The jOYs of Life

by Michelle Hoppe

  With a determined set to my jaw I called the sisters, told them my plan, and once they stopped laughing, got them to agree to check their schedules for the necessary dates. At first it appeared we would take Michigan en masse, however best laid plans and all… only Yvette could get the time off for a ten-day tour.

  Yvette lives in Texas, another hot state, where traveling in July is a bad idea, but hey, you only live once.

  Right?

  I mean, at the time I really thought this was a good idea. Forgetting of course that sleeping in Texas in July is impossible. Nevertheless, I made my plans…down to the last detail. Itineraries were set, tickets purchased, kid care arranged.

  My mother had warned me about the family. Very straight-laced, old-fashioned, and some of them are sure I’ve grown strange because I was raised in California. Apparently the family as a whole was not pleased when my parents moved away from the controlling, domineering, heart of the family home. My mother was told we would all turn out to be wild or worse.

  After mom told me about this, I sent Aunt Toots a note letting her know I was coming, and included a paragraph about my upcoming book for the reunion newsletter. I figure, they might as well know from the first moment, they were right. I am wild, and damn proud of it.

  I have no idea what will happen when this old school family of mine meets me for the first time, however, I’ve got a rental car for a quick get-away.

  Day 1

  Seattle to Las Vegas…buckle up, people; this is going to be a bumpy ride!

  Leaving at 5:00 a.m. from my house on the Washington coast, it was a comfy 46 degrees. My hubby accompanied me on the two hour drive to the airport. His snoring was very helpful to my attempt to stay awake and focused on the drive, and is the reason why there is nothing fun or exciting to report about that portion of the trip.

  Arriving at SeaTac, I pulled to the unloading zone, unloaded, and headed for the E-ticket machine, only to discover there wasn’t one for the airline I was on. Turning toward the ticket counter, I was amazed by the number of people in line, waiting for an agent to assist them. Looking at the clock, I had serious doubts I would make my flight.

  I think I might have set a record for getting through the ticket line and the infamous security checkpoint at SeaTac, because I made my flight with twelve minutes to spare.

  Nothing exciting happened on the plane, I know, hard to believe. The couple sitting next to me didn't seem to want conversation with a stranger, so I slept.

  Oh Las Vegas! The sights, the sounds, the slot machines, what fun! I had an hour to kill between flights, so of course I headed straight to a slot machine.

  What I didn't realize was the slots no longer actually give you money when you win. No, instead there is a sign explaining a change person will assist you with your winnings, if you happen to win. Ok, having read the instructions (when did they decide we need instructions for a slot machine?) I proceeded to deposit five dollars in the correct slot. Magically, the machine rang up my credits and lights began to flash.

  “Number of credits bet?” I pushed the button for 'maximum bet', but before I could even pull the arm, (OMG where is the arm?), the wheels started spinning, and several seconds later, the bars I knew and loved, lined up in a straight line. One section below where they needed to be in order for me to win anything. The magic continued, as the number of credits I had decreased by five.

  Never one to give up, I continued to push the 'maximum bet' button and after the third attempt I actually won some credits. Now, I'm one of those people who likes to ‘machine hop’ at a casino. I don't like playing the same slot over and over. I was on a deadline and needed to get my credits turned back into real money so I could move to another machine.

  The change girl walked past at that moment and I requested she cash me out. Without a smile or how-do-you-do, she nodded and turned to the computer sitting close by. I watched as she punched some keys on the keypad, took money from the drawer and walked in the other direction.

  Wait a minute. I thought she understood me. Feeling a little perplexed, I waited for her to return to my area and once again requested she cash me out. Again, she nodded her understanding, went to the key pad, withdrew money, and went to assist someone else.

  Something was missing; I just felt it in my bones. She didn't understand my simple request to have access to my winnings. Ok, being the patient person I am (ha-ha), I waited again for her to return. This time I called her over, “Excuse me miss…can you please cash out this machine?”

  “If you request cash out, yes”

  Keeping my cool I responded, “I've requested cash out twice now.”

  “No, you can't ask for a cash out, you have to push the cash out button.”

  Ok, now I was getting a little perturbed. Looking down at the machine, I could not locate a 'cash out' button. Glancing back up to ask her where such a button could be found, I discovered she had once again moved on to help someone else.

  I’m not unintelligent. Actually, I consider myself to be somewhere in the middle in the IQ department. If there is a button that says ‘cash out’ on the machine, I was capable of pushing it to get my winnings. Only one problem, there wasn’t one. Looking to the left and right, I discovered I was very much alone in my row of slots, no helpful face waiting to enlighten me. So, I did what any normal, intelligent person would do; I simply hit every button I could find on the machine with the word cash on it. One of them must have been the right one, because the change girl walked over, looked as if she'd never seen me before, handed me a stack of money and walked away.

  Well, that took all the fun out of gambling.

  However, never one to quit, I moved to another machine and once again fed the hungry sucker with a five. This time, I played the machine until there were no credits left. I wasn't going through the 'cash out' nightmare again.

  Glancing at the clock, I realized it was time to head back to the gate. Even if it wasn’t, I would have found something else to do. I just didn’t enjoy slot machines that didn’t drop coins into the tray after I pulled the handle and lined up the cherries. There is something to be said for the old ways. Ouch, did I just admit I’m getting old?

  As I stood to leave the slot machine area, a nice looking man tapped my arm.

  “Excuse me miss, could you tell me how to get my money out of this thing?”

  “You have to hit the 'cash out' button.” I told him.

  “That’s what the change girl has been telling me for the last fifteen minutes. I just can't find one.”

  Trying to look like I knew what was what; I leaned over, “May I?” I asked.

  “Please,” he responded, a hopeful look in his baby blues.

  Hitting every button with the word 'cash' on it did the trick once more. As I turned to leave, the change girl was counting out his winnings. Raising his voice a little, he shouted out, “Thank you!”

  I nodded and waved to him. Another happy ending.

  So ended my stay in Las Vegas. I had seen the inside of McCarran Airport; it hasn’t changed much since the last time I’d been there. Won a little on the slots, which had changed a great deal, and did my good deed for the day.

  Day 2

  Texas in July, what was I thinking? I have jet lag and it’s HOT! I’m going to fill the tub with ice cubes and go to sleep. Enough said.

  Day 3

  Let’s define hot…

  If you can fry an egg on the hood of the car, it’s hot.

  If your plastic flip flops fuse with the sidewalk, it’s hot.

  If the ice cream melts before they can get it in the cone, it’s hot

  If the mail bursts into flames when you take it out of the mail box, it’s hot.

  If the dog offers to clip his own hair, it’s hot.

  If you fight the dog for the window in the car so you can stick your head out, it’s hot.

  If your only mission of the day is to find more ice, it’s hot

  If getting in the hot-tub with the temperature set
at 102 seems cool to you, it’s HOT.

  If the devil sends you an invite to visit Hades because it’s cooler, it’s TEXAS HOT!

  At least when my relatives visit me in Washington, they can put on a sweater or coat to get warm, (they all claim it’s cold here). I’m telling you there are only so many clothes on this body of mine I can strip out of to get cool. Truth be told, I don’t think stripping naked would help. And the next person who tells me, “It’s a dry heat, so it doesn’t feel as hot,” is getting their ice confiscated!

  Day 4

  Let’s do Dallas…or not!

  Although I’ve adjusted to the heat a little (not really ~sob~), I’ve decided it’s best if I don’t wear make-up while in Texas unless I plan to go out. Frankly, it’s a waste of time no matter what, because it just melts right off my face in the heat, (not a pretty picture—trust me).

  My little sister Yvette and her family live out of town…on a hill…on five acres…it's very pretty. HOT, but pretty. The best thing of all is the porch swing, which I spend many hours in once the sun goes down. It's peaceful, quiet, and a great place to write.

  There are three dogs, two cats, and a lovely little thing called fire ants…for such a small creature these ants have a big, I'm talking big, sting when they bite. I've learned to steer clear of fire ants. The dogs and cats however are all friendly this trip, unlike my last visit when the dogs thought it was lots of fun to keep me pinned on the couch if my sister was not in the room. This time they seem to have accepted my position (honored guest) in the house. Or it could be the treats I'm sneaking to them when no one is looking.

  After taking a shower—talk about pain in the rear—in Texas, in July, it‘s so hot you can’t dry off before the sweat covers you again. It’s like trying to stop a river from flowing. And don’t even get me started on trying to pull jeans up sweat soaked legs, Oy Vey!

  Thankfully, Yvette has AC in the car.

  The car, you ask?

  Why yes, after all, as the title suggests, we are doing Dallas today, color me purple. It’s 9 a.m. and we are leaving in a few minutes. I have no idea where we are going, except Dallas. There are a few places on my list of things to see before I leave Texas this time, however the heat has pretty much beaten me down, so unless I can view it from the car, through the window, without having to roll it down, I’m planning to cut it from the list.

  Go ahead, you can say it…“high maintenance”

  Damn straight! And proud of it.

  First stop en route, Granbury Square…I love this place (in December). They have ice cream.

  Pulling up to the curb, Yvette turns off the engine.

  “What are you doing?” I cried. The loss of the air conditioning is a frightening thing.

  “I thought you wanted to see the square, visit the shops, and maybe buy some gifts for the kids.”

  “No I’m good. Turn the engine back on.”

  “Don’t you at least want an ice cream?”

  “Do they have a drive-through?” I inquired.

  “No, they don’t have a drive through. Get out of the car, it’s not that hot!”

  “Seriously Yvette, if I get out of this car, I’m going to have a heat stroke, and you will have to spend the rest of the day at the hospital with me.”

  “Fine!” she declared. “I’ll go get us some ice cream.”

  “Turn on the engine first.”

  She did, but oys, the look on her face.

  Onward to Fort Worth…everything requires getting out of the car! I hit the opt-out button.

  Onward to Dallas…the Dallas skyline—soooo pretty…so much glass, oy vey the glare from those buildings is blinding. Where are my darker shades?

  We drove past Dealey Plaza, looked out the window at the book depository, glanced at the grassy knoll, and exited the area, all without rolling down the windows or leaving the car.

  For the next two hours Yvette drove from one Dallas attraction to the next, all designed to temp me from the car, silly girl.

  The frustration visible on her face, Yvette suggested one last stop, Pioneer Plaza. According to my little sister, this was the save-all-to-end-all attraction in Dallas, and for sure I’d want to get out of the car.

  Right!

  Okay, so little sis was right after all.

  Armed with three bottles of ice water, a hat, my sunglasses with the dark, dark lenses, and a heavy dose of determination to find as much shade as possible, I stepped out of the vehicle and into the blazing hot sun.

  If you’ve never been to Pioneer Plaza, it commemorates Dallas’ beginnings. Included is a waterfall (with a sign that you can’t swim in it, kill jOYs), man-made cliffs, native plants, and a bronze recreation of a cattle drive, complete with cowboys on horses and Texas Longhorn Steers. Each bronze statue is different and they are full size. In other words, Big, like the Texas sky, which was doing that wavy thing like a desert mirage.

  After an hour of walking around the plaza, whining because I couldn’t take a dip in the fountain, and carrying 3 empty bottles, we opted to head for home.

  I will admit, I likely had heat stroke, so don't quote me on any of the information I’ve included about Dallas.

  Day 5

  Onward to Michigan and…humidity, Oy Vey

  With the dawn comes the heat, to beat it get up before dawn.

  We left for DFW airport at 3:45 a.m. Yvette and I quickly went over the items we’d packed to confirm nothing of importance was left behind. That took all of two point four minutes. From there we simply talked about anything we could think of to keep each other awake.

  We had a 6:35 a.m. flight to Chicago, where we would catch another flight into Flint, Michigan.

  As usual nothing went according to plan, other than our departing her house on time. We arrived at DFW in the wee hours of morning, before most people were up, before the sun was up, yippee.

  Once we got into the terminal we discovered the airlines computers were not working. After standing in line for forty-five minutes (where are all the e-ticket machines??) we finally received our boarding passes. The ticket agent also imparted important information about the delay our flight would experience because of the slow check-in process. So much for schedules!

  When we arrived at the correct gate we were informed it would take five to ten minutes to get the balance of the passengers checked in manually.

  Thirty minutes later, we were still waiting to board the plane.

  Each time one of the frazzled airline employees made an announcement we were told—five more minutes. Finally, twenty minutes after our flight was supposed to go wheels up another announcement was made regarding the lack of a departure time. A nice young man informed us the computer problem was worldwide, and until headquarters gave the go ahead, we were stuck in Dallas.

  Looking at my sister, she didn’t even wait for me to ask. “I’ll be fine, go smoke.”

  If you’ve ever been to DFW, you realize it’s less difficult to leave the terminal and return than at other airports. I knew I could get out of the building, smoke (yes, I know), and returned in about fifteen minutes, so off I went, glad to at least be moving. Even if it wasn’t up, up, and away.

  I was trailed by about thirty other passengers from our delayed flight. We all arrived on the sidewalk, lighters in hand, and the great smoke break started. I think many of the other passengers were chain smokers, because they did not return with me when I re-entered the airport.

  As I stood in line to get back through the security checkpoint, I heard someone calling Michelle. Now I’ve learned over the years that a lot of people share my name, so I don’t normally answer to Michelle. A couple of seconds later a security guard, standing at the entrance to the gate, demanded to know if anyone, and I mean anyone, in the line was named Michelle.

  I decided at this point I better raise my hand. “I’m Michelle.”

  “Are you on flight 871?”

  “Yes.” I was a little concerned I’d done something wrong by leaving the gate.
Fortunately for me, there were twenty-nine other people outside who would get yelled at too.

  “You better come with me. Quickly.”

  I stepped out of line, and pushed my way forward to obey this security guard. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Your flight is about to take off.”

  Hells bells. “What about all the other people outside smoking?”

  “Not my problem, your sister sent me to find you, I’ve found you, now please come with me.”

  Not wanting to cause problems, I allowed this gentleman to get me through the security gate ahead of all those poor people without a sister standing on the other side demanding they find them.

  As I arrived on the other side of the metal detector, Yvette hustled me down the terminal to gate 24B. When we arrived, all the seats, which minutes before had been occupied by weary travelers, were empty. Everyone was on the plane, waiting for the ‘smokers’.

  As I gave my boarding pass to the nice young lady at the counter, I told her she needed to get someone to the security gate, because there were still at least twenty or thirty people outside smoking.

  To all you folks who shared the flight with us, let me just say…this was not our fault. If the airlines had been honest about it being a two and half hour delay up front, we would have had time to smoke an entire pack if we’d wanted too.

  Once on board the plane-I slept!

  We flew into Midway Airport and the scheduled layover was supposed to be four and a half hours. Once on the ground it turns out we had 32 minutes. Just enough time to find a ladies room, conclude the line at all restaurants in the terminal were too long to wait, and dash for the proper gate…so much for eating.

  Being fairly smart people though, my sister and I had packed a small snack of sausage and cheese, which we devoured as we hurried for the gate. Turns out our outbound flight was on time. What we didn’t realize—the plane was so darn small it couldn’t pull up to the gate. Instead we were treated to the pleasure of climbing down two flights of stairs, in an un-air-conditioned stairwell I might add, to the ground level of the airport.