Dadgum True No Joke
All I wanted was to catch my flight connectin’ from Atlanta to Baltimore. People were bumpin’ into me like the day after Thanksgiving on ‘Black Friday’. Dadgum true and no joke, I was runnin’ in the middle of everybody like a speed demon but this wasn’t workin’ for me so I climbed aboard the nearest airline conveyor belt. That thing was slower than a sea turtle out of water on drugs. I began passin' other unfortunate souls standin’ still ridin’ along while readin' a book or textin' on their cell phone. I was conveyin’ my two tote bags, botttomless purse like a bucket sunk in the ground, and regrettin’ I wore high heels instead of sneakers.
I caught the eye of an eight year old boy and my mind went churnin’ faster than a refurbished old fashioned butter churn, “I wish he could run like an Olympic track runner to the flight attendant at my gate and tell em’ to keep the entry door open for me.” Flight attendants listen immediately to a child’s voice because their pitch is higher than adults and if you don’t help em’ immediately, they’ll start screamin'.
I was a cooked goose, baked until well done and felt like I was sweatin’ rocks inside my fur coat. My biggest mistake was tryin’ to go faster on this slow as Christmas conveyer belt. My heavy luggage had no mercy on me and my adventure on this long conveyer ride felt like I was walkin’ from Texas to California with snow skis on. Either the conveyor belt got slower or I did. I knew if I gave a snickers bar to the intelligent young boy, he would tell the stewardess, flight attendant, air hostess, flight crew or choose whatever you call em’, that I’m on my way and they’d hold my flight just for me since I'm a legend in my own mind. I begged God for mercy so the plane entrance door wouldn’t slam in my face.
Stuck in a rut with no other options, I made a peacock lookin’ attempt to run on the conveyer belt from Hades and prayed not to trip on my luggage, knock somebody down or fall on my face. Transferrin' passengers from gate to gate in this modern day world of air travel is mind bogglin' especially when the stewardess announced over the intercom, “The gate for passengers flyin' to Baltimore at 9:45 a.m. has been changed.” What? How can I go from Terminal A to Terninal E in five minutes? Run fast as an antelope, gallop like a race horse, or collapse from exhaustion and lay down in the middle of the terminal like a dead jack rabbit.
Back in the day of southern kindness, I’m sure the flight attendant would get me another flight leavin' in thirty minutes but that was not the case. “You’ll have to wait five hours ma’m because the next flight to Baltimore leaves from the other side of the airport in Terminal E.” Shoot, five hours is plenty of time to mosey around to Terminal E since I felt like I was carryin' ten tons of extra weight from Terminal A in high heels. I asked God, “why did you let that particular Terminal door slam in my face?” Blaming God wasn’t the right thing to do but I was mad. All of a sudden I had a horrible thought, “I could drop dead from exhaustion with a bad attitude and leave all my stuff in the middle of the floor.” One thang's for sure, stuff ain't goin' with you on anybody’s heavenly trip.
I’ve lived in the Texas southern bible belt most of my life. Christmas may be slow but I'm smart and fast enough to figure out that ya ain’t gonna have a hearse with a travel luggage compartment on the roof and u-haul trucks bringin’ up the rear to glory. I’m convinced that when I die, I will meander and arrive at the gates of Heaven, smilin' like a cheshire cat. I'm gonna be wearin' a royal blue robe instead of white since I didn't git to confess my recent two sins. My tallest angel probably named "Big Ed" will tell the gatekeeper my name so I can walk right in on those golden streets searchin' for my mansion in the suburbs. I’m gonna tell Big Ed to give my complete name even though I’ve been married three times and include my maiden name just in case.
I hit a home run with my third and final marriage. Talk about relief! I'm gonna call my husband when I arrive in Baltimore and tell him I'm still alive after my conveyer ride to hell and that's dadgum true no joke. Well, five hours have crawled by like that smilin' sea turtle fresh high from a joint. Guess I'm done watchin' the tv with bad news of course and people walkin’ around in a daze with an occasional front runner joggin' to their gate. It's some other unfortunate soul's turn to stand like a statue in need of repair or run like hell but not slip and break their neck on this dadgum true no joke slow as Christmas conveyor belt probably made by a greeter at Walmart that got promoted.
