One Plastic Bag at a Time

I was booked an evening flight with my young son, who's just a few months shy of two years old. Travelling alone with children is trying under the best of circumstances. Travelling the day after a vicious snowstorm is definitely going to be an "experience."

I thought I was prepared. Maybe I was, maybe there is no amount of preparation that will help in a situation like this.

The terminal? A zoo. The line? A lifetime long. The clock is ticking, ticking, and the line is crawling, crawling.

When I finally get to the ticket counter, I'm told that not only am I at the wrong end of the terminal, my flight is leaving from the adjacent terminal. I'll have to take a shuttle bus to get there. I've got 30 minutes.

Tick. Tick.

The security check - as brutal as you've heard, the only saving grace being that they didn't make me pour out the milk from the baby bottles. But I did have to strip my son down - no coat, no shoes. Same for me. The luggage rack rigged with the car seat and tote bag? Needs to be completely dissembled. Every piece. His teddy bear backpack and leash? Needs to be removed as well.

On the other side, with no one to help, it is impossible to put my shoes on, his shoes on, my coat on, his coat on, re-assemble the luggage rack with car seat, tote bag and diaper bag and get the backpack and leash back on him. My poor boy, who has been fairly patient with being manhandled and on a lead decides he had had enough of being carried and lead around. He wants to RUN. I barely catch the back of his pants as he takes off.

I ask the TSA guard to help me out for a minute and just hold him so I can put my shoes on. "Not my job" she tells me, as I struggle in my stocking feet to shod my son and get all my gear out of the way and get the backpack on him. "Please!" I am begging. I am desperate.

"Sorry" she says. But she doesn't seem sorry.

She's sorry two seconds later as my son breaks away and runs BACK through the security gate, right between the legs of the guard manning the metal detector. Nutmeg! All hell breaks loose.

This account could go on and on and on for pages, but I think you get the gist. Instead of boring you, I want to say only this:

Thank you to the woman who let me go in front of her at the security checkpoint when I told her I only had 30 minutes to get to my gate.

Thank you to the woman who let me in front of her as I piled pounds and pounds of gear on the conveyor belt ahead of her.

Thank you to the TSA agent who finally did come to my assistance and escorted me through the terminal and to the shuttle bus, carrying our coats.

Thank you to the JetBlue agent who helped me down the ramp and onto the shuttle bus.

Thank you to the gentleman who made a game of running up the ramp when my son decided to stop dead in his tracks and refused to walk one more step.

Thank you to the three people who helped me pick up my things when my luggage rack tipped over, my bag opened and all the contents spilled out.

Thank you to the lovely couple who helped me get on the shuttle. They have four kids and were supposed to be on the same flight I was for a long romantic weekend, just the two of them. They could have passed me by. They didn't.

And finally, thank you to everyone who stopped and asked me if I needed help, if I was ok.

I have never relied on the kindness of strangers.

But I've never been more grateful for it.

And if you're curious, I did get to the gate on time. Just as they cancelled my flight.

Which might have been a blessing in disguise after all.
JetBlue Fliers Stranded on Plane for 8 Hours