Thankfully, the flight from Washington to South Carolina was uneventful.  The kids were well behaved; the flight left on time, and actually arrived a little early.

Getting off the plane, however, was the same set of hassles as getting on in the first place.  We had to disembark onto the damn tarmac again—only now we’re further south, so it’s even hotter and muggier outside.  Fortunately, the airplane noise was minimal, and my children were less frightened.  I still struggled mightily in getting down those thin-strips they call airplane steps with all of my gear and kids, but managed. I then flailed some more on the tarmac, in trying to get all the bags back on my back, while convincing my kids it was safe to walk next to me.  Maybe the heat made them a bit more sluggish so they made less of a stink about having to walk.  Or maybe the weariness was already settling in.  Either way, we made it inside the airport.  Next stop, baggage claim.

During the exercise of pulling my luggage off the carousel while managing the children, I noticed “Malcolm”.  This was the Malcolm from Dulles Airport who chatted with Will while we were waiting for our flight.  Turns out that Malcolm and his wife had taken the same flight.  I remember they looked at me and gave me a great big smile.  All I could think was how much I hated them.  They were traveling very lightly, and just breezed on by, while I continued my massive struggle with a zillion pieces of luggage. At first I was outraged that they didn’t ask if they could help.  But, almost instantly realized that the thought of having a conversation with them was not something I was ready for. Well, at least they are gone, I thought to myself and I’ll never see them again.  Good riddance.

But, I was so preoccupied with Malcom and Mrs Malcom that I hadn’t paused to realize my next move: baggage claim.  Just picking up my luggage, right?  But, let’s not forget, I have the five suitcases and two car seats to pick off the conveyer belt, while managing the two infants, three bags (two containing some valuable and breakable items with my laptop and fine jewelry) and the stroller.  The easy answer is to get an airport employee to help me.  The reality is they no longer exist!  When was the last time you could find someone at baggage claim that will stand there and wait with you, help you with your bags, and then help you through the airport?  If they exist, it’s not at the airports I use.   I did grab one of those puny trolleys with wobbly wheels that listed to the side though, and hoped for the best.  Eventually, my luggage all came out, and with a lot of sweating and heaving I got it all on this tiny trolley.  All stacked up, it rose to about six feet high.  It had been a total of 15 minutes since we disembarked and I was done.  I’m not sure if I could more tired at this point.  And, I’m the grown-up here, theoretically with enough stamina to handle a little stress.  But alas, we press on.

However, pressing on isn’t working, as I’m trying to negotiate this massively stacked trolley with suitcases and car seats, while I’m pushing my infant in a stroller.  Logistically, this is nearly impossible.  Realistically, it means I’m pushing one, and pulling the other.  Trying to pull a stroller is akin to pulling a cats tail.  It’s going to go in every direction you don’t want it to, while causing you a fair amount of pain.  Pushing a teetering trolley with one hand is equally ridiculous.  However, that was my only option.  I look back and am amazed that not one single person stepped forward to help me as I struggled, muscled, pushed and pulled my way through baggage claim.

As with every leg of this trip, we very slowly moved toward the next step, the rental car counter.  Once I pick up the car, I will have a two-hour drive to the actual beach.  Of course, there is a long line to pick up cars, and naturally my toddler has to go to the bathroom at this point.  I’m trying to figure out if I can leave this heap of luggage, and only take the three carry on bags with us to the bathroom.

With my toddler pulling on my leg and whining about needing to go to the bathroom, I tried vainly to get the attention of the people behind the counter.

I yelled out, “Excuse, me sir? Excuse me?  Sir? “  I spot a name tag.  “Umm, Joe?  Joe?  Excuse me?”

I soon realize that Joe was not going to raise his head to acknowledge my presence.  He is head’s-down helping another traveler.  The people in line waiting to get their car are staring at me. After failing to get the attention of the rental car clerks to see if I can leave my stuff unattended, I shrugged my shoulders and just grabbed the kids.   I left my laptop, my jewelry, our passports, tickets, and every other important object just sitting there.  I kicked into my Marine-Mom-mode barking orders at my daughter to go to the bathroom as quickly as she could so I could get us back out to the rental-car counter.  I might have even passed on the hand-washing.  Gross was least of my issues.

Fortunately, we get back to the rental counter without any incident.  Amazingly, all of our stuff was still there.  Even more surprising was the utter look of annoyance on the people behind me in line.  Despite the obviousness of my challenging situation, they were blatantly bothered at having to push my bags forward six inches when the line moved ahead.  I looked at them and gave them my best thankful smile, even though I wanted to merely snarl.

I eked out a small “thank you” to the people behind me.

They said nothing other than slightly grunting at me.  As far as I was concerned, I didn’t care.  My stuff was still there. If the people in line only knew the valuables that had lain at their feet only minutes before.

At last, we secure a car.  Before I leave the reservation desk, however, I asked the guy behind the counter if they would help me install the car seats.  I knew his answer before he said it, but I wasn’t going to accept it.  Of course, he said he couldn’t, it was “policy”.

I remember I looked into his eyes, and pleaded, “I am a woman traveling by herself with two small children.  I know that I do not have the strength of a man, and need YOUR help to get this done properly.  I know it is not policy, but you are a human.  Please be a human for me, and help me.”

I don’t know if my words were convincing, or the look of fury in my eyes, but he helped me.

I found that my not-soon-enough-to-be ex-husband had rented a pimp-mobile.  In his mind, you don’t just rent an economy size car if that’s all you need.  It’s mandatory to get the biggest baddest car on the lot.  I was oh-so unpleasantly reminded from that point forward that I had to drive a car the size of Nebraska.  And, now that I’m on my own, I have to pay for this beast of a car.  A double bonus.

Car seats installed, luggage put away, we started out to the beach to meet up with my family.  We finally showed up a bit later, after picking up the keys to the house from the rental agency, arriving at the beach house just as my parents did.  As we drove up, my mother approached our car, beaming.  I rolled down the darkened window, and her face fell as she only saw the kids and me.

She paused, and said, “Where’s Will?”

I started crying for the third time that day when I replied “He left me today.”

My parents got into my car and we drove down into town to get a soda.  I needed to feed the kids, and there was no food in the beach house, yet.  I also needed to regroup before I could do anything else.  We went to some delicatessen where we ordered food, and I wept.  My dad took the girls outside to get some air while I told my mom the gory details of the morning.  I’m sure the wait-staff of the deli were dying to know what was going on at my table, since we were both crying.

I was finally starting to shake the day’s events off of me.  I was starting to feel safe, surrounded by my family.   As we are shopping, I turn to see bad-penny-MALCOLM and his wife shopping.  Naturally, they turn and see me.  Once again, they flash their big smile, enjoying the fact that we have bumped into each other again!  All I can do is just force a wan little smile – a pencil thin extension of my lips out to the corners of my face.  From across the grocery store lines, they are trying to have a conversation with me about the beach.  Where were we staying, for how long?  When was Will coming?  My mother looked at me, and I just responded with the same razor thin resemblance of a smile.  Frankly, I couldn’t talk. I knew if I tried to say anything, I would begin to cry or scream.  I couldn’t conjure up any response that would have been socially acceptable.

They must have walked away thinking I was the biggest jerk, and I was ecstatic with that.  After leaving that store, they were gone for good.

Nicole Drapeau Gillen, Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved