……began at 3 a.m. Todd loaded everything into the rental car – a Chevy Equinox that smelled like a brand new car, had that unnerving stop-start technology, and the worst turning radius  since my Volvo. Stop-start by the way, if you’re as unfamiliar as I was, basically means the car goes into this sort of sleep mode when it’s stopped – like at a stop light. The first day we were out in it, it happened and I panicked. Like oh shit, the car broke down. And then Todd stepped on the gas and it jumped back to life.

Anyway, McCarron Airport is really easy to navigate… and the car return very simple. We dropped the car off and caught the shuttle to departures, checked the balls and suitcase again and then stood in a massive line waiting for the security checkpoint to open. And then it opened with ONE guy at the podium checking ID and tickets, and making unnecessary small talk with EVERYone. At 4:00 in the morning (PST). The other guy, the Paul Blart of TSA, was directing people a few at a time to step into the line and walking around puffing his chest and trying to look very important.

We landed in Baltimore. I saw the sign directing us toward baggage claim, but Todd went the other way. I tried to stop him. Nope. Up the escalator to the main concourse and then I told him we needed to go back down. I’ve literally been to this airport twice in my life and I’M telling HIM which way to go.

We collect his ball bags and suitcase and then head to the escalator that takes us to the parking garage. We get on the escalator and two steps up and Todd’s bowling bags fall, rolling down the escalator and there’s Todd, trying to catch them, and of course they keep rolling down as the escalator rolls up. And THEN he loses control of his suitcase too. All three of his bags are out of control on the up-escalator and I’m helplessly watching from above. Some lady who works in the airport is all, just let them go sir, and he’s all  pissed off and NOT letting them go. I hurriedly get off the escalator at the top, drop my suitcase and get back on trying to help which, at this point, is fruitless.

He finally gets it all together as he reaches the top and I help him pull the bags off. He restacks the two bowling bags and then his suitcase falls over, and I am immediately struck with the hilarity of it all and burst out laughing. Except Todd has all but lost his sense of humor and it is NOT FUNNY.

Okay, get serious. So we start walking toward the garage and I’m like, is this the right skywalk? Which of course it wasn’t, and we had to go back down. We decided to take the elevator this time, thank God. Then hurry across the check-in area and get to the correct elevator to our skywalk. Get out of the elevator and hop on the moving sidewalks to make things a bit easier. Easier, until Todd gets off and the bowling bags topple over again. And then the suitcase falls over as he’s trying to right the bowling bags. I’m SO going to hell for laughing.

We get on the elevator at the garage and I just want to say it’s very important to take a photo of the level you park on before you leave because I did, but remembered anyway, and Todd was all, are you sure this is it? and I’m all, HERE’S the picture I took.  Including a pic of the space number we parked in. We get in the car with a huge sigh of relief. Finally.

And…. the car won’t start. Because his dash cam doesn’t automatically shut off like mine does, it was running ALL WEEK. And now we have to figure out what to do about this unexpected ending to the clusterfuck in the airport. And my husband, who always knows the answer and how to fix everything, likely because he is still recovering from the suitcase-gate, is temporarily at a total and complete loss. So Tara – who hates dealing with shit like this – takes over.

I google the airport/help with disabled vehicles, and then dial the number. They say they’re dispatching someone to help and we go back to the car and wait. While we’re standing there, Todd notices the emergency phones that are strategically placed throughout the parking garage for situations such as these. Yellow phones that are clearly visible, that us 50-year-olds didn’t see.

Fast forward to the drive home, which wasn’t terribly stressful until we get to a traffic jam on 95 three exits from ours. Todd decides to get off and take the local roads home, but somehow makes the wrong turn that neither of us notice until I see a sign that says “Welcome to Baltimore County” which I know is all kinds of wrong and when I point it out he actually asks me if I’m sure that’s what I saw. So we’ve essentially been driving BACK to Baltimore after 30 minutes on the road.

Opac is waiting for us to get home before he leaves for a graduation party and so I text him back that I don’t even know and “ima cry,” because we have to stop for gas and Todd again makes a wrong turn. And then he calls and I’m afraid to answer because I don’t want to tell him in front of Todd the extent of the clusterfuck we’ve been in since we landed.

We finally pull in the driveway, two hours and forty-five minutes after we landed. For perspective, it’s roughly an hour’s drive to the airport from our house (based on traffic on 95).