Monday morning, when we normally would be in our final hours of REM sleep before starting our work week, Downtown Dad, and I, along with Tessie Wee, woke at 3:15am. To our amazement, according to plan, all three of us found ourselves loaded in the car and travelling eastbound on I-94 by 4… OK 4:08am. This would give us plenty of time to get from Moorhead to the Minneapolis airport, given the 3.5 to four hour travel time..
….unless, of course, we forgot to figure in rush hour traffic, and oh, construction delays… five of them. Which we did.
The air was electric with stress and tension during the final 15 miles of our trip, as the pace of traffic slowed to a crawl, and the pace of the clock seemed to speed up, ticking perilously close to our departure time. We eventually got parked, got into the right terminal and into the line to check in, with actually 3 or 4 minutes to spare to be within the 40 minutes before takeoff time frame that would ensure our bags made it onto the same plane as us. The ticket agent slapped bright orange LATE stickers on them, and advised us to hurry!
Whew. Right? Sure.
…unless, of course, someone left her ID at home. Which Tessie Wee did.
The good news is that in the Minneapolis airport, if your mom grabs a security guard by the collar, and, wild eyed, pleads ignorance to the Homeland Security laws that have been in place for 11 years, that security guard can call upstairs to Sven, who will be waiting with a supervisor to make sure your boarding pass matches your US bank card, and with nothing more than a stern look, send you on your way through security. Yay for “Minnesota Nice.”
However, as we sprinted to the gate, stocking footed, clutching our shoes and assorted carryon items, it occured to Downtown Dad and me, even as they politely called out our names for last call to board, that while this was all well and good in good old midwestern Minneapolis, there was no way that those shenannigans would fly, so to speak at New York’s LaGuardia airport when we flew home in a couple of days.
Still panting from our run, I watched anxiously out the window to see if our luggage would make it onboard, while DD texted Bearly, who luckily was home, and awake, asking him to overnight Tessie’s ID to the Trump Tower hotel on Spring Street, before one o’clock! Just as the cabin doors were closing, and we were being advised to turn off our electronic devices, we saw our orange tagged bags slide up the conveyor belt safely into the belly of our plane, and the cheerful text tone on DD’s phone signaled Bearly’s reply “on my way.”
Whew. Right? Sure.
…unless, of course, someone overnighted the ID to the wrong Trump Tower hotel. Which Bearly did.
Luckily, “His Hairness” The Donald, runs a pretty respectable outfit, and in the time it took for us to travel from the airport to our hotel, through a series of phone calls, the concierges had arranged for our package to be couriered to the correct hotel and delivered to our room when it arrived the next day. This happy news was delivered to us, along with warm lavender scented towels, as we checked in. Also, as if our package dilemma was somehow the hotel’s fault, along with the fact that our check in was delayed 5 minutes, and the fact that we had our daughter along with us, the smiling desk clerk asked if we would accept an upgrade from our single room to a corner suite at no charge. Yes please.
From that point on, things smoothed out considerably. Tomorrow – Top Of the Rock, Central Park, The Museum of Natural History, cab rides, and hopefully any additional drama will be limited to the stage when we finally get to see WICKED!