My stomach is in knots. I hate flying in commercial airliners. I never minded flying in my dad’s Cessna. But every time I take my seat in a commercial airliner, surrounded by strangers reading Stephen King novels and listening to iPods, I freak the frig out and watch in slow motion as my life’s happiest moments unravel while our plane plummets to earth.
I’ve literally got six minutes to write this, so here we go …
I’m heading to Buffalo for my bridal shower and the Ride for Roswell. Bianchi’s big hurrah. Joe dropped us off at the airport this evening and I’m not kidding you when I say checking this bike has been the most stressful airport experience of my life.
First: I didn’t know Bianchi had to be BOXED, so she almost didn’t make the trip. A nice woman working the curbside check-in wrangled up a cargo box for me. Twenty-five dollars and an hour later (yes an HOUR later) we finally had Bianchi in a box. Poor girl. She probably saw her life’s happiest moments unravel before her as I tore her front wheel off and wedged her head-first into a GIANT airport-issued cargo box. Her coffin.
Then, after I kissed my Joe goodbye, a TSA screener told me my wedding gown (which is in a GIANT green garment bag and coming with me on the plane) was “too cumbersome” for the overhead compartment. I told her it was my wedding dress and that I was told specifically by a Southwest attendant and by my bridal CONSULTANT (yes, I have a bridal consultant) that I could lug this thing on the plane. In fact, my bridal CONSULTANT told me I could hang it in a CLOSET on the plane. A closet. Like I’m Zsa Zsa Gabor. The miserly TSA screener let me go and here I am. Sitting at the terminal, waiting to board.
I’m nervous as hell. Like I said, I hate commercial airliners and I’m fearful for Bianchi. She’s somewhere in the hinterlands of airport security, hopefully being pushed across the tarmac as I type this, hopefully getting hoisted into cargo. Can you believe people send their PETS cargo? I’d lose my mind if the pug flew cargo.
I just looked at my hands. They’re covered in grease from ripping Bianchi’s tire off. Great. I’ll likely forget to wash them and end up licking honey roasted peanut dust off my fingers 30 minutes into the flight.
Anyway. We’re boarding. Wish us luck and see you in Buffalo!
PS. I’m pretty certain the kind Southwest attendant who helped me box Bianchi took pity on me after Joe told her I needed the bike for a cancer charity ride in Buffalo.