Every year, Maria goes home to Puerto Rico for the Holidays, and every year she waits until the very last minute to book the flight, paying the equivalent of first-class to Istanbul in the process. I’ve given up on trying to change that habit; apparently her whole family does it, too. Instead, I have decided to become the official household ticket-purchaser, and in my family, we buy tickets practically a year in advance.
Travel Tip #1: Don’t buy your tickets too far in advance.
So, I booked Maria a good, cheap flight out of Orlando many months ago. This would be fine, I thought. For the money we saved, I wouldn’t mind driving an hour and a half out of the way to drop her off and pick her up.
But then, of course, our plans changed. I decided to go to Puerto Rico for Christmas, too.
Had I considered this possibility, I would have booked Maria out of Tampa like any normal, sane person. But now, we had a problem. How were we going to get there? How do we get home? I wasn’t about to spend all of the money we saved flying out of Orlando on long-term parking or, God forbid, an airport shuttle. And so, because being a good person means sometimes having to drive many miles to distant airports for cheap friends, I sent an email to everyone I know looking for a ride.
Tip #2: Don’t forget the toll money.
Ever since I stopped waiting tables, I have never had more than about five bucks on me. That’s when I’m feeling rich. And while our neighbor Eve, in her usual “morning person” humor, did not seem to mind shelling out half a week’s paycheck to cover the nearly criminal number of booths en route to the Orlando airport, we still felt like schmucks. This, of course, on top of the steak dinner we felt we owed her just for the ride.
Travel Tip #3: Don’t forget your cell phone.
Of all of the things I could forget—my toothbrush, my underwear, my nicotine gum—nothing was more sorely missed than my cell phone. Long after Eve had probably squealed onto I-4, I realized that it was there, tucked into the door of her SUV. Since Maria and I were actually on separate flights (courtesy of my maniacal need to buy tickets so far in advance), it was really a lousy thing to forget. And, guess what practically doesn’t exist anymore? Payphones. That’s right. The best I could find in the Orlando airport (the airport!) was an obscure hallway with three phones, two of which worked. Now I understand why I see people in jalopies held together with chicken wire talking on RAZRs: They have no choice. I know it’s crazy considering that only ten years ago most people barely had a computer, much less a cell phone, but I cannot tell you how isolated and, well, almost panicked I felt without being constantly connected to the world. Come to think of it, that’s pretty sad.
Travel Tip #4: Don’t buy water.
Yet another hallmark of our “modern society” is the fact that you can now purchase bottled water on every street corner and every vending machine. Landfills overflowing with plastic debris aside, I love this. And, I know that I’m risking nomination for the Neurosis Hall of Fame, but water is my safety blanket. If I have to wait in some insanely long airport line, listening to screaming children and the complaints of Holiday travelers, at least I can content myself with the fact that I will not die of dehydration.
It seems, however, that the Department of Homeland Security is out to strip us of even this consolation. Apparently as security measures tightened, some brilliant bureaucrat decided that terrorists might be trying to smuggle nitroglycerine in plain view in a bottle of Aquafina. People, I have seen enough movies to know one very sure thing: If I am swigging and swinging a bottle of clear liquid, it most certainly is not nitroglycerine. I mean, if you even breathe on that stuff it’s like Chinese New Year, right? I think asking someone to take a big gulp of whatever beverage they happen to be carrying should be good enough. Can we please dispense with this idiotic “security measure”?
Forgetting this rule, I purchased no fewer than three bottles of water, all of which had to be abandoned barely opened. My stupid mistake, I know, but don’t you find it disconcerting that when I handed the security guy my lighter, he said, “Oh, you can keep that”?
Travel Tip #5: Airlines don’t care about you.
Yes, I know. Big revelation, Shelly. We’ve all seen air travel degrade, even before 2001. Long gone are the days of polite and well-trained attendants offering you a pillow or a refill beverage, but apparently even the beverages and pillows have gone by the wayside. Spirit Air, the unfortunate carrier I flew with, is clearly shorthand for “In the Spirit of Ripping You Off Air.” Free baggage check? Nope. Free soda? Nope. Free bag of seven gnarly airline peanuts? Not a chance. Forget electronic check-in. Forget the movie. Forget the four stupid in-flight radio stations; there’s not even a jack in the seat. Oh, and for some bizarre reason, all window shades must be up at take off and landing. Huh? If the pilot needs to see out of my window in order to safely maneuver the plane, perhaps we should speak to the engineers…
Travel Tip #6: Puerto Ricans know when you’re not one of them.
Even before I open my mouth, they know I’m a gringo. I dress funny, I have nuclear holocaust pale skin, and I don’t wear a bathing suit. That’s no big deal when I’m on the island because, well, I’m on a tropical frickin’ island, and I actually really like Puerto Ricans. But apply these details to the airport, and it’s annoying.
Anytime you’re waiting for a plane to arrive from Puerto Rico (as I was for a full four hours), it’s not hard to tell what gate they’re coming from. Puerto Ricans love to wait for people at the airport. They dance and sing and ignore their screaming children—it’s quite entertaining. Except when I want to ask them a question. They look at me with some mixture of suspicion and disgust, as if to say, “Why on Earth would some white little gringa like you be meeting someone from our plane?” I had to ask five people before I figured out that, yes, this was the 7pm flight from San Juan, and no, they hadn’t come out yet.
Travel Tip #7: Remember where you parked.
In Tampa, the honest-to-God best airport in the world, I have never lost my car. That is because their system is ingenious, designed for even the biggest moron to easily find their vehicle. Orlando, it seems, has a different approach. Remember the “characters” system of the Disney parking lots? Well, Orlando has pigs and cows and other cartoonish barnyard animals that correspond to each level of their parking garage. That’s about where the organization ends. See, my friend (who shall remain nameless to protect her deficiencies) forgot to catalogue exactly where in the approximately 9,000 spaces of the “pig” level she had left her car. Thus began a Griswoldian search through the rows of towering SUVs for my friend’s tiny VW. If I hadn’t been trying to talk myself down from a panic attack, it would have been funny.
Travel Tip #8: Remember your house keys.
This is a very easy thing to forget when someone else is driving you to and from the airport. Actually, we didn’t forget ours—this time. Although I still give a little chuckle over the fact that once, after a very long trip from California, we had to scramble around our house to find a window to pop open. Ah, good times.
But this time, we finally made it in the door, appreciating our dilapidated little house in a whole new way—as only those who have navigated the gauntlet of Christmas travel can. I was reunited with my cell phone, and can now consume as much bottled water as I want. I even know where the car is. Mostly, though, I have learned—as perhaps any Holiday traveler will tell you—that it’s probably better if you just stay home. Really. Your family will understand.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, 1/10/2008
