The jOYs of Life

by Michelle Hoppe

  It was about this time Yvette started asking other passengers on our flight if they were from the Chicago area. Unsure of her motive, I queried, “What’s up?”

  “I’m thinking maybe we could just rent a car and drive to Flint.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No!”

  Side note, Yvette hates to fly. The only reason she agreed to get on these planes at all was because I flew to Dallas first so we could fly together to Michigan. “Seriously, we will be fine.” I assured her in my best big sister voice.

  “This plane better have jet engines,” she declared, while still trying to find out from the nice lady in front of us how long it takes to drive from Chicago to Michigan. “We could see the country, a great lake or two. Think of the fun.”

  “I’m tired, hungry, and besides we have a rental car waiting for us in Flint. Relax, it will be ok.” I don’t think I assured her at all, however I figured we would be on the plane in a few moments, so her thoughts of driving would vanish soon.

  I hate being wrong all the time ~smiles~.

  Once we arrived downstairs, we exited the door and entered 'the furnace' to line up for the bus which was to carry us to the plane.

  Then it happened.

  The wonderful folks from the airline couldn’t get the doors on the bus to open. For pity sakes, it’s 115 degrees out here, the tarmac is melting under my feet—

  Yvette is trying to arrange a deal to share a rental car with the nice people around us and one bus driver is stuck inside the bus pushing, while two employees on the outside pull. Could this day get any more frustrating?

  “Does anything at this airline work?” Yvette whined.

  Wow is she stressed. “It’s ok, they will bring another bus, trust me.” Don’t tell Yvette, but about this time I’m thinking maybe driving to Flint might not be such a bad idea.

  After being told the obvious, the door is stuck, the airline employee called for a new bus, and we were herded back into the terminal to await its arrival.

  “That woman said it would only take us about five hours to drive to Michigan.” Yvette became a fountain of information.

  “Yes I heard her. We are taking the plane.”

  “But, there is a rental car company right here at the airport!”

  “We are taking the plane.”

  “We can stock up on goodies, grab a map, and I’ll even drive the whole way.”

  I gave her the look, “We are taking the damn plane and that’s final!”

  She didn’t look happy, however she did stop talking about driving. A few short minutes later, about ten minutes after our flight was supposed to leave, we finally had a working bus to drive us to the plane. Which by the way was parked at the far side of the airport, past several runways and buildings, so it took a few minutes to arrive.

  “It’s got props!!” Yvette screeched.

  “Yes. I can see.” I told Yvette in a confident voice, far from feeling confident myself, I didn’t want to spook her.

  “Only one is working.”

  “They will start the other one once we are on board.”

  “So one engine is going to be hotter than the other, is that safe?” Yvette was looking a little paler.

  “Yes it’s safe, trust me.” I don’t think the 'trust me' line was working anymore; however, Yvette is a real trooper. She handed over her carry-on bag to the nice young man waiting to take them, because there was very little overhead storage on the plane, walked up the ladder (also very small) and boarded the plane. Finding her seat, she quickly sat down and buckled up.

  “Sis, I have the window seat. You need to let me sit down first.” Not looking at all pleased, she unbuckled and stood to allow me to sit. As I attempted to sit down the seat back flew forward, causing me to slam into the seat in front of me. Standing quickly, I looked at the seat behind me to see a woman trying to strap a very large car seat into the not-so-big seat behind mine.

  Her rear was banging the back of my seat with great force as she pushed and pulled in her efforts to secure the thing.

  The stewardess arrived to explain the car seat was most likely too large for the seat belt to work, and perhaps it would be best to check the seat.

  With the look of a shocked mother, this woman informed everyone on the plane, “Johnny (about age four) simply cannot fly unless he is properly fastened into the car seat.” After delivering her speech, she turned her attention back to the overly large car seat.

  I was told by the stewardess, in no uncertain terms, to sit down and buckle up.

  I did!

  All the while the back of my seat was being slammed over and over as the mother of the year tried to make a ten gallon hat fit in a two gallon bucket—so to speak.

  After about five minutes the captain’s voice came over the loud speaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take-off. If you have oversized luggage you were unable to secure, please give it to the flight crew, NOW!”

  Once again the stewardess approached, only to be told, “I almost have it. Wait; there…see I told you it would fit.” Yes it fit, however my seat back would never be the same. The four-year-old was quickly placed in the safety of the seat and finally the plane started to move.

  As we went wheels up, the young man seated behind me became so excited he started kicking the back of my seat. I looked at my sister to see if she noticed, only to find she had her eyes closed and appeared to be saying a silent prayer. I left her alone and hoped the mother would stop the young man’s feet.

  She didn’t.

  After we reached cruising altitude, which in a prop plane is not very high, I turned around to request the kicking be halted. Super mom appeared to have no clue it might be bothersome. With a confused look on her face, she placed a hand on the boy’s legs and the kicking stopped, for about seven seconds.

  Kick, my head hit the window.

  Kick, the seat back slammed forward.

  Kick, kick, kick…the young man is now screaming at the top of his lungs because he doesn’t want apple juice, he wants a soda.

  “Now honey,” Mother Oblivious said, “you can’t have a soda. Apple juice is better for you. You like apple juice, remember?”

  “I WANT COKE!!”

  Sixteen passengers, one stewardess, and two seagulls flying between the lake and the plane jumped in fright at the volume of that demand.

  Unaware her darling little boy‘s voice could shatter glass, Mother Oblivious responded, “Now sweetie, it’s ok, apple juice is good for you.”

  “NO, NO, NO, I HATE APPLE JUICE.”

  Turning to the stewardess, who had her hands over her ears for protection, Mother Oblivious told her, “He wants apple juice.”

  “NO, I HATE YOU.”

  “That’s ok.” Mother Oblivious must be wearing earplugs, “Here is your juice.”

  Yvette and I exchanged looks.

  “Five hours.”

  That was all Yvette said. Leaving me to hope the flight would be quick.

  It wasn’t.

  Two seconds after finishing his juice, the little tyrant started kicking the seat again.

  “Honey, don’t kick. The nice lady in front of you doesn’t like it.”

  No kidding. Actually, I can’t think of anyone I know who would like it!

  “I WANT SOME COKE.”

  The unpleasant child continued to yell and kick over Lake Michigan, farmlands, fields, cities, and lakes, while Mother Oblivious did little to stop him.

  I, in the meantime was getting whip lash. Each time I tried to raise the glass to my mouth, my seat back jumped. Reading was out of the question because I couldn’t focus on the pages.

  Looking at Yvette, I apologized.

  “For what?”

  “For this.” I’d had enough of the devil child and turned to speak with his mother. I surprised myself…my tone was less harsh then I intended. “Excuse me, could you please make him stop kicking the seat?”

  She looked at me as if I had tw
o heads. “Well, he has very little room here.”

  “Really? He’s four. He’s got more room than any other passenger on the plane.”

  Mother Oblivious didn‘t seem too confident when she told me, “Ok, I’ll try.”

  Now don’t get me wrong, I do understand the difficulty of traveling with small children. However, allowing a child to cause so much discomfort for the other seventeen people on this plane was beyond anything I would have allowed when mine were young. The solution Mother Oblivious came up with was to remove the kid’s shoes. This resulted in a new tantrum.

  “PUT MY SHOES BACK ON!”

  “I can’t honey, the lady in front of you says you can’t have shoes on until we land.”

  Ok, I never said that. In fact I don’t believe I ever said anything about the darn shoes. It was the feet in them, kicking, kicking, kicking, that I spoke of.

  “I WANT MY SHOES ON!”

  At exactly forty-five minutes, thirty-seven seconds into the flight (which was a one-hour and five minute trip), Mother Oblivious finally cracked. “Stop it right this minute. You can’t have your shoes on and stop kicking the seat, before that lady yells at you!”

  Now wait just a doggone minute. I do not yell at other people’s kids. Mother Oblivious I have no problem yelling at. After all, if she had put the kid in the seat without the car seat he wouldn’t be sitting so far forward he didn’t have enough room to move. Also, whatever happened to pre-planning for the entertainment of a child on a plane? Get a clue—bring a coloring book, a toy, something, anything to keep them busy. Oy Vey. Instead tell the kid I’m going to yell at him—brilliant!

  The stewardess, bless her, walked down the aisle to speak with the mother. “I’m sorry, but you really need to try and get him to stop screaming.”

  “I HAVE TO GO POTTY!”

  I think everyone on the plane smiled. Mother Oblivious was gonna have to take the kid out of his seat and lock herself in the bathroom with the devil child.

  Apparently, she decided the bathroom was the best place to remain for the duration of the flight, because the two of them didn’t return to their seats until the captain announced we were starting our final approach.

  Once we were wheels down, I quickly exited the plane, Yvette in tow, and made for the terminal. I wanted to be as far away from Mother Oblivious and Johnny as possible.

  “It would have only taken five hours to drive.” Yvette smiled.

  “Ok, next time we drive.”

  We made haste to exit the airport and find our way to the car rental office. Finally, in Michigan we could get to our hotel and relax for a while. All I wanted was a hot shower, some food, and good night’s sleep.

  That would not be the last time I said those words in the next twelve hours…

  I might be wrong, but when they advertise ‘onsite’ rental cars, I expect to find a rental car company counter in the terminal or baggage claim area of the actual airport.

  Apparently, in Flint, Michigan, ‘onsite’ means having a bus available to pick up customers from the airport and transporting them fifty or sixty miles (more like five, but it seemed longer) to an ‘offsite’ onsite location. What it took me fifteen minutes to find is the correct white courtesy phone for the rental car company I had contracted to provide us with a rental car.

  After calling for the bus, which also wasn’t ‘onsite’, we waited for our ride to show up and take us on a scenic trip through the industrial section of Flint. Still tired and hungry, I didn’t relax much on the bus trip. I simply wanted this day to end with a nice soak in the Jacuzzi tub in the hotel room I’d booked for us.

  Rental car—it’s supposed to be so easy. You make a reservation, tell them what kind of car you would like, and presto, the car is waiting for you on arrival.

  Not so much!

  Apparently, our rental car company had a run on keys. The car was in the parking lot. I could see it. It was so very pretty. The keys however…nowhere to be found.

  The young man behind the counter seemed a little distressed. I got the impression this was his first ‘I can’t find the keys’ experience and he was wholly unprepared to deal with the situation. After looking through the employee emergency ‘I can’t find the keys’ manual, he resorted to calling another office in Flint to get advice on how to proceed.

  A few minutes later he approached us with a request, “do you think you’d be willing to go to our other office and get a car?”

  While not happy about it, I wasn’t going to take my tiredness out on the hapless boy. “Sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  With the conversation over, rental car guy turned and left.

  ~Head tilt~

  “He does know we don’t have a car or any idea how to get to the other office. Right?” I asked little sis.

  “Maybe the bus is going to take us.”

  This possibility was dashed as I looked out the window to see the bus pulling out into traffic. “I don’t think so.” I pointed to the bus.

  It took some time, but eventually we were able to make rental car guy understand we would need assistance from them to get to the other office. Half an hour later we arrived to find that the other location didn’t have the car I had reserved.

  Many more minutes were spent trying to figure out what to do. Can you see the vein pounding between my eyes?

  Ask anyone who knows me and they will assure you—I have the patience of a—well actually I have no patience. Therefore I think it’s pretty impressive I haven’t raised my voice yet.

  Hours later (okay 5 minutes), a manager was found, a decision was made, and before long Yvette and I were driving away in a Park Avenue. Now that is a car!!

  Finally, something was going our way.

  Don’t get too excited, it was short lived.

  Still Day 5

  Nightmare on Center Street—same city, same sister, and same oy vey!

  We left the rental lot at approximately 2:08 p.m. heading for the hotel, which the nice man in the office assured us was on the other side of town and pretty easy to find if we could take directions well. I left that to Yvette, and I volunteered (pushed her out of the way and refused to hand over the keys. Hey, it’s a Park Avenue duh!) to drive. My sister is great with directions and in no time at all she had us on our way. Before you could say ‘We’re here’ six hundred times, we had arrived in the parking lot of the hotel.

  I won’t mention any names to protect the innocent, however let me just say, the parking lot did little to make me feel at home. On the internet the pictures and description of this supposed three star hotel, with Jacuzzi tubs, evergreen fresh rooms, patios, and comfortable beds on which to rest your head, looked nothing like where I was currently looking.

  Checking the address and hotel name again, I was taken aback to realize we were indeed at the correct place. Looking at Yvette I ventured, “Hmmm, looks a lot different in the pictures on the net.”

  “Maybe they did all the work on the inside and just haven’t gotten to the outside yet?”

  “Ok, that sounds good to me. Shall we check in?”

  “Sure, just remember you booked the place.”

  Gotta love her logic. “Great, so if it’s terrible it will be my fault.”

  “Exactly!”

  We stepped from the air-conditioned car into the blast furnace awaiting us…not a lot of fun, however we quickly made for the lobby, thinking it would be cooler inside.

  It wasn’t.

  The lobby did little to quell my concerns about the quality of this hotel. This is a franchise hotel, not the most expensive, however by no means the cheapest either. The lobby looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, and the equipment behind the glassed-in counter had to be at least twenty years old.

  We approached the check-in desk and gave the nice lady our name. She proceeded to ask the normal questions, requested to see our identification, and gladly accepted a credit card for the three night stay. Giving over our keys,
she pointed us in the direction of our room.

  It was a short drive to the far end of the hotel, made easy by the fact there was not a single car in the parking lot, which caused me a little concern. Parking next to the entry door—didn’t have to worry, there was plenty of parking on the grass-filled, broken concrete lot—we discussed whether to take the bags in or leave them in the car for a fast getaway. Always the optimist, Yvette decided we should carry everything in so we could avoid the heat for a while.

  Our key worked perfectly to allow us entry into the main hallway of the hotel. I wish it hadn’t!

  Imagine if you will, opening the door to a long dark hallway with doors lining both sides. You step into the air-conditioned coolness and take a deep breath…OMG!

  “Oh my, what is that smell?” Yvette inquired.

  Trying not to gag, I answered, “Must be the evergreen thing they mentioned on the internet site.”

  “It smells like cat pee!”

  “Oh come on, it smells like pine trees that cats have peed on.” I assured her.

  She gave me a look of disgust, and preceded me down the hall to our room. Opening the door, we walked into our evergreen suite. Here is where it gets a little dicey…talk about overwhelming the senses. The carpet was red and older than dirt. It had so many stains it looked like mostly cats had stayed there. The walls were blue, the drapes were green, and the bedspreads had a pattern of brown, orange, and green on them. The furniture looked like it had been purchased from a Goodwill store that uses the dump as their supply house. This is not a joke, it really was that bad.

  Flipping on the lights only made matters worse, and a look in the bathroom revealed not only no Jacuzzi tub, it didn’t have a tub at all. And to make matters worse, the shower stall was covered in mold.

  “Ok, there is no way I can stay in this room!” Yvette declared in a less then pleasant tone.

  “I agree!” That is about all I could say, because I knew if I talked I’d have to breathe, and the smell was really getting to me.

  “Find a phone book,” Yvette demanded. “I’ll start calling other hotels.”