Friday was finally here and I was ready for Nantucket. I even dressed ready. I wore my new stark-white jeans and a black sweater, had my platform crocs on and was packed and ready when I got to work at 7 a.m. My travel buddy for this trip, Heather, emailed me first-thing to tell me she was ready to go. We were meeting at 3:30 p.m.
A quick T-ride and a shuttle service to Terminal C later, we were in line to get our boarding pass at the Cape Air ticket counter. The sign in the line was prominently placed to let travelers know that unless the bag is small, it's going to be checked. And by small, I mean it has to fit in a 2x2 space in the wing. The other bags go down below so take rearrange everything -- cell phones, laptops, medications... anything you need close to you (and by close to you, I mean in the wing of the plane). Heather checked in first and when the attendant opened up, Heather turned around and glared at me. What could have possibly happened in the two minutes she was at the check-in desk? Did they mess up her flight? Was her bag too heavy? Is too windy to fly?
No. It was much worse. I approached the ticket desk and attendant smiled and asked for my I.D.
"Thank you," she said. "And, how much do you weigh?"
@%&)@*!
"How much do you weigh, bitch?" is what I wanted to say. Instead I replied, "Are you serious?"
"Yes," she smiled.
"Ummm...I honestly haven't a clue," I said. Truth was I did know, but hell if I was going to share that info with Cape Air. That's private information between me and my doctor. Or so I thought.
"Ma'am, I need your weight," she said again. I looked at Heather, who was giving me the "I had to tell her mine and it didn't hurt" look. UGH.
"How much do you think I weigh?" I asked. This was not amusing to the attendant. Her job was simply to make sure the weight was adjusted properly on the 6-seater. She had no idea this question would send me straight to therapy.
I gave the weight Nazi an estimated number and took my boarding pass. We whisked through security and Heather looked at me, "Beer and french fries?" she said.
"Oh hell yes," I said. "We'll just have to tell the pilot we ate before we board the plane."
2 comments:
That's hilarious. Like if you had been off by 50 pounds or so the wings were going to tilt? Gimme a break. That's flipped.
Hope you had that beer with some fries.
I must admit, I lied about my weight. But the beers and fries were worth the lie.
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