 |
| (One of the GORGEOUS glass spheres our Hosts graciously gave to their guests with an etched memento on the bottom to memorialize their wedding date!) |
As I’d purchased my two long-ass (kick-ass!) strands of pearls specifically
for this occasion, I already knew in advance that whatever costume I eventually
selected could never possibly compete
with the opulent gems; but at least I’d brought a few elegant choices that might
play supporting roles in the cast of my ensemble.
“Hmm... a summer garden wedding...”
I mused as I gracefully circled my suitcase.
“Oh, but of course! I shall wear
my ruffled white below-the-knee pencil skirt!”
(I’m not really sure what 1940’s
Actress I was channeling, but she had good taste!)
And lithely... um, acrobatically... um, AGGRESSIVELY hiking
said pencil skirt over my belly, I took one look in the mirror and knew EXACTLY
who I was channeling.
I WAS A SAUSAGE CASING!!! Good LORD, you could practically make out the
exact definition of the monster pork chop I’d had for dinner!
All I can say is thank goodness I
woke up early enough to rectify my wardrobe malfunction. (Plus,
let’s face it: WHITE? Uck, I’d be filthy mess before we even got to
the Photo Ops!)
“...and I selected a black tunic
with ebony beading; maroon (tummy tucking) pants and my spectacular black
leather Pikolinos motorcycle boots with the chunky heels and the...”
“Wait, wait, WAIT!” my friend and
Life Coach Ellie Mae stopped me dead in my tracks as she listened to me recount
the tale of my pre-wedding jitters over the phone. “This was a summer celebration in New York,
in the oppressive humidity, and in a
GARDEN? What were you thinking?! You go to Ross or TJ Maxx, and you spent
twenty bucks on a flowery dress!”
“And then what?” I defied her. “I teeter around all bow-ankled in
uncomfortable pumps that I don’t know how to wear?”
“Of course not” she softened. “You spend five more bucks for a pair of
decorative matching flip-flops.”
Dear
LORD, was she on DRUGS?!?!
>>><<<
In hindsight, I could see the
mind-set where Ellie Mae was coming from; but also in hindsight, I was relieved that my blousy breathable beaded black
tunic (made in a Fair Trade Market and hand-sewn in India by tiny, delicate,
undernourished Artisan fingers who sized me as an XL (yeah, thanks for that...)), blissfully spared me from the
recurring theme of puddles of perspiration drizzling down everyone else’s
backs. (Rock on, India!)
And if I’m reaching to express a
point of view here, I would say that I simply had to be true to myself at the wedding of my cherished friends,
who were bold enough to stand up in front of their “conventional” relatives and
ceremoniously embrace the next step* in the rest of their lives together.
And hugging me in the procession
line (despite my lack of floral summer
attire and open-toed whappity-whap sandals), I giddily clapped as Richard
whispered in my ear: “I sooo love the
pearls!”
(*Personal note: As
Richard had won $20,000.00 at the Casino the night before, RJ faltered a bit at
the altar on the whole “for richer or for poorer” vow. “Well, for RICHER...” he contemplated for a
moment. Classic!!!)
>>><<<
With an easy-peasy (slightly delayed) flight from Syracuse
NY to the International hub of the JFK airport, I popped a one dollar bill (what the heck - I’d already spent another
$4.00 on a bottle of water) into one of two of the conveniently located
Automated Massage Chairs just outside my gate for three minutes of absolute
nirvana.
“On behalf of Jet Blue, we would
like to apologize for the delay and we thank you for your patience. We should be able to begin pre-flight
boarding on B6 1515 to JFK within the next fifteen minutes” the friendly
announcement sounded.
Fifteen minutes for families and
special needs passengers to hop aboard first?
Well, hell’s bell, let’s pop another dollar or two into the back massage
chair!
Oh, my travels were nearly
completed! Oh, The Universe was
swaddling me in its arms with cosmic love, comfort and mechanical vibrations
for all of my efforts!
Oh... And I seemed to have
inadvertently become the “Jiggling Jell-O Body of Advertisements” for Airport
Massage Chairs as passers-by headed to their gates.
“Looks comfy” a sweaty gentleman
towing luggage meandered and stopped by creepily. (EEK!)
>>><<<
With a mere hop, skip and landing at
JFK International in a perfectly short period of time, I actually contemplated
exiting the massive structure for a ciggy since I had about a two hour layover
to Burbank CA.
Uck, but then there would be passing
through security once again; and my goodness, the airport had to be HUGE!
But rather than dealing with walking
a gazillion miles, being scanned (AGAIN)
by the TSA (and spending yet ANOTHER
$4.00 for water?!), I settled into a Sports Bar locale directly across from
my gate that not only offered hamburgers cooked to order, but also provided an
excellent view of the specific boarding time for my flight.
“Look at you!” I prided to my tiny
hand-held travel mirror; daubing smutch off my face whilst metaphorically
patting myself on the back for all of my mighty trans-American adventures as I
sipped a $10.00 vodka/tonic. (The price gauging never ends!) “I am INDEED officially a seasoned traveler
now!” I congratulated myself pompously. Oh,
and to have a cushy two-day Hollywood job waiting for my arrival in Los Angeles
at my favorite studio? As I’d said to
the Casting Agent regarding my return flight plans, “what could possibly go wrong?!?!”
>>><<<
“If you could all quickly take your
seats, we’re hoping to meet our designated departure time within the next ten
minutes” the Pilot announced over the loud speaker.
And smiling politely towards the
gentleman to my left and the teenaged girl to my right, I attempted to snuggle
awkwardly betwixt the two for our six(ish) hour flight.
Scuttling to procure overhead
luggage, secure proper safety belts and prepare for take-off, a Flight
Attendant approached the lady behind me to ensure that the happy-go-lucky child
in the passenger’s lap would have to be safely buckled into its own seat prior
to leaving the gate.
And cue the official beginning of Hell on
Earth...
Clearly having never suffered any
respiratory ailments, the pinkest lungs in the whole wide world whatever lived
let loose with all manner of crying, shrieking and ear-drum bursting screaming,
to the point where people three rows ahead of me stood up and looked around to
see if perhaps a pig was being electrocuted on board.
Meanwhile, during the on-going
tantrum from the Spawn of the Devil behind me, a Co-Pilot accidentally
announced over the speaker to his Pilot that he was experiencing a technical
difficulty of some sort which he was just about to explain, when suddenly the
speakers were clicked off and a slew of flight attendants appeared to offer us
all free ear buds for the in-flight televisions on the back of the seats. (Hey,
anything to drown out the “enfant terrible”!)
Twenty minutes or so later, we were
next informed by the Pilot that all systems checks have been run and we should
be good to go, just as soon as they rebooted the televisions which should only
take five to ten minutes. (No worries; my hard-working TiVo sometimes
needs a restart too!)
With our TVs successfully booted up,
I do believe that another half hour passed before the next announcement from
our friendly Pilot: “Hi there
folks. We at Jet Blue apologize for the
inconvenience, but as we missed our scheduled departure time, we are now
hopelessly stuck at the gate with a backlog of planes which have parked us in
and we’re unfortunately unable at this time to be pushed out into the flow of
traffic. Again, we apologize for any
inconvenience and we hope you’ll enjoy the complimentary bottles of water that
our Flight Attendants will be providing you.”
Gratefully accepting my water and
curious as to just when they might consider reaming me $7.00 for a pinkie-sized
bottle of vodka, the stewardess smiled ever-so sweetly. “We’ll be bringing the cart around just as
soon as we take off!” (NOT an answer, but what can you do when
you’re a hostage?)
EVENTUALLY pushed out of the gate,
the Pilot greeted us again over the speaker with well wishes to cross our
fingers for a speedy take-off, only to inform us five minutes later that there
were 30 to 40 planes ahead of us and he would need to shut down one engine to
conserve fuel.
(Oh, FFS...)
Optimistically restarting the engine
a half hour later (we boarded the flight at 5:40pm, and it was now 8:42pm) the
Pilot once again came on the air to remind us that we all needed to remain in
our seats, as he was unable to taxi the plane if we’re all lined up for the
restrooms. (Thanks for the free water, Jet Blue!
Brilliant!!!)
Last but not least, the Pilot
greeted us once more with the info that as there appeared to be inclement
weather in the Midwest, he would need to file a new flight plan which certainly
shouldn’t take too much time; however if anyone needed to use their cell phones
to contact other people, please feel free to do so.
And dialing the voicemail box of the
Casting company, I must’ve listened to a fifteen minute pre-recorded
dissertation of who I needed to call, what I needed to do, and how to properly
notify whoever had hired me for what show, when, where, blah, blah, blah ad nauseum, until I finally heard the
beep. And leaving my name, my partial
social security number and the show title, I mimicked the Jet Blue Pilot as I
“apologized for any inconvenience” as I needed to be replaced on the sit-com
and was hopelessly stuck on the tarmac at JFK with no hope whatsoever of ever
seeing Los Angeles again!
Oh, I was OFFICIALLY losing my mind! The people, the masses of PEOPLE who shared
the aerodynamic tin can who pinned me in like a sardine in oil were all kicking
off their shoes! And apologizing to the
teenager blocking my way to the aisle of semi-freedom, she barely deigned to move
her legs as I awkwardly ambled over her.
Uck, the stench
of perfumes, colognes and FEET? My
KINGDOM for a menthol ciggy!
*Ding* “We would like to
remind you that all domestic flights are designated as non-smoking. Tampering with a smoke alarm in the restrooms
is a Federal Crime punishable by law.” *Ding*
Quite frankly,
still on the tarmac after three fucking hours, I was almost ready to risk it!
>>><<<
Approximately six and a half hours
later (attempting to sleep chin on
hand (which ultimately changed on-board
TV channels as well as volume levels on the arm rest which bolted me awake)),
as well as trying to nod off backwards (great
if you’re neo-natal without any neck muscles), and eventually throwing my
hoodie onto the tray table in a pillow-like fashion to fold myself over in an
airplane crash formation, I think I banked a whopping ten minutes of slumber.
>>><<<
But despite the Flight from Hell, my
spirit would not be broken! And
regardless of my anxiety over multiple connections as I initially travelled,
I’ll never EVER again complain about the luxury of stretching my legs in
between flight segments. (Bring it on, Phoenix!) And thanks to the nicest cab driver who
actually wheeled my behemoth luggage up the hill, I was HOME!
Now if I may enjoy a Greta Garbo moment, please embrace with me the best ever door sign from the
Jefferson Clinton Hotel in Syracuse, NY:
Delighted that my swollen “cankles”
and sock ligature marks have finally faded from roughly ten hours of sitting on
a plane, I’m ELATED to report that I've booked approximately three weeks of work! (Not on the Kirstie Alley show, but hey, you take what the Universe gives you, and say "Thank you very much!")
For richer my friends, for richer!
~Blissfully no longer “the Passenger
P” J
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