Returning Home, Part I

It wasn't immediately evident that the air conditioning in the airport was out. But we were distracted with the usual frenzy of the checking-of-the-bags routine while trying to maintain law and order among the people. While Dan fretted over why each of our checked bags were so threateningly close to the 50 pound weight limit and grieved me accordingly, I was becoming frenzied myself trying to keep the people from running amuck, launching themselves on and off the baggage scales, and generally causing panic in the terminal. You'd think by now the novelty of this would have worn off a little more by now. But no. Something about huge conveyor belts going into forbidden areas, people in uniforms who may or may not have a loaded weapon, constant swarms of people always in a hurry, and constant announcements about last calls, gate changes, warnings to not-take-one-finger-off-that-bag-buddy-unless-you-want-to-be-publicly-stripped-and-searched somehow just stir up my people into a jungle-like mentality. That and the fact that Mom and Dad are trying to conduct some semi-business and actually talk to another adult.

Naturally, the bright people at Delta had put all five of us in five separate rows. It should have been a sign of the fun trip it would be. Cole had been in Arkansas for more than the last three weeks, and Dan, Jack and Katie had been in Arkansas for the last two weeks. I'd just flown to Arkansas a few days ago to hug family and friends and drag my people back to Pennsylvania.

Security lines looked suspiciously long for the Little Rock airport. Five people moved through the line we weren't in for every one moving through our line. And that wasn't even the actual scanning/metal detector/removing of the shoes part. After the first stop to check boarding passes and driver's licenses, we have to wait quite a bit. The people are constantly jockeying for position in any line, as if their very lives depend on getting ahead of at least one of their siblings. Finally we get to start taking off shoes, belts, sunglasses, etc., and pile it all in the grey bins to be x-rayed. Everyone and everything makes it through, except one of Dan's carry-ons. It was during the untying and removing of several shoes, x-raying and metal detector dashing, and collecting of things and redressing ourselves that I realized that I was dripping with sweat and yes, the air conditioning was definitely off. We had not even boarded the first plane and we were exhausted!

While Dan collapsed at Gate 2 with the people, I went off in search of some water for them, and a Diet Dr. Pepper for me. Ugh. The air was so still, and most of the vendors were closed. Many of the lights were off, but it didn't stop the usual frenetic pace of airports that I both loathe and savor: people running to the next gate, stopping to consider a menu board at a restuarant, grabbing candy, a soda and a magazine, making one more phone call to a loved one before boarding, and one last email before shutting off their phones. Only one vendor had the gate half-raised, and was selling bottled water, sodas, teas and juices from the now only half-chilled cooler. I stood there in a long line for a minute with a couple of bottled waters. After watching a perspiring cashier fumble with a calculator to complete a transaction, I abandoned my waters. I did not possess the time nor patience to wait while she did the transactions by hand for 57 tepid sodas and bottled waters.

Meanwhile, our gate had changed, but of course, the PA system was down, too, and we truly had no way to know this except that Dan happened to overhear some people passing by that flight such-and-such had been moved to gate whatever. So we race down there. They are, as I heard them say, "hand-boarding us." Yikes.

The poor gate agent was so bedraggled with the circumstances she had used a bright pink gate-check tag to pull her hair back in a sort-of ponytail. She looks at our boarding passes, screams, "Three more children!" over her shoulder to no one in particular, and told us to go down those stairs over there to the tarmac to board (are you kidding me!!??!)

Dan and I practically kick the people down the stairs, with not only our own but the people's carry-ons as well, and out into the bright Arkansas sun! We trek across the tarmac under and around a few planes, and more than once we asked each other if we were walking to Memphis. Thennnnnnn we get to wait on the tarmac - so this is how the plane feels! - for "final approval" to go up the steps to actually get in the plane. The plane is the size of a walnut, which has been baking at 450 degrees for two hours. It takes a while for all our people to board and find their seats, but finally we are settled. The last few take their seats as well.

I decided to call him the Good Reverend after about the first three seconds of his pregnant belly protuding in my face while he s-l-o-w-l-y peeled off his suit jacket, f-o-l-d-e-d it meticulously, and finally placed it in the proverbial "overhead bin." All in the good Arkansas heat and humidity that flooded the cabin through the huge open door. The pastel purple tie with the abstract design rested meekly on his over-due belly as if it was ashamed to be there. The suit was the wrong size. Too big. But his dress shirt went a size the other direction in being wrong. The top button of the collar was no where to be seen, hiding under one massive smooth chin dripping with sweat and soaking his collar. His silver hair was coiffed perfectly, though, with a great arch of hair extending out over his forehead before sweeping straight back over his head. He was in no hurry, and I realized he was going to be sitting in the aisle seat next to Jack. I quickly prayed Jack would be able to keep his mouth shut, glaring in Jack's direction in the hope he would see me and realize my message. He caught my eye and I thought I caught a glimmer of acknowledgement in his face. So the Good Reverend adjusted his tie, ran one hand over his hair maybe searching for out-of-place strays, deliberately scanned the plane onnnnnneeee more time, and slowly began to wedge himself in the seat. This took a minute. Bless Jack's heart, he didn't say a word, but did stare with his mouth somewhat agape. Thank goodness Jack is just 70 pounds, because the Good Reverend made no apologies when he oozed into Jack's space. Jack just stared at him. I laughed. The Good Reverend sighed heavily, exausted no doubt, as Jack obliged the taking of his space by easing, if only unconsciously, towards the window, and quickly got busy with his DS. The Good Reverend was sweating profusely.

For approximately another hour-and-a-half, we sit. And we sit. Annnnnnd we sit some more. Dean the flight attendant maintains vigilance at the cabin door, while, true to form for the airline industry, giving us absolutely no information whatsoever as to why we haven't closed the cabin door, let alone started down the runway yet. The pilot gets up and leaves. The co-pilot gets up and leaves. Now we are definitely not going anywhere! Cole entertains himself by decorating the tray table:

Finally, gate agent with the pick gate check-tagged pony tail clambors up into the plane and Dean hands her his microphone/speaker. She tells us the plane has been overfueled, there's no way to take out the excess fuel, and we can't take off this heavy! I suggested to Dan he offer to go outside and siphon out the excess fuel, but he refuses. Spoilsport.

The only solution is that some of us will be leaving the plane. No arguments, don't attempt to talk to me about it, there will be no negotiation, just get your stuff, get up and leave. So she leaves. Phones are pulled out and turned back on. Hushed conversations are going on. National secrets are probably being exchanged.

Three days later, she comes back and calls five names. They oblige, and leave the plane. One of them was the Good Reverend, who had took the same amount of time and care regarding his suit jacket all while his pregnant belly was in my face. It was exhausting just to watch. After he left, Cole decided he wanted to share that row with Jack, who supervised Cole's sticker art.

She comes back and calls four names, and mine. All five of us look at each other with the same question in mind: why did they call Mom's name and no one else's in our family? Dan gets up and quickly says to pink gate-tag before she can remind of the rules, "Either take all five of our family, or none." It's apparently news to pink gate-tag that I'm part of a family of five, three of whom are young children. She looks around, scans some papers she's holding, and even talks to one of the pilots. "Ok," shy says reluctantly, "Callaway stays."

VICTORY!! I feel somewhat exalted over all the other schmucks around me.

Thirty minutes later, and several hundred pounds lighter, we finally taxi down the runway for the flight to Memphis.

Next installment: the final leg home.