I slipped and fell today. I’ve slipped and fallen twice already, but twice I’ve slipped and fallen in the snow and this was the only time on the ice. I skinned and bruised both knees.
I slipped because I was rushing to be ready for Ofer to pick me up and take me to the airport at the beginning of (another!) ice storm. We drive 40 miles per hour down the interstate.
At security I am a spectacle. I remove my hat, my coat, my scarf and my boots. I take my computer out and place it in a grey bin and put my leather suitcase on the rolly-bar conveyor. I extract the kitty from his carrier and remove his collar before finally walking both of us through the metal detecting awning. Everybody tells me what a big and pretty cat he is.
I put my boots on first.
****
I am on the plane watching ice build on the windows and wings.
For one hour.
“We are overweight, will the following passengers please collect their things and exit the plane.
“Edsall going to Boston.
Ray going to Philadelphia.
Stewart going to Philadelphia.
And Johnson going to Boston. “
Fuck.
I pick up the cat, put on my best Charlie Brown slouch, and exit the plane.
Oh shit. Wait... I’m going to BALTIMORE. I throw Johnson going to Boston a reasonably sincere sorry-it’s-still-you look and get back on the plane.
There is another long wait while nobody says anything. Since Edsall, Ray Stewart and Johnson all just happened to have been sitting in my own immediate area, I now have an entire row to myself and spread out accordingly. After a while longer the pilot tells us the plane needs to be deiced and that it’s a two step process, and adds some more details. Then a dude in a cherry picker comes around and squirts the plane with a hose. The liquid is clear and runs down the sides of the plane. He circles once and comes back around again. This time the liquid is neon green and wonderfully gelatinous. It sticks to the outer surfaces of the plane like a lime flavored shield of Jello protection. I can no longer see clearly out the window.
Our plane leaves and lands and, in his excitement, kitty loses control of his bowls. Goodbye pee pad, enter the first in a series of restroom sink baths.
Six of us miss our connection to BWI by 7 minutes. One of them strikes up a conversation with me while we wait in line for rebooking. Assigned different flights for then next morning, I expect him to leave for his own hotel. He doesn’t, I dawdle. I adjust the cat. I call my mom. I walk all the way up the terminal and then all the way down it. All the while he tags along. We compare flights. He jokes we should just rent a car and drive through the night. We’ll get there before either of our flights leave the next morning. Suddenly he isn’t joking anymore. I laugh it off because that is my response to any horrendously awkward social situation. His name is Chris.
****
[This is the part of the story where I get a phone number]
I’m not going to pay for a hotel so Chris is not going to pay for one. We need food. All the stores are closed hold one magazine shop that sells Coke and has a wall of nuts in baggies. The man behind the counter mentions to Chris and I that the security guards get pizza delivered sometimes. Counter man goes to the back for a minute and Chris goes in search of a security guard for menus and phone numbers. Counter man comes back and asks about the pizza.
“Oh, I’ve got people on it.” And I point off in whatever direction in the distance. Counter man takes an instant liking to me and chats me up like I haven’t been chatted up in a very long while. Chris comes back with menus and we order.
The store needs to close. Chris tells counter man goodbye and tells me we have to return the menu before we sit down. Counter man says, “Oh no man, I can watch your stuff while you do that, you don’t need to be carting around all this baggage.” I am only mildly annoyed by being lumped into the “your stuff” category (and possibly baggage?), but totally stoked when he pulls out a paper and quickly jots down his name and number. Larry.
“Call me, you know, when you’re out there in DC. Maybe I’ll come visit you, I’ve always wanted to see DC.”
Chris comes back just as I slip the number into my bag. I tell Larry I’ll see him later.
****
The wait begins.
Chris and I find a row of seats right next to one of the few late night arrival gates.
This is what we look like:
In the first seat Chris sits, poorly dressed, nerdy white guy, next to him a large, open box of delivery pizza. I’m sitting next to the pizza, always overdressed and still wearing my hat and coat, I'm dressed like Amelie if Amelie was a Nazi. And finally, Kitty, sitting all by himself in the last chair. One girl actually dropped her phone when she saw us.
Yes.
We begin a rousing game of questions.
“Do any sports?”
I did crew and I ride horses.”
“Ah…”
(pause)
“So, you play soccer?”
“No.”
“Oh… Do you ski?”
“Um. No.”
“Snowboard?”
“…Nope”
And so it goes.
****
At some point in the night the cat disappears. Sometime later I finally notice.
Let’s think about the range of emotions one goes through when she loses a live animal at the airport.
Mild amusement: Pesky kitty.
Slight annoyance: Is he actually farther than 20 feet from me? Where the hell does he THINK he’s going?
Embarrassment: “Have you seen an orange cat?” “Wait, you lost your cat?” “…Just let me know if you see one.”
Major annoyance: I ask airport security for assistance. “Have you looked under the chairs? Cats like to stay low, you know.”
Anger: Chris thinks we need to expand our search. If he’s not right here he must be at the other end of the airport by now. We need to walk all the way up and down (at least a quarter mile long). I have no patience for this idea. If anything my cat is a pillar of docility. Not one to dart off in a mad dash of fear, if anything happened to him I would expect his standard response: assess the threat, roll over, show tummy, and hope damn hard for the best.
He never was much of a sprinter. (Chris and my relationship is suffering).
Relief/more anger: After 40 minutes of pacing and searching the night janitor catches my attention. Behind the garbage can she's just emptied something is moving. I extract the cat from the tiny compartment in the gate monitor’s desk. By extract I actually mean I just look at him and tell him to get his ass out here. He saunters out, nothing but love and happy to see me. I throw him in the box. We are no longer speaking.
After a short period of angry brooding I pick up the cat and the box and parade him around the airport. I show him off and tell all my new friends, “I found him!” and “I’m just so happy and relieved!” They are happy too and flood me with attention. Kitty and my relationship recovers.
****
[This is the part where I make my mother cry]
Morning comes and Chris changes his flight to be on the same one I am, flying an hour out of his way into DC.
We have and entire row to ourselves, but that doesn’t matter for me apparently, because he decides to sit in the middle seat anyway.
The flight takes off and within seconds I know something is wrong. Terribly terribly wrong. Kitty is meowing. Kitty is crying and yowling. Kitty never talks and this only ever means one thing.
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
KITTY CAN’T HOLD IT ANYMORE.
About halfway through the ascent the smell hits. Immediately Kitty begins his desperate attempt to escape. He cries, claws, flips around in the little cage, anything to get away from the pee seeping into his fur. I can’t do anything as he frantically begins licking his paws, the bars, the pee collecting in the bed of his cage. My heart breaks in the middle of my own anxiety attack.
i am so sorry i am so sorry i am so sorry i am so sorry
i am so sorry
I stare at the seatbelt sign. I wring my hands. I lean forward. Then, I lean back and wring my hands while I stare at it from slightly farther away. It doesn’t go off. The stewardesses bring out their drink carts. Oh no you don’t. I grab kitty and we Tetris our way down the aisle to the bathroom, the stewardesses with their big metal carts try to avoid me and my pee cat. It is slow going.
BATHROOM SINK BATH #2:
The sink in the bathroom is about the size of a cereal bowl. Kitty is 15 lbs of pure Lankiness. We manage a full body wash. He still reeks of cat piss. Now I reek of cat piss. I get back in time to order a drink. I want tomato juice.
“Well, whatever is left is all yours.” The stewardess tells me cheerily as she fills the cup about 1/3 of the way full, sets it down, and quickly moves on.
Everything is cat piss.
****
“Well folks, we’re almost to Washington DC, but it looks like there is a weather advisory and no planes are being allowed to land right now anywhere on this part of the east coast. We’re going to go into a holding pattern for about 30-40 minutes until the weather clears up a bit or we start running low on fuel.”
We hold for 40 minutes.
“Well folks, looks like the weather isn’t going to get any better so we are just going to go ahead and turn this plane around and head back to the Detroit airport.”
My hands have been shaking since the bathroom. Now it’s everything I can do not to start crying. My new friend Chris, (still in the middle) looks at me, “Looks like it might be getting to you.” Chris is no longer my friend.
“It’s not funny anymore. It was funny for a while, but now it’s not. Now it’s bad.”
“Well, without my humor, I wouldn’t be able to survive anything bad.”
At this point my ex-friend Chris attempts to show off his humor. Surprisingly, Chris’ humor does not seem to be helping my survival.
****
We are just outside Detroit, Chris is finally quiet, and we are getting geared up to land On cue the turbulence starts. Literally the worst turbulence I have ever experienced... and I fly A LOT. There is the worst turbulence ever and we have just flew from Detroit to DC, dicked around for a while, and flew ALL THE WAY BACK again on one tank of gas. The woman in the seat across the aisle from me starts crying.
[OMISSION]
We land.
****
We are scattered to different planes. Chris and I finally split up. We take our ten dollar meal vouchers (compensation for our recent flying troubles) and say our goodbyes. I buy a nine dollar turkey sandwich, which kitty and I split.
Here’s how we split it:
Kitty eats the turkey
and I eat the sandwich.
Our next flight is delayed 40 minutes. I find a corner and wallow on the floor.
“Well, I figured it was either Yoga or something isn’t going right.”
I wish I was five years old again so I could kick an old man in the shins.
The plane finally boards.
“Well folks, let me fill you in on what we know. First, we are missing our pilot. Second, that’s all we know.”
We are then told our pilot will arrive in fifteen minutes. Four times.
15min x 4 = 1 hour.
In an hour he comes. We taxi.
“Well folks, it looks like we have a little bit of a hold on us down here, so we are going to sit tight until we are cleared. It should be about fifteen minutes.”
15 minutes = 1.25 hours
****
This is where I am now. We are about to take off. My knee has been throbbing since the last time we landed. Kitty is asleep for the first time in two days.
I suspect the plane will crash.
(before it does, though, I think I will order another tomato juice… this time spicy… with vodka.)
****
Epilogue:
The plane didn’t crash. Kitty and I made it to DC. My bags made it to Baltimore. Kitty and I caught the tail end of my aunt’s once a year visit, both took long hot showers, and now smell like the same lavender/vanilla shampoo.
I'll be flying back to Detroit for a quick 3 day visit in less than a week.
