shops, churches and a funeral home. How could I observe all that AND drive? No problema—there are stop lights at almost every block and I successfully managed to catch every red light!
I glanced at my watch—12:30???? Already??? Don’t sweat it—I’m almost there—oh, North Avenue? I’m only at North Avenue and I have to get to 55th Street? Sh–! Suddenly my scenic drive became less idyllic as I anxiously tried to speed up to 35 miles per hour (yes, 35!) and hopefully get a reprieve from the God of traffic signals.
I rolled into the Rental Car Return at 1:00 PM, promptly received my receipt from an extremely pleasant Hertz rep and headed into the terminal, chiding myself for being so “uptight” about getting to the airport in time. I had 2 hours—how amateurish a passenger am I? 2 hours would give me time to check out the “Life is Good” t-shirt shop, get a double scoop Ben & Jerry’s cone, and perhaps peruse the bookstore—all before leisurely strolling to the assigned departure gate. Silly me!
I ambled to the Southwest ticket counter prepared to use the Self Check-in gizmo and was, instead, greeted by a wall of humanity pressed into a serpentine line that was barely moving. This couldn’t be Southwest! They’re known for their efficiency at moving mass quantities of humans through their check-in process, quickly onto the plane and quickly off again so they can repeat the process several times a day. Well, it was Southwest! I guess even the darling of the low fare airlines has succumbed to the pitfalls of the other air carriers…
As 2:00 PM approached and I was still part of this human snake, I revised my plan— no time to stop at Ben & Jerry’s—and I’d save calories, too! By the time I was 5th from the excitement of pressing my finger on a grimy self-service touchscreen, I noticed a perceptible switch in my demeanor. “Can’t the person in front see there is an empty kiosk???? Do they need a seeing eye dog?” “Excuse me, ” I called out and angrily pointed at the available monitor. I busied myself for the next few moments as the self-appointed Empty Kiosk Patrol Person until I finally was able to get my boarding pass and deposit my suitcase (check the bag so I can carry more than the magic 3 oz. of liquid!).
Almost there—I could feel the excitement surge—just a quick run through security and I’d be on my way! Wrong—just like at the grocery store where I consistently pick the wrong checkout lane, I picked the wrong xray line! The couple in front of me decided to bring every electronic gadget, multiple cameras, and unidentifiable object they owned and had to carefully place each precious item carefully in multiple plastic bins—not to mention the 3 carry-on bags they had with them. As I watched them play “Stump the Screener” (it took 5 security people to guess what was on the screen), I decided I’d risk getting in the next line. Carrying my plastic tub, I was graciously allowed to butt in (Can a person graciously butt in??? Kind of an oxymoron). My belongings began their trip down the conveyor belt and then the belt stopped. Time for a shift change—new screener, back up the belt and send it through again!
Finally cleared, stamped, homogenized, and approved, I headed for the gate using every available moving walkway I could find. People, please, on moving walkways we stand on the right and walk on the left side! Move over! I’m in a hurry! I just want to get home!!!
Arriving at the gate (of course near the end of the concourse—do you detect some cynicism here?), I reflected on the past few hours and what I had learned—I now know a way to get to Midway airport from the North Shore that I will certainly use again—if every other way known to man is permanently eradicated; I will plan to get to the airport 8 hours ahead of time so I can adequately savor every waft of perfume, sweat and body odor I experience while sardined in line; I will bring a pop-top can opener in my carry-on bag—sure to vex the most experienced screener; and I will pleasantly accept the fact that our security forces are inspecting every slice of our lives while allowing massive amounts of freight to arrive unchecked.
“Our flight is oversold” came the voice over the PA system. Do I have volunteers to stay until the next flight? You’ll get a $200 voucher!” I think to myself, “$200? No way–I am not staying in Chicago another minute! Well, maybe for a $1000 coupon good for any airline in the world…”
Although I am a seasoned traveler, I find myself longing for the good old days where people are treated as people and not as a potential bomb carrying commodity and a dollar sign.
É™
