Life at the Airport Part Two

My heart pounded as I raced across what seemed like miles and miles. My breath came in gasps and my eyes darted nervously from place to place in search of the one I was to follow. My heavy backpack thunked against my back and I raced to keep up with him. What if...

Ok, let me back up a bit. On my last blog, I spoke of life in an airport and how we were traveling across the country to promote "77 Ways Your Family Can Make a Difference: Ideas and Activities for Serving Others." We had a flight delay, finally boarded the plane, landed safely for our connecting flight...but then as I glanced down at my wrinkled flight plan paper, I realized we had only 10 minutes to catch our connecting flight due to our hour and 15 minute delay.

This would not have been so bad if things had gone smoothly, but they didn't. We landed near Concourse F. I was ecstatic because we had been inadvertantly told by airport personnel that our gate would be from Concourse F. When we landed and checked the boards, we realized this wasn't the case, well not unless we were flying to Tallahassee or Mexico, in which case we weren't. No, in reality, we would be boarding our connecting flight out of Concourse C a mere three alphabets away. Now, with 8 minutes to spare, Lon and I looked at each other and knew what we must do. We've been married for 16 years and can read each other's minds at times (scary!) We must, in record time, reach our gate lest we be stuck in the airport for the next flight and suffer as Tom Hanks had in that airport movie he was in.

Lon grabbed our two suitcases and I fixed the large black backpack securely on my back. Did I mention that Lon has a bad back and I have a bad leg? Lon began to run, recalling his days as a track star in high school. Although athletic, I was never a track star, but I recalled how I am always "running late" to appointments, school, and my children's activities. With such memories, we RAN through the airport. Now, if it was empty, running through Chicago O'Hare would be no big deal. But this wasn't the case. The airport was EXTREMELY crowded. I'm talking shoulder to shoulder people. This is still such a culture shock for Lon and I as we are such small town people. We don't see this many people at once in our town EVER. Herds of antelope, yes. Herds of people, no.

"Excuse me!" we said nearly every minute. The worst is when you get locked behind a group of very slow-moving folks with a 9 hour layover and you can't get around them. Fortunately, Lon is not a small man and he paved the way for both of us, yes, with more recollections of playing defensive end in high school football. (Why is it that in airports so many school memories come to mind?)

My heart began to pound and I tried desperately to keep my focus on Lon, who at times was far ahead of me. I know now that next time I will convince him to wear a flourescent green shirt so he stands out. The heavy backpack (about 30 pounds) thunked against my back. I prayed constantly that if it was the Lord's will, we would reach Concourse C and catch our flight. I didn't even want to think about missing my TV appearance.

It was as if we were in a movie - as if the bad guys were after us as we ran through the airport to take the highly-confidential, world-saving, government information to the FBI, who was waiting for us in Concourse C. Our informant had told us Concourse F, but now come to find out, our informant was really on the side of the bad guys... All we needed was that highly dramatized music.

Have you ever run on those little moving sidewalks? It's not easy. Have you ever catapulted over suitcases with rolly wheels? So many times I nearly tripped over the suitcases of others. Lon jumped over them as if he were jumping hurdles in track and field. I desperately looked for a way around them, and then stumbled over them wishing there was thick plush carpet in the airport. Every time we would think we were close to our destination, there would be another sign with an arrow. We considered the subway, but after seeing the line, knew that to continue to run was our best method.

After a mile of running, we reached Concourse C. Thank the Lord we had two, yes two, minutes left of boarding our flight. Have you ever been out of breath from sheer anxiety and then were gasping for air in the closed-up confines of a plane?

Phew! Thankfully we reached our plane and made it to our destination. It's always amazing to me that even in the small things of the threat of missing a plane, God is there, guiding us through it all.

Airport Life

Have you ever had an exciting experience in an airport? If so, then you will be able to identify with what happened to me recently.

My husband Lon and I were on our way across the country promoting my most recent book "77 Ways Your Family Can Make a Difference." At our first airport, we were sure to arrive early (who knew 10 years ago that we'd someday have to arrive 70 minutes before boarding?!) It takes quite awhile just to get through security. I laughed (to myself) when the security officer opened my husband's carry-on suitcase and found, much to his surprise, a roll brush, a hair straightener, and a makeup bag. I quickly assured the security officer that it was my stuff, I just hadn't been able to fit it into my suitcase. (I'm looking forward to the day when carry-ons can include a suitcase large enough to actually fit something besides a pair of socks!) The security guard nodded and glanced at my husband with his buzz haircut. It was better than the last time in the airport two weeks prior when Lon accidentally dropped my suitcase and my underwear fell out. That was quite embarrassing.

Almost an hour after being in the airport, I glanced up at the board that indicates flight schedules when much to my horror (but not surprise), I realized our plane had been delayed an hour and 15 minutes. Sighing, I returned to my seat and informed Lon of the news. (He didn't believe me - why is it that husbands are so suspicious? He had to get up and verify for himself that I was right :) We would have to do something to busy ourselves for a little bit longer. Lon and I were already bleary-eyed from busy schedules and an early-morning awakening to drive the two hours to the airport. However, trying to sleep at the airport is futile.

I decided to get up and get something to eat. After all, by the time we reached our connecting flight, it would be two hours later. I know my body well enough to know that if I fly on an empty stomach, life for me and the fellow passengers will not be pleasant. (Yep, I'm the girl who was always sick on the merry-go-round in elementary school, but I'll save that story for another time). By the way, why are the barf bags paper instead of plastic?

In line at the pizza counter, I began to laugh to myself when two gentlemen were discussing the delay in the plane's arrival with much confusion. "But the board said the flight would only be 20 minutes late a few minutes ago," insisted the man with the large cowboy hat.

"Well now it's' up to an hour and and 15 minutes," said his comrade, shaking his graying head.

The cowboy hat man shook his head in disbelief. "We won't look at the board again," he said. I think he was afraid that the next time he looked it would say the flight was 6 hours late. I wanted to tell the men that they were actually looking at the wrong flight. The flight they were to board (and I knew this because I had heard them speak of their destination - writers are excellent eavesdroppers) was truly an hour and 15 minutes late and had been for quite awhile. Another flight and the wrong one - but the one they were looking at - was really 20 minutes late. But I didn't get the chance to tell them.

So back at my seat with a large piece of pepperoni pizza, I settled back and watched as Lon changed settings on his cell phone and checked for messages. I love to watch people in the airport because I get excellent ideas for characters for my novels this way. I take a few different characteristics from several different people and wam, I have the perfect main or secondary character. Looking around at the folks in the airport also gives me a chance to pray for them. Nope, I didn't know anyone there, but I could pray for them that whatever they were going through in their lives that God would help them with it. Or better yet, I prayed for their salvation.

Another way to pass time at an airport is to see how many people look like people you know. Together, Lon and I saw about six people who closely resembled people we knew. We tried to guess where they were going and what they were doing. Lon gives himself much less credit than he deserves. He's actually quite creative. I contained myself from drawing carricatures like I had when we were on a Greyhound Bus one time on a VERY long journey due to an emergency airplane landing. I'll tell you that story another time because it's quite comical. But since this is a story about airport life, I'll hold off on life on a bus.

Finally, the time had come when the plane begins boarding. At 1:45 instead of 12:30, Lon and I boarded the plane to our connecting flight. I settled into the seat of the plane, prayed for safe arrival, and marveled at the cottony blanket of clouds below us. All was well until we landed in Chicago for our connecting flight. That's when I glanced down at our flight schedule and realized we had exactly 10 minutes before our next flight left...
to be continued...