Airport Cookies

Last night I not only got “ma’am’ed,” but I also got “mama bear’ed”- which was a new one for me.  I’m pretty sure I don’t look my age, but the ma’am thing is always hard to stomach – even though it was from a solider with a Southern accent, so probably second nature. I just don’t think of myself as the ma’am sort, not even when all of my hair is silver and I am officially a biddy.  (I am confident that at come point in my life I will be a biddy.)

I’m taking a little vacation right now and made cookies for the friend with whom I’m staying.  I make pretty great cookies; it’s one of my more likable and practical skills.  Anyway, when I saw the bedlam at check-in, I became a little “concerned” about the potential for lost luggage.  While I can manage without a lot of things, I’m don’t want my buddy to have to manage without some delicious, homemade cookies.  Ergo, I took the big ol’ Ziploc out of my to-be-checked (lost?) bag and shoved it into my carry-on.  Potential problem averted.  I’m all about proactive action.


Anyway, because of the check-in bedlam – which turned out to be a precursor to pandemonium at security, lots of fun – I was a little, um, later for my flight than ideal.  I executed some solid sprintwork and deft people dodging skills on the moving walkways,* backpack o’ cookies and all.  Of course my flight was assigned to the absolute farthest gate in the absolute farthest terminal.  Whatever, I totally made it to the gate a whopping sixteen minutes before departure time – sweaty, but within FAA regulations.  While I made it to the gate in time, my airplane did not: delayed.  I debated between rejoicing and sobbing.  I had to pee, which I’d rather do at a lavatory in the terminal than on-board a plane, and I desperately wanted to buy a soda – both missions which I now had plenty of time to accomplish.  In the corner for the opposite emotion, I totally made it to my gate and booked this flight because I want to arrive in time for dinner.

Pretty much right away I decided it didn’t really matter what my response was to the delay; my flight was delayed and my feelings sure weren’t going to change the situation.  (There was a weather issue on the arrival end, so all flights to that region were delayed.)  Thus, I did what any sane person would do: remembered that there just so happened to be a gallon Ziploc baggie of homemade cookies in my carry-on and I was maybe fifty feet from an airport watering hole with beer and ESPN. 

Since the cookies are technically a treat for a friend, I did not pig out.  I merely had a couple and offered them to the friendly folks who held my spot and watched my beer while I took care of a bladder obligation.  (I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to take care of that before settling in with a beer and a ballgame, but I suspect I just got overly focused on my alterna-plan.)  They declined (fools) but a solider seated at the table next to them piped up with a, “Yo, ma’am!  Ma’am!  Hey, Mama Bear!  Mama Bear, Baby Bear – can I have a cookie please?” Cookies are for sharing, so I hooked him up, but the interaction was a bit creepy to me.  Like I said above, I don’t view myself as a ma’am or a mama bear, but I can see where pulling out a baggie of homemade cookies in an airport bar and trying to share them could cause some confusion.  

By the time my flight departed, the baggie was down half a dozen cookies, which left plenty for sharing on my arrival end.  Their presence made for a better delay for myself and another; hooray for unanticipated foresight!

*By the way, people: stand on the right, move on the left.  Also, it’s a moving walkway, not a “moving, stand across both lanes and have a conversation” way.  This confusion is why when I travel, I sometimes pretend not to be an American.  I have national pride about a lot of things, but our moving walkway (and escalator) etiquette and abilities are not on the pride list.


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