Not Today, Lady

The Day the Universe Said No

Photo by Michelle Tresemer on Unsplash

I’m the type who assumes there’ll be gas in the car, green lights, and not much traffic. And by leaving at the last minute, I can get a few other things done. Some call it risky. But, across these fifty-six years, the odds have tended to work in my favor. Probably why I keep playing it this way.

A few weeks back, I’m in my Jeep headed north to SFO where I’ll board a flight to Chicago O’Hare and spend the entire next day talking with Northwestern students about creating their best life. My plan is to get to SFO an hour before the flight. What with CLEAR, plus TSA PreCheck, I can usually get from the curb to the gate in fifteen to twenty minutes. Then there’s time to fill up my water bottle and go to the bathroom. My status on United allows me to pre-board. I’ll settle into my seat quickly. Very little waiting around. I like that.

It’s 11:15 a.m. Waze told me which route to take. It looks like about a thirty-five minute drive, as I figured. Traffic moves at a decent clip. I move with it, changing lanes as needed when I get behind someone slow. I listen to NPR, a little hip hop, then I call a friend. Before I know it, it’s the exit for the airport.

I head toward the hourly parking, as I’ll be gone for less than two days. It looks like a person is standing near each of the automated entrance gates, like maybe they’re out of service? I squint, but can’t tell what’s going on.

I pull up. “I’m sorry, but the garage is full,” a guy says as he hands me a printout of directions to long-term parking. Wait what? I’m thinking. How can an airport parking garage be full? I glance up at my rear view mirror. “Do I back up?” I stammer. “No. The first ten minutes are free. Go in and come back out and make your way to long-term parking.” He hands me a ticket from the machine. But, I’m still not getting it. Or he’s not getting it. I prattle on a bit about not making my flight if I have to go all the way to long-term. “I mean, you can drive around and look,” he tells me. “But it’s full.”

I head into the cavernous SFO hourly parking garage. As warned, the place is packed. But of course, cars are leaving too, so there have to be some spots. The hassle of going to long-term parking - driving there, finding a spot, making my way to the tram, taking the tram to the airport, walking from the tram to security – makes me want to fight for a space here. I prowl around for one, thinking I’m about to get lucky then discovering I’m wrong. Every minute I spend here means one minute fewer to make it to long-term parking and back in time for my flight.

After like eight minutes, I realize I need to give up – they’ll charge me for being in here if I stay longer than ten. I head toward the exit, insert my ticket into the slot and proceed through the automated gate. That’s when out of the corner of my right eye I notice a car easing out of a parking spot one section over. I’d have to drive in reverse for like thirty yards to get over there. Even I know that that’s probably not a good idea.

Photo by Daniel Herron on Unsplash

I drive the highway northbound and feel my frustration shift to desperation. I take the first exit and head right. At the end of the road, I turn left. Now I’m in a left-turn-only lane waiting for the red arrow to turn green so I can enter the long-term parking lot. I put the stick in neutral and take my foot off the clutch. I look at the clock on my dash. My plane is boarding in ten minutes and I’m so far away. While at twenty-six I would’ve made a run for it, I’m fifty-six. If this was the only flight out to Chicago today, I’d have had to figure it out and probably wouldn’t have wasted all that time in the regular garage. But I know there are at least three more flights.

When the arrow turns green, I put the Jeep in gear. I head toward the automated gates at the long-term parking. I feel myself giving up, giving in, shrinking from the challenge, like a wuss. I make a U-turn, get back on the road that leads to the other road that leads to the highway, take it south, and drive the thirty-five minutes home. I arrive with my tail between my legs, rebook on a plane that leaves at 6:30 p.m., and wonder if this’ll make me change my ways, or if I’ll continue to chance it.

xo

🤗 Here’s a hug for anyone who’s been late, lately. Did you know that my beloved, Dan, would rather be thirty minutes early than five minutes late? Not me. Who are these people??

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