I woke up with my bags packed, only having to shower and put any last minute toiletries in my suitcase that was balanced on the gossamer wings of the airline's weight limit.
My car was clean. I had taken everything out of it so as to not encourage anyone in the ORD parking lots from wanting to steal empty Mountain Dew Zero bottles or corn dog wrappers. I placed the luggage in the back of my trusty VW Golf Alltrack wagon. I had BB King's Bluesville on the radio, and a two hour and 47 minute drive to the airport. Things went well up to this point.
I put my "Golden Girls" sun shade in the windshield, loaded the carry-on/backpack on my shoulders, extended the handle on my suitcase, and grabbed the little case with my CPAP machine inside. Reading about the projected weather when we were to be there, I saw that the low temperatures would be in the high 40s at night. That definitely meant I had to take my newly acquired heavy-weight motorcycle-style leather jacket, so I would look cool sipping pints and having a dram at an outside pub somewhere. I don't have much in the way of regrets of anything on this trip, but having to haul around that weighty thing was not my best decision, as I only wore it once.
Green Bay was very warm in the lead-up to the trip, and it was a little over 90 degrees in Chicago when I arrived there. I took the shuttle bus and got to the correct terminal. Went up the escalator, and waited for the train that would take me to the gate I needed to go to. So I waited, and then was told that we had to go down to the main floor again and get on a bus to take us to the next place, only to be told that we would be brought right back to where we were standing. So, we all went back inside and waited for the train to be fixed. I was glad I took the advice that I should get there extra early. I needed just about every minute.
I got to the area where security and the gate was and looked desperately for the Aer Lingus lines. Nowhere to be found. I was hot, sweaty, nervous, and carrying a 10 pound jacket in sweltering heat. I called my sister. She was in the same place I was, but I couldn't understand why I didn't see green and shamrocks. I let forth with a string of profanity about how awful this airport was that made nearby Chicagoans blush. I was walking back and forth, agonizing and further sweating through my shirt, only to finally see my sister who got out of line and gave me a whole bag of travel goodies and nice things. I started to swear less.
After only getting yelled at twice by security that everything had to go in a separate tray, I grabbed what I could, but was saved by my sister who grabbed her trays and mine, preventing what I am sure would have been seething rage on my part, decrying what a terrible system it is that tens of thousands of people use every day. (Even though I'm right.)
