The travel gods are mercurial sorts. I should have made a few sacrifices at the Pantheon before we left.
So we arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare, which came in handy because the security people needed to go through all of our luggage and examine POB’s (partner’s of blogger) cosmetics. We looked like terrorists, indeed.
We arrived at the gate with an hour to spare, because we really wanted to get home and because TLP (our son, the little prince) loves watching planes take off and land. At the gate, we found out that the flight was delayed for 2 hours. No explanation. Really? Really? Wasn’t the ride to Rome punishment enough? No, apparently. It was two hours delayed but we weren’t boarding for FOUR hours. La dolce vita it seems to apply to airports and air traffic. Everyone takes a midday break.
Still it is too early to call DOB (Dad of blogger) to let him know we are late. He worries until we call that we have touched down safely. We always thought that it was Mom who obsessed about our safety. It turns out, Dad was right there with her, worrying. (I called him as soon as we were on the cab line at the airport and he was so happy.)
There were 65 Catholic school girls on our flight. Hazard of going to Rome, I guess. They all had to board together and have all of their documents together. Ok that would have been comical if we weren’t tired of waiting to get home. Also seeing Brother Joseph, in his robe and rope tie regalia, lose his temper a little. I did notice his saying the rosary a lot — although, being Jewish, I really have no idea what he was doing but I can venture a guess.
As we passed through the gate attendant, a woman said to me, “I have to check your bag.”
I responded, “It is carry-on.”
“I don’t understand what you say, but I MUST check your bag.”
“We are NOT checking luggage!” I say. I am pissed. We have been waiting too long and I am going to throw on the floor anyone’s stuff that is in our overhead bins.
After this Abbott and Costello stand-off, someone comes over and says “for security reasons, she must check. random check.”
OOOoooooooooooooooh. I was pleasant and accommodating after that, but she really gave me a thorough pat-down, although as I am told not as enhanced as in the US. Although she did really get high up on the inside of my legs. About the only thing she didn’t do was feel my breasts.
We had the seats at the back of the plane. Row 42. (Damn, this recession.) Any further back, we would be sitting in the flight attendants’ laps. At least, TLP had easy access to the bathrooms. AND, we were not in the middle of the 65 school girls, although I had to tell one to stop taking pictures of another passenger as he slept. She kept trying to talk to him and he kept in his ear phones. She didn’t take a hint. A future stalker. The whole experience felt like high school recess.
After 10 hours on the plane (way too long) we winded our way to immigration. We came to the officer together. I said we are coming together, because we are a family.
“You are a family?” He asked.
“Who are the parents?” So much for the laws of certain states recognizing gay unions and adoption.
“We are,” POB and I said together.
“Who is the child?”
We both point to TLP. (The only one it could be.)
The officer says, “Are these your parents?”
TLP nodded. He looked at us again. Seconds seemed like minutes.
Phew. We were so tired that I feared that neither POB or I would have the coping mechanisms to deal with this situation had it gone differently.
We got up at 7am (Rome time) and it was 2am the next day (Rome time) by the time we got home. Fresh Direct was waiting because POB placed the order from Rome so we would have food. For once I wish she weren’t so efficient and forward-looking.
TLP was fabulous but he did say more than once that he is never flying again.
Life is good when you go to sleep in your own bed.
The trip was fabulous. Click this link for the travel company. I just hope you all have better air travel karma.