I’m an “oldster,” long ago banished to Miami by my wealthy kids up north. Guilt is surely what prompted my son to invite me to his vacation condo on a Greek island. I purchased my plane ticket from a nearby travel agency for a seemingly reasonable price, but then came the litany of seven unreasonable surcharges.
Now it’s off to the airport. I mastered the automated check-in process once I figured out that a credit card swipe is the only acceptable proof of my existence. And I was glad the lone agent at the row of airline counters didn’t get overly resentful when I made him redo my baggage destination tag to read Athens, Greece instead of Athens, Georgia.
The dreaded security check was next. I know those routinely maligned security agents have become fully professionalized. Still, I wasn’t sure if the agent was smiling at me to be friendly or because I was the next guy getting a body cavity search. Fortunately, my birthday suit x-ray went fine and a colonoscopy wasn’t necessary; although, that same agent winked at me as I exited the screening area.
Not being in a hurry, I strolled through the duty-free shops on my way to the departure gate. I intended to buy my daughter-in-law a pair of designer sunglasses but the clerk said my credit score was too low. Instead, I reluctantly selected a sensible “I Love Miami” keychain, made in China.
There weren’t any open seats in the gate area, and I certainly didn’t want to wake the inconsiderate slobs who were stretched out across groups of seats. Announcements suddenly began for several adjacent gates. Gate agents began simultaneously announcing gate changes, calling out boarding zones, and auctioning off upgrades to first-class. I was totally confused; so I simply followed a Greek-speaking family onto one of the planes.
Finding my seat was easy, but two notebook computers cascaded down onto my head when I opened the overhead bin. I felt calmer once I was settled in my seat. Little did I know that the guy in front of me would lean his seat way back and snore loudly and that the kid sitting behind me would constantly kick my seat as we crossed the Atlantic.
The guy sitting next to me recounted his life story even though we’d never met before; ex-convicts are such colorful people. I quickly concluded that he was fond of Greek cuisine when his garlic-laden tzatziki breath singed my eyebrows. That was probably a long overdue payback for the time I smoked a cheap “It’s a Boy” cigar aboard a commuter flight back in the ‘70s.
The stewardess came around to ask what I’d prefer as a dinner entree. She said the menu is available somewhere on the video device on the seatback in front of me, or I could simply opt for the economy class special. The bland lasagna was OK, except for the frozen part in middle.
There were half a dozen stewardesses on this transoceanic flight. I remember stunning Pan Am stewardesses, sexy “Fly Me” girls, and the luscious flight attendants in the Tony Curtis movie “Boeing Boeing.” Well, none of those gals were aboard this flight. In fact, a pudgy stewardess and an obese passenger had a fierce tug-of-war over the last remaining seatbelt extender.
The engines slowed and the pilot started his nasal mumbling; evidently it was nearly time to land. The aircraft landing gear noise triggered the classic Pavlovian effect: half the passengers racing to the bathroom. Then stewardesses started yelling at diehard passengers who refused to turn off video games that could cause our plane to crash.
The chap flying our plane was obviously an ex-navy pilot, determined to land the huge airliner on about five hundred feet of runway, like on the deck of an aircraft carrier. He pretty much pulled it off, but his Top Gun stunt sent my false teeth flying down the aisle. Likewise, other passengers lost their contact lenses during the sudden-stop landing.
I abandoned my search and exited the aircraft when the stewardess assured me that my dentures would eventually be turned in to Lost Baggage. My family was waiting just outside of customs, including my grandson! The little boy was excitedly waving a toy airplane in the air as he blurted out, “Grandpa, I’m going to be a pilot when I grow up!” Everyone was ecstatic except my pompous son. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged at the sight of my big toothless smile.
Liburdi's recent book "Italian American Fusion: Italy's Influence on the Evolution of America" is available at on-line bookstores and the Kindle Reader.