We are off on another family adventure. After Livvy and Justin returned home from a month at sleep away camp in Canada, and Chloe came back from her month in China tending to pandas, we are now off on a 3 weeks journey to Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Given my recent knee surgery, I am still in an immobilizing leg brace, and using a wheelchair for airport transit. Nonetheless, my spirits were high as I woke the children at the ungodly hour of 4am to ready for our 6am flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico via Miami. After being whisked through security by the unusually attentive TSA staff at SFO, Chloe raced me in my wheelchair toward the general direction of our gate with reckless abandon. Chloe has recently obtained her Learners Permit but has yet to actually get behind the wheel of a car, and this lack of experience did precious little to induce even the slightest bit of caution. Livvy insisted on having a turn pushing me as well, but after clear evidence of issues with depth perception surfaced, I suggested we stop for some chocolate milk which conveniently occupied Livvy’s hands, thereby returning me to Chloe Andretti who pushed me the rest of the way as we pre-boarded the flight.
The sight of me in my wheelchair at the entrance to the plane was met with what can only be fairly described as a scowl by the purser who was doing his best to channel a gay Lorenzo Lamas, and his pockmarked sidekick who had the wiggle of a South Beach Transvestite crossed with the demeanor and unfortunate skin of Tubbs from the original Miami Vice series. “Don’t you have anyone to help you with that?” asked Lorenzo, motioning to the wheelchair that needed to be folded and gate checked. The apparent absence of Sherpas to fold the wheelchair and deliver my carryon bag to my seat was somehow off putting to this colorful and wildly apathetic American Airlines dynamic duo. Chloe dutifully folded the chair and took care of the gate checking before walking down the aisle to find her seat next to her brother and sister. I was seated in Row 1 of First Class where I was hoping to prop my braced leg up with ease on the extended ledge of the garment closet handle that jutted out slightly into the aisle immediately in front of my seat. As I studied the various reclining positions on the dashboard control panel of my leather seat, I anticipated a relaxing 5-hour flight. I would be proven wrong.
After propping my leg up on the closet handle ledge, and pretending not to notice Tubbs eye roll at the inconvenience this would create for him as he walked up and down the aisle proffering miniature plastic wine glasses filled with orange juice and sparkling water, I met my seat neighbor. He was a very tall, quiet, 30-something year old Peruvian with a gentle manner. We exchanged brief pleasantries, mostly monosyllabic due to the language barrier, and then he wished me a comfortable flight. I could have kissed him, as the clear message was that I would not be expected to speak to him anymore until landing, an arrangement which suited me quite well. No sooner had we taken off than I reclined my chair into one of the 14 depicted positions and broke my pillow and quilt out of their thin plastic cocoon to attempt an early morning nap. After finding just the right pillow positioning, I decided my legs needed to be slightly less extended and pressed the button to pull the leg rest in. Nothing happened. I pressed the control button again. Still nothing happened. I looked over at my Peruvian friend and saw that he was aimlessly pressing every button on his control panel to precious little effect. I was overcome with panic, my seat was locked in this suboptimal position and there remained 4.5 hours until we were to land.
I had the presence of mind to summon Lorenzo to my chair side, and as he arrived heaving a sigh of annoyance; I told him flatly that my chair was stuck. He stared at me blankly. I explained that the seat had reclined but that now it would not budge and that I was somewhat uncomfortable. “Oh great,” he said dryly smoothing his blow-dried bangs with his middle and ring finger, “what else can possibly go wrong today?” He continued with an exasperated tone, “Honey,” he said leaning in closer, “I have been working the last 5 days straight and I am reh-deeee for some down time.” He chuckled at his drollness. His teeth were so white, possibly the whitest bleached teeth I had ever seen and I felt compelled to stare at them as he hissed with laughter. Lorenzo did not offer to fix the seat nor to inquire about how to fix it, rather he said to me, with only the slightest soupcon of caring, “Maybe if we leave it for a spell, it’ll start working again. I mean the video system in Coach isn’t working either and it’s not like I broke it.” He guffawed again at his irresistible wit. “I mean honestly, my supervisor is so upset with me because I had 6 complaint letters from passengers in the last month but I can’t control the aircraft. I told her that if the planes don’t work proper then what does she expect, but she’s so clueless. Anyhow honey, I gotta go heat up the nuts,” and with that he pranced back into the galley, leaving me in my tilted state.
I considered flagging down Tubbs, but seeing as he was incapable of even producing a slice of lime for my sparkling water, I decided to wait it out and see. My Peruvian friend was still feverishly pressing every control button to no avail, and so I covered my head with the quilt and tried to refresh myself with sleep. Soon I awoke to the unmistakable and mildly unpleasant aroma of warming airplane food. I emerged from my quilted shelter and saw people all around me with tray tables opened and covered in cheap white linen. Without thought I pressed the seat control panel for the upright seated position, but the chair gods were not kind, and I was forced to enjoy breakfast horizontally. Needless to say I opted for the continental breakfast to minimize spillage as I lay and ate with my napkin spread carefully across my throat, neck and upper abdomen.
It was only prior to landing in Miami that the dynamic duo expressed concern about my seat position. Tubbs in particular was in an absolute state for fear of running afoul of FAA Regulations require all seats to be in the upright position for landing. Tubbs insisted I climb out of the seat and allow him to attempt to manipulate the manual controls beneath the seat to return it to its original position. Climbing out of my seat required a back and forth rolling approach to gain sufficient momentum to propel me upright and onto my uninjured leg, from which I could then hop into the aisle. Neither Tubbs nor Lorenzo offered me so much as a hand for assistance, but the silent Peruvian helped steady me, narrowly escaping a face plant into the adjoining arm rests. Needless to say Tubbs's attempt to manually repair the seat failed miserably and we landed with me in full violation of FAA Regs with my chair in a fully reclined state. Lorenzo thanked me for my patience after landing and assured me that the pilot had been informed of the "seat issue". I smiled back, already dictating my letter to his supervisor in my mind. Chloe helped me back into my wheelchair and as we raced through the airport to the gate of our connecting flight to San Juan with Livvy and Justin scampering behind to keep up, I did my best to dig my fingernails into the wheelchair's padded arm rests in the hopes of remaining in the wheelchair as we flew over thresholds at breakneck speed.
After landing in San Juan and filing a report for my missing suitcase, the kids and I piled into the waiting SUV that took us to our hotel, The Ritz Carlton, San Juan. We checked into our rooms and ate dinner at Il Mulino, the Italian restaurant on the first floor, where our table Captain, Gabriel, scooped large pieces of Parmiggiano Reggiano from an enormous cheese wheel for our enjoyment. After tucking Justin and Livvy into bed, Chloe and I retired to our connecting room where we are sharing a King bed for the night. I read for a while and then switched off my lamp to go to sleep. A few moments later, Chloe switched off her lamp as well. It was at this precise moment that I began to hear thumping from the room next to ours. In fact the thumping was coming from the opposite side of the wall abutting our bed. Within seconds I could hear the unmistakable shrieking and groaning of a couple on their honeymoon in the room next to ours as their headboard slapped rhythmically against the adjoining wall. Sadly, the woman was also an audible full sentence screamer. I considered addressing the awkwardness of the moment directly with my teenage daughter but in the end decided it was best to simply pretend to be deaf to the sounds and thumps, and my brilliant daughter decided to do the same. 20 minutes past with me trying to sing pop songs in my head to drown out the sounds and screams, and finally, mercifully it was over.
In the morning when Livvy came into our room to start the day, she innocently asked how we’d slept, and without a word Chloe and I locked eyes and simultaneously burst into a fit of laughter. “What’s so funny?” Justin inquired walking in to join the fun. “Oh, nothing,” said Chloe. Nothing at all……
