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April 27, 2002

We didn't have a strong start, folks.

On Wednesday morning at 7:00 a.m. on the dot, my brother-in-law Denny dropped my mom and I off at O'Hare airport. We stood in the lengthy check-in line making pleasant conversation with a family in front of us that featured a baby boy who was Quinn's age. I was obsessed with him, and wanted to pack him in my carry-on. I missed my bunny terribly already, and this character wasn't helping.

When it was finally our turn to check in, I slapped two envelopes on the counter. One for me, one for Glo. Each envelope had our tickets to New York as well as our return tickets. My mom and I each had a purse and a carry-on bag, which we decided not to check. The nice lady checked us in, hooked us up with some bulkhead seats, and we went on our way. After we had gone through security and were settled in at our gate, I began to get a bad feeling. I pulled out the envelope I got back from the check-in lady. Inside it was my boarding pass to get on the plane to New York...and nothing else. No return ticket. Frantically, I grabbed my mom's envelope and checked through it. Same thing.

Neither one of us had our return tickets. They had been in white envelopes from CheapTickets.com. I rifled through my purse, but there wasn't much in it. My mom looked in her purse as well. No envelopes.

I went up to the desk and told the man working my plight.

"Guess you'd better go down and see the woman who checked you in," he told me, a little annoyed by my act.

I told my mom where I was going, and hustled back to the check-in desk. It wasn't very far, but I had to get through the big security station, which was a pain in the butt. Once I reached the desk, I descended upon Mary Ann, our check-in person.

Mary Ann insisted that she hadn't kept the return tickets. She went through her garbage. She went through everyone's garbage. She was very thorough. She made me empty my purse on the counter. Finally, I absolutely had to go or I'd miss my flight to New York. She told me she'd put a "note in the computer" so we could get home. I sprinted away, moments away from the flight time, certain that my mom was dead at the gate of heart failure. She is the absolute queen of being places early, and I could imagine that if the plane started to board without her, she'd freak out.

I was correct in my fears.

When I finally reached her, she was up and out of her seat. She was also wrangling her purse, her carry-on bag and my carry-on suitcase. Not just wrangling--pushing and lugging and yanking all of these pieces towards the door, where people were boarding. She wasn't particularly interested in where our return tickets were at this point. They had CALLED OUR ROW NUMBER, and we were to be BOARDING THE PLANE ALREADY! Did it matter that 75 percent of the plane's passengers had not yet boarded? That the plane wasn't exactly about to leave without us? That she still had no idea if the missing tickets had been found? No. What mattered was that they had CALLED OUR ROW NUMBER and we were NOT YET ON THE PLANE.

When we finally settled on the plane (bulkhead seats=swank!), I told her what had happened. We agreed to find out as soon as we arrived in New York if we'd be able to get on a plane for home the next day, or if we'd be house hunting once we got there.

So we got to New York and it had sunk in that we might be stranded there, and my mom was in crisis mode. We stood in many lines. We talked to many people. Finally, after being told it would cost $100 each to re-issue our tickets, we were standing in line to talk to some type of Big Manager. A Big Manager wearing a power suit. She told us she'd be with us as soon as she could, then she marched off to aid some other needy travelers. While we stood at the counter waiting for her, I eyed my mom's carry-on bag.

"Did you go through that bag?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I haven't touched it since we left home!"

"Go through it," I told her. "Just look in the pockets."

She unzipped one pocket. Nothing in there. She unzipped another.

I saw the white envelope at the same time she did. We looked at each other, horrified. We looked at the Big Manager, frightened.

"RUN!" I hissed.

We ran.

Right out to the cabs. In the cab. On our way. OH MY GOD.

"WHY didn't you check your BAG? WHY?? All those times we stood in line to talk to people! All that time you were alone at the gate in Chicago! Why? Why didn't you just peek in your bag?"

"I don't remember putting it there! I don't remember! I don't know!" she kept repeating.

"Mom! You are doing EVERYTHING I WANT from THIS POINT FORWARD! Do you hear me? EVERYTHING!"

At that point the cab we were in had hit its stride, and both of us had to cling to the handles provided to prevent ricocheting out the window and into the street. Those things you hear? About New York cab drivers? Are true. All true. We arrived at the Hotel Beacon carsick, exhausted, and ready for our bus tour.