Sure was an eventful Saturday. As my allergies continued to rage, approaching their zenith, I volunteer to drive my mother to the airport, where she had to catch her 2:50 back to Cincinnati. Not a problem, really. The airport is 30-45 minutes from my house, depending on traffic, so we leave at one o’clock, my mother, Shawna, and myself, and arrive at the airport at 1:45. We parked, and I help lug Mom’s luggage (which scraped a nice chunk of paint off my bumper) to the skycap.
That’s when Mom can’t find her billfold.
That had all of her ID in it.
Mom begins to freak out, and I convince her to stay reasonably calm while we check her purse a third time. I then tell her to calmly check her luggage while I return to the car to search for the billfold.
It wasn’t in the car.
It wasn’t in Mom’s luggage.
About this time, Shawna thinks she might have seen it on the kitchen table.
I talk to the skycap, and he says that Mom should be able to get on her flight without a photo ID as long as she passes a security screening. This is allowed, he says, because it’s her return flight.
No way, no how are we getting on this flight without some form of government issued ID, we’re told once we’ve made it inside and to Delta’s check-in counter. Mom tried calling my Stepdad to see if he has anything he can fax to the airport. No dice. At this point, I nearly grab Mom by the arm (since she seems rooted to the spot she’s standing in) and drag her back to the car, where I notice the large chunk of missing paint. Not a problem. As long as nobody apologizes to me, I’m cool. One apology, though, and I might blow my stack.
No, I don’t know why that is. I’m odd, is all.
We race back home (and damn, traffic has picked up!) and I bolt into the house to snatch the billfold off of the kitchen table, right where Shawna said it was. We head back to the airport, and Mom pays $25 to get on a 3:40 direct flight to Cincinnati.
Shawna and I return home (after a short trip to the mall, where I surprise Shawna with a Build-A-Bear) and continue our day as normal.
After a few hours, I begin to wonder why Mom hasn’t called to tell me she made it home safely. The call finally comes sometime after nine o’clock. Turns out, there was a problem with a door on the airplane, and no one was allowed to board until six o’clock, at which point my mother still got to sit on the runway until seven.
It was a good visit, Mom. Come and see us again real soon.