No Thanks (Giving)
Cabo, Part 1
“Sorry again for the delay, folks. We’ve just gotten word that there was a baggage problem. Apparently a suitcase burst open and the guys are trying to put it back together before we can shut the cargo door.”
The passengers on our flight to Cabo collectively groaned. We’d been stuck at the gate for over an hour. Everyone knew it was their bag.
But the thing was I knew it was ours. That’s the kind of day it was.
We’d gotten to the airport late thanks to an unannounced off-ramp closure off the 405. In truth we’d been there in time to make the flight but the check-in counter folks debated about letting us through security so long we’d missed it. This set off a mad chase to find another flight leaving that day. After running back and forth between terminals 4 and 6 at LAX several times, the reluctant Alaska folks had finally issued a ticket credit American could accept and we were booked on the next American flight. Which was then delayed two hours. Which then sat at the gate for an hour.
Dad and I spend every Thanksgiving in Cabo. It’s a lovely turkey-free tradition. Every year there is some nuttiness at the airport. Oddly, it usually it involves a frazzled mom screaming at me though I am just standing there. As this year's airport ick mounted, I thought I’d rather have endured another unearned screaming than this craziness, and whole day without sunshine.
Seven hours after our scheduled arrival, we landed. And sat on the Mexican tarmac for another hour. Finally, as night fell and we lost an entire beach day, we collected dad’s bag from baggage claim – indeed the burst-open culprit.
We arrived at the hotel to find they’d given our room away and instead put us under the rooftop restaurant which meant no sleep until after they closed at 11pm…or after they opened for cleaning at 5am daily. Sometimes you wonder if you should just stay home. Or, if you’re us, you take the absurdity and run with it.
Making coffee that morning, we found a gigantic spider. I’m talking tarantula proportions. Brown and hairy and thankfully rather dazed. Dad gleefully bagged the furry friend in the Ziplock that until moments before had contained my cranberry snacks. Still in his PJs, he donned the hotel robe and dashed from the room.
After a few minutes the door opened. “Pack up, we’re changing rooms,” he reported.
It seems he’d marched up to the concierge and dumped the spider from the bag onto her desk causing the lobby to erupt in screams. Some even scrambled for cover.
“Was that necessary?” I asked.
“We got a better room.”
“Just because we found a spider in the kitchen?”
“Well. I told them I woke up with it on my pillow.” I swear there was a gleeful glint in his eye.
You had to admire a little creative mayhem from a parent known for practicality.
“Sorry again for the delay, folks. We’ve just gotten word that there was a baggage problem. Apparently a suitcase burst open and the guys are trying to put it back together before we can shut the cargo door.”
The passengers on our flight to Cabo collectively groaned. We’d been stuck at the gate for over an hour. Everyone knew it was their bag.
But the thing was I knew it was ours. That’s the kind of day it was.
We’d gotten to the airport late thanks to an unannounced off-ramp closure off the 405. In truth we’d been there in time to make the flight but the check-in counter folks debated about letting us through security so long we’d missed it. This set off a mad chase to find another flight leaving that day. After running back and forth between terminals 4 and 6 at LAX several times, the reluctant Alaska folks had finally issued a ticket credit American could accept and we were booked on the next American flight. Which was then delayed two hours. Which then sat at the gate for an hour.
Dad and I spend every Thanksgiving in Cabo. It’s a lovely turkey-free tradition. Every year there is some nuttiness at the airport. Oddly, it usually it involves a frazzled mom screaming at me though I am just standing there. As this year's airport ick mounted, I thought I’d rather have endured another unearned screaming than this craziness, and whole day without sunshine.
Seven hours after our scheduled arrival, we landed. And sat on the Mexican tarmac for another hour. Finally, as night fell and we lost an entire beach day, we collected dad’s bag from baggage claim – indeed the burst-open culprit.
We arrived at the hotel to find they’d given our room away and instead put us under the rooftop restaurant which meant no sleep until after they closed at 11pm…or after they opened for cleaning at 5am daily. Sometimes you wonder if you should just stay home. Or, if you’re us, you take the absurdity and run with it.
Making coffee that morning, we found a gigantic spider. I’m talking tarantula proportions. Brown and hairy and thankfully rather dazed. Dad gleefully bagged the furry friend in the Ziplock that until moments before had contained my cranberry snacks. Still in his PJs, he donned the hotel robe and dashed from the room.
After a few minutes the door opened. “Pack up, we’re changing rooms,” he reported.
It seems he’d marched up to the concierge and dumped the spider from the bag onto her desk causing the lobby to erupt in screams. Some even scrambled for cover.
“Was that necessary?” I asked.
“We got a better room.”
“Just because we found a spider in the kitchen?”
“Well. I told them I woke up with it on my pillow.” I swear there was a gleeful glint in his eye.
You had to admire a little creative mayhem from a parent known for practicality.
posted by Heidi at 11:10 AM
2 Comments:
Ugh.
Well, at least it was a vacation. I'd kill for one.
I can totally see Fred doing that. I love it.
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