Things I Forgot Earlier
Boston-Logan Airport, Air Canada Security Line:
The one that is in an actual doorway and has its line wrapping around and out another doorway and down a hallway. That one. The line is manned with a tiny, angry woman who aggressively asks to see your ticket and then shouts you into the line you were already heading towards because it's the only reason any of us are even at that ass end of the airport. She was a delight.
Also delightful were the two 20-something blonds who came around the corner and whined, "Uhh, isn't there a Pre-Check line?" "Yes! Yes, for you there is a special Pre-Check line down that corridor in Terminal C" C for, well, no that's too much, how about D for Dumb Ass.
Exit Rows:
On one flight, we somehow all ended up in the same row and it was an exit row. Extra leg room, hell yes! As we were sitting there, John told the boys, "This is an exit row. The flight attendant is going to ask some questions about helping in an emergency. It's just procedure. She needs a verbal response so when she asks a question say 'yes'. Okay?"
Both boys, "yeah, yeah, yeah, we know."
John, "If she doesn't think we can handle things she will move us and I want the extra leg room."
Boys, "We know."
John, "Just say 'yes'"
Boys, "Gawd, jeez, we get it."
Flight Attendant, "Do you realize that you are in an exit row and in the unlikely event of an emergency you may be asked to assist. Are you able to do this?"
John, "yes"
Me, "yes"
Tom, "yes"
Sam, "huh?"
Sweet Jesus.
John, "I'm going to kill him."
Customs:
The final time we went through US Customs somewhere around hour 68, we had a very thorough Customs Agent. He held up each passport and visibly compared the photo to the person; looking from the photo to the person several times. John had to take off his glasses. Each boy had to turn face-on to him. By the time it was my turn I was ready; I was standing straight and looking directly at him. And he threw me a curve ball. Up until this point, none of the customs agents, either US or Canadian, had asked me any questions. This guy looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Jennifer, what are the last four digits of your social security number?"
Me, "Wait, what now? Are you fucking kidding me? I have as good of a chance of coming up with YOUR social security number. I've worn the same pair of underwear for two days. I don't know my middle name right now. Did you say four numbers? Is it four? I think there's a seven. I'm definitely seeing a seven."
But I didn't say that, I said, "uuuuhhhh" <looking at John then back to the agent> "uuuuhhhhhh" <more looks towards John, honestly how are we not getting arrested at this point>. I eventually rattle off four numbers which were apparently correct because we were passed through.
Half of Life is Paying Attention:
Neither boy is good at paying attention yet they excel at righteous indignation when they are told to "listen". I honestly don't know what angers me more.
I don't know about other folks but when we travel Day Three is always the tough day. Day Three is when everyone is pissed off at each other and we each have to retreat to a neutral corner and regroup. This trip had two Day Threes. Yippee. The first during the vacation portion of the program and the second during our return trip. So when we were walking out of the hotel and explaining that we were going to take the bus downtown, where we were going, etc, etc, only to have each kid ask 30 seconds later what we were doing, I was over it. Again.
I turned to John and said, "I'm ready to give them each $50 and drop them downtown. They can find their own way back."
John, "It's not a bad idea."
Me, "If I felt, at all, that it wouldn't turn into Taken 4, Morons in Montreal. I'd totally do it."
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