And they’re off!

Day 1

I booked our flight to Madrid 7.3 months ago and despite a myriad of possible choicess regarding travel points used and money added for convenient schedules I decided on the cheapest option .

Partly just so I could inject into any random conversation that “Oh ya, were flying to Europe for $18” and then continue talking about how much gravel they were putting on our roads this winter. Smooth, like making myself out to being neurosurgeon material. Everyone knows it’s not really bragging if you aren’t wearing a red MAGA hat.

But now it was time to put the rubber to the road. I thumbed through the airline paperwork and saw the first hurdle. Hmmmm… a 5 am departure after a 3 1/2 hour drive to another country. $18, $18… cool. Then a quick flight to Seattle , oh and another flight to Portland, then another flight to Dallas, and finally a 9 hour trek to Madrid with a 9 hour time change thrown in as a stamina tester. $18? How old am I? I look in the bathroom mirror, ‘oh ya THAT old’.

The 3 am wake up call from the front desk of the dowdy airport Super 8 didn’t even make me flinch as I had already been awake for 4 hours staring at a mama spider with her newly-hatched offspring clinging to her back amble across the ceiling on her way to the circa 1980s light fixture. Eyes already bloodshot, constipated from the Sonic corndog that I foolishly chose as my final pre-vacation meal. Hey it was only a buck five! The pseudo taxi would be downstairs in 20 minutes so I had to get crackin’ to shave, have my shower, get dressed, organize the luggage, and hope the elevator was fixed. Instead I spent the bulk of my time on the toilet drying to undo my supper choice, nope, then a quick drive-by with a washcloth under my arms, berate Carol for being such a cheapskate and bump down the stairs past the Elevator not in working order sign with 2 wheelie bags trailing and a backpack strapped to my chest.

I had booked the taxi the previous day so there could be no mistakes on what could be a soul-crushing event should we not make the first leg to the airport. Partly why I had laid awake all night was I had taken the taxi phone number from the front desk girl who assured me that this was the most frugal way to get where we absolutely had to be, afterall it was her mother’s neighbor’s best friend, and yes she was sure that being out on the streets at 3:20 wouldn’t affect his parole conditions. The phone rang 14 times before it was picked up. ‘Hi, is this Rocco?’ A pause, ‘Who wants to know’? After succinctly describing the importance of our situation and the dire consequences should he not hold up his end of the bargain he flatly stated “Hey man if you’re willing to give me money, I’m willing to take it”. Before hanging up he regaled me with numerous stories of how he had been left at the altar so to speak where people had called him and also an Uber and merely took the first one that showed up, which it seemed had never been him. He was clearly ready to tag me with the asshole label, a rocky (or Rocco) start. At this rate our kids stood to inherit almost every dollar I ever made, and with this amount of stress it probably would be in the very near future.

Honk, hooonnk… ‘Oh, are you Rocco’?