Great Expectations

I had just finished a 6-hour scrabble match. More importantly, I had just said bye to the Rossers—potentially the last time I see them for years or perhaps a lifetime. Right now seems to be a transitioning moment in life for many.

It was 1230 am, and I had to finish packing for my trip. I had finally made peace with checking a bag. I mean, it’s two weeks, and I need options. 1235 comes along with a rap on my door. It’s Rosser. “Do you have any jumper cables?”

Could it have ended any other way? No. I know coming back in the morning to take care of jumping a truck is a nuisance for them. I know it. But it brought me a great deal of closure and humor. So, for this, I am thankful. It did not end on a mushy note but a fitting one.

1am to bed. 430 wake up. Savored my last pour-over and waited for my ride. The airport looks busy, but Sea-Tac’s never impressed me with slowness. Not a hint of anxiety on me. Not even a hint. My ticket was bought with miles under American Airlines, but the first leg is on Alaska—so this is where I attempt to check-in. They’ve got a great thing going on there. It’s a breeze, unless of course, the machine does not recognize that you have reservations. Hmm. Ok, so I must have to go to American, which I think is this way. Still, calm. Not even a hint. Yes, I see American. Yes, I also see that ridiculous line wrapped around the corner and expanding into the security gate’s hallway. This shouldn’t be too bad; machines are fast, the line will move. Sigh of relief as I figure out these people are all in line to speak to an agent!? Why?! Just use the machines, you bunch of crazies. No line at the machines. And it recognizes my name. Searching….searching….searching.  No itinerary found.

Alright, let’s be serious here. I pulled out my phone to check the e-mail sent to me by the purchaser. What if I search by my flight number instead of destination city? Ding, ding, ding! Yes, there it is. Those are my flights. I’m sorry, what? Go see an agent? My flights aren’t all through American? You can’t give me my passes and check me in?? Maybe if you saw the line, you could make an exception. You don’t talk? OK.

I walk around the corner to the end of the line. When I reach the last person, I immediately leave. I walk back to Alaska not really sure what my plan was. I do not have time to stand in a line. I didn’t think it was going to be like this. Oh, can’t I just go back? Back to how it used to be. I didn’t know what I was talking about, but this seems to be my reoccurring cry of distress.

I’m just going to try the Alaska machine again. I don’t have a confirmation number…but we’ll try a little of this, a little of that. These are the moments when some people pray—these are usually the same kind who pray for parking spots. Then when they find a spot, they think God gave it to them when really all along, it may have been there anyway. Don’t they ever wonder about that? I’m not one of those people. Yes!!! The machine recognizes me. I don’t really understand why it changed its mind, but I promise to move to Alaska as it prints my passes.

Security gate nerves? Not even a hint. These lines have always been good to me. I got up to the front, unloaded, unpacked, undressed… Oh, what’s this? A knife? Oops. Well, it’s decision time. Do I leave it and try to get past the surveyor without its detection. Or do I say something? Are they going to interrogate me if I leave it? Oh my gosh, this knife cost money. I want it. They’re going to take it from me. “Ummm, excuse me. I just realized I have this in my bag.  And I’m guessing it’s not ok. “ “No, that’s a blade.” “Right, so…” I was waiting for the woman to just take it from me, but she was hesitant for some reason. Do you want me to tell you to take it? Just take it! “We’re going to have to confiscate this.” She took it from me, and told another guard that I “surrendered” my x-acto knife. I sure did. I’m such a good, honest person.

Alright, so just let me get dressed and to the lounge so I can make pancakes and get syrup all over myself. My stay at the club was the shortest I’ve ever had. I really did not give myself much time today, which makes sense since it’s the high season of traveling…

Apparently, my flight to Reno is on a little plane. I have to go outside to board it. I didn’t even realize I was never assigned a seat number until I saw my name on the information board. There was a check next to it, which made me think I had a spot. Correct.

Through the gate and to the plane. There are three planes, and I’m not sure which one to go to, but the woman before me went through my gate, so obviously I should follow her onto the right plane. Greetings to the attendant. Walking down to row 19, seat E. I thought it was going to be a middle seat, but the plane is so tiny, it’s a window!

The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but I’m too busy rejoicing over the window that I don’t start listening until the end…”Make sure you are headed to Pasco because the gate you went through is used for three different flights, and people sometimes get on the wrong plane.”

Hmmm. “People like me!” I turn around while people laugh at me. You know how hard it is to go the opposite flow of direction in the aisle of a plane? So hard. The attendant told me the workers on the ground could tell me which plane is mine, but you know what? They couldn’t. I told them I would just keep boarding planes ‘til I found mine.

But I found it. And the flight was nothing write-worthy. Reno airport on the other hand…usually, I do not mind spending a few hours in a busy airport during holiday season. I just love it. I found the exception. This place is a dead zone. First of all, the terminal I’m in is half the size of the breezeway at Highline, and second, there’s just no one in it. Oh, and I guess there’s a third…no coffee. Get a grip, Nevada. It’s complete silence interrupted by the “wheel of fortune” machine every 2 minutes. Spending four hours here is just beneath me. I look up at the flight boards. There is an American flight to Chicago at 1145. If I could just hop on that…call my brother, he tells me call American if there is no one at the desk. Alright, call American. I keep hitting zero so I can just talk to someone, but the technology has become sensitive to this approach. The robot tells me she knows I want to talk to someone but if I could just answer a couple questions first, it would help get my info ready. Alright, fine. Eventually, I connect with a woman who makes me repeat all of my flight info anyway. I tell her what I want to do. She says the flight was bought with award points, and I can only get on the other flight if it has award spots available, which it doesn’t. She looks at it some more. She informs me that the 1145 flight goes through Dallas first. Oh, hmm, well nevermind then. Goodbye.

I guess I’m here til 1. I stare back up at the board and think about how weird it is to show that the flight goes to Chicago, if it actually goes to Dallas first. Really weird. This is affirmed when I realize I’ve actually been looking at the arrivals board.

We’re boarding in five minutes. This flight takes just as long as the flight straight from Seattle. I think that’s weird too. But on the other side, I know that O’Hare awaits me. Not just O’Hare, but O’Hare at Christmas time. Is there a better place to be than O’Hare just days before the 25^th? If there is, I don’t know it. I’m tempted to tell my mom to pick me up an hour late, just so I can run around and watch people and use the bathrooms over and over again. While I’m on the plane, I think about how weird the day has been. I relive it in my head and realize I forgot to take the bagel out of the toaster in the boardroom. 

It is not a full plane. There are people in the back laying across three seats and sleeping. I do not have that luxury, but I don’t mind. I read about Pip. At the moment, he’s discovering that someone has great expectations for him. This is what he’s been dreaming about for years; he’s about to become a gentleman. But in the same moment, he feels so much conflict about leaving his old life for one he thinks will be so much “better.” I stare of into space (literally) many times thinking about his problem and its parallels in my own life. I’ve kind of decided no life is ever better, especially the one you think will be better.

We land. We taxi to our gate for 20 minutes. 20 minutes of driving!? This airport is huge and lovely. I walk off the jetway. So many people, so many lights and big red bows. I get to walk through the hallway with a domed ceiling made up of windows. Birds made out of evergreen and lights are above me alternating with garlands and, of course, the huge golden globe.

I walk outside. Its weather is comparable to Seattle’s. Immediately, I hear the traffic cop arguing with someone who wants to sit and wait for his arriving guest. Not in this town, buddy. I wait. My mom is on her way. I watch the people embracing their visitors, family, friends…quickly, of course, so as to not enrage the regulator. The airport reminds me this an exciting time of year, and I get to be a part of it. As the next car drives past me, I catch the license plate, “Illinois.” Hmm. That’s right. I’m somewhere else now. It never really hits me until the cars tell me so.

I get the feeling that the next two weeks are going to be eventful in more than just obvious ways. In exactly two weeks, I age. I cover my mouth to hold back the gag reflex. Where did my life go? As it is, I have no plans for the next two weeks, but I know they will be made quickly. Before I know it, I'll be right back here. I cover my mouth again. Maybe I will know more about myself, my life, my future in two weeks. Maybe I will have a huge epiphany. Maybe, God will talk to me. Two weeks. The shortest, longest period of time I know to exist. Am I nervous? Maybe just a hint.