The Englof Luck

The Englof Luck

Here we go! I ran around like a crazy person today and managed to get nearly everything done that I needed to. I said cheerio to my family and jumped onto the bus to O’hare.
My pack weighs roughly as much as a 5th grader. Fantastic. Well, every day it should get lighter as I use my massive amount of hair products. That is, until the first day we go shopping.

But I really think my crowning achievement in packing was limiting my amount of footwear. Just 3 pairs of shoes. Man, am I going to be happy when I am re-united with my lovelies. (other shoes)

I’m sitting here on the plane eating the world’s ugliest beef jerky. Imagine if you cut the heel off a cowboy boot, ran it over several hundred times with a pickup truck and then rubbed it in dirt. And I’m eating it. I’m sure the poor girl sitting next to me is giving me those looks of horror because she is concerned about my health. Oh no. I just spit in my attempt to gnaw the leathery mess. I am a disaster and she knows it.

So getting on the flight was an adventure, obviously.

Ila shows up at 3:08 for our 4:20 flight. I am anxiously awaiting her and have already checked in my 5th grader. She swaggers up and we begin to wait in line. It should go relatively quickly, there are 4 lanes open and only about 5 families ahead of us.

But here comes the Englof luck. One of the families has a grandma, 2 parents and 4, yes, 4 ninos. 2 sets of twins. Luckily the youngest set is chained into ther stroller. There’s no way those two Pearl’s could escape. The other devils cause some mischief when they chain their dad’s suitcase intricately through several loops onto another cart so that when he tries to hurriedly move it to the security screening, they reach a roadblock.

Finally, said family negotiates the line. 4 minor catastrophes later and they push on to security.

Ila checks in and we hustle to the next line. What a mess. I don’t know how Europe is being run right now seeing as how the entire continent is waiting in front of us in line. We creep closer and closer to the end of our misery when lo and behold, in comes France. AirFrance to be more precise. I don’t know what crappy straw we pulled to end up in the far right lane but we close our mouths and wait patiently as the gorgeous femmes and homes step in our place.

Justice, however, prevails.

One of the most French looking 82 pounder, we’ll call her Marie (no relation to Saavedra) waits with hair sprayed into a virtual helmet. It is sort of a French twist but with no ends exposed. They are all lacquered down to her pretty little head. She gets stopped. She doesn’t pass the metal detector for some reason. The large black man, we’ll call him Jerome stops her and gives her some Chicago-style charm.

Jerome: “You didn’t pass my detector.”
Marie: “Zese crazy tings. Ze are so sensiteev.”
J: “Do you have any metal on you?”
M: “Just ze bobby pins ‘olding my ‘air.”
J: “We’re going to need to wand you.”

Meanwhile, she may have upwards of 6,000 pins in the helmet. The rest of AirFancy is laughing snootily. Very French.

We make it to the flight with 20 minutes to spare.

Plenty of time. According to Ila.
Not nearly enough. According to me.

So I settle in to 36H and Ila sits at 33H. Next to me is a quiet girl from the EU, who seemingly abhors beef jerky from the continued looks I am getting.

So what was our in-flight entertainment?

Use your best Irish accent. “Wild Hogs.” Ila and I share a laugh. I thought it was because the way the flight attendant said it was hilarious. Ila apparently thought the movie was a documentary on Wild Hogs.

Fantastic. Oh well, at least now there’s only 6 hours and 32 more minutes until we land. If the Englof luck doesn’t run out.