PCS Misadventures

What does the “0” mean in “0 dark thirty”?  As Robin Williams said in Good Morning Vietnam it’s a variation of “Oh my goodness – it’s early!”

Why yes, yes, it is!

The alarm went off promptly at 0 dark three hundred or 0300, rousing Tim from his slumber and relieving me of my travel-anxiety-induced insomnia.  We were dressed and out the door of my sister’s house by 0340 and took the dark roads, highlighted on the GPS, about 50 minutes to the airport.

In preparation for our Kansas house hunting adventure, the children had been dropped off at their Grandparents' the day before.  Breakfast was packed. Boarding passes were downloaded onto cells. We thought we would just wait for coffee on the airplane. We thought we were ready to go.

But the Philadelphia International Airport proved to be an adventure of its own.

Lesson One: Make sure the economy parking in which you plan to leave your car for three days is actually open.

We arrived to the entrance of the economy parking where we found a flashing sign that read, "Lot closed. Use parking garage."

They meant the parking garage we passed on the way to this sign. With exasperation we made a turn and followed the signs back to the front of the airport road where we located the short-term parking signs and proceeded to short term parking.  We prayed we wouldn't be paying $100 for parking the car. (Spoiler alert, it was $72. Pricy but still better than $100.)

We pulled up to the turn style for the garage where my punchy and sleep-deprived husband read the first line of the parking instructions: "Use credit card". He placed his credit card in the slot and the message came up, "Use same credit card for check out."

This was a problem. Tim would not be coming home with me.  I would be retrieving the car and using MY card. Tim entered the parking garage anyway because it was the only way he could go at this point.  Then he promptly followed the Labyrinthian route back out to the payment booths.  We were both sweating.  Would we have to pay for a day in the parking lot?!  Fortunately, not!

The very nice lady in the booth said, "Just go back through and pull a ticket."

Pull a ticket?!  Thankfully, we didn’t have to pay anything for the credit card error, but noted that Tim would need to pull a ticket.

Lesson Two: Read directions all the way through like Mrs. Rush in first grade told you to do.

We pulled up to the turn style and I watched as Tim reached for his wallet and pulled out his credit card.

"No, wait!" I exclaimed, not believing my eyes, as we both had heard the nice woman say, “Just pull the ticket".

"Pull the ticket!" I said.

"But it (the directions on the turn-style) says use your credit card," my uncaffeinated husband explained.

"Or pull a ticket," I said and pointed out the rest of the words on the turn-style.

Yes, he took my advice and pulled a ticket.

We drove into the Terminal C parking garage and proceeded to find a parking spot. Delta, our airline this time, was located in Terminal D.  The first time we tried to park, you know when we detoured all the way back out of the parking garage, we were routed to Terminal C parking because D parking was full.

We didn’t think it was a big deal.  Surely, we could reach Terminal C from Terminal D.  We walked into the airport and headed down the stairs to check Tim's bag. We started toward the direction of Terminal D.  We didn’t get far.  There was a wall. A wall. We couldn't get to Terminal D from Terminal C. We headed back outside.

Lesson Three: There really is a good reason you have to enter through the correct Terminal. 

It was a quarter-mile walk from Terminal C to Terminal D. Fortunately, it was decent March weather for 0500. But juggling bags and suitcases as we walked made our stroll less than enjoyable. 

We made it to Terminal D. Tim’s bag was checked by a lady who was on her game. Surely, she had consumed more caffeine than Tim had (which was still zero). She sent us up to TSA. We had boarding passes on our phones and IDs in our hands. We were good to go.

Except - TSA. I made it through. I was thanked for my service when I presented my military ID. I wore "sensible shoes", so I was able to slip them off quickly. My coat was off and purse and backpack in the tray, zipped up. Perfect. I made it through without a buzz or beep. Except I didn’t.

The security guard said, "Ma’am, would you please go on over to security over there?"

He pointed to another TSA guard waving me back to the end of the personal items claim area. I reported to him.  Soon a TSA woman in her late 50s approached and asked me to put out my hands. I thought she was checking my jewelry and that’s why I hadn’t really made it through the metal detector (as I previously thought).

Nope. She proceeded to swab both my hands. She left. I was standing there wondering if I had just had my fortune read or been tested for bomb residue. You know, you can never be too sure about blond Army wives.

While I am still unsure what she did, she said I was good. Was it good fortune or no bomb residue? I’ll say both! So, I went to claim my items thinking my sleepy husband would be tapping his foot in jest awaiting my effusive self. NOPE! 

Lesson Four: Sometimes the saying is true "caffeine first".

A drowsy Tim had just arrived to the claims area of the TSA as I was released from my fortune-telling encounter. He remarked that he kept “losing pieces of himself.”

His first no-no was wearing lace boots.  He knew this would be a time-consuming challenge when getting through TSA. Fortunately, he was able to take care of the laces-induced time-crunch fairly quickly.

However, in the midst of his focus being on his footwear, he forgot that he had just shown the guard his boarding pass on his phone, and, thus, his phone was still in his hand. Oops.

That led to mistake two.  He walked through the metal detector with his phone, completely unaware. Similar to grandpa “losing” the glasses that were on his head, the phone remained in Tim’s hand, setting off the metal detector.

Tim walked back to the line and tried again. Apparently, while I was getting swabbed, he took two or three more times through the detector, each time losing an article of clothing. A belt. A watch.

 Finally, he passed security and we retrieved his myriad of items which piled up at the end of the conveyer belt.  Once again wearing all of his clothes, we set forth to our gate.

On the way I prayed aloud, "Lord, please don't let anything happen to me that leaves Tim alone. He wouldn't make it through the day without me."

It was only 0530. He laughed. We found our gate. We could finally start talking about the houses we would see later that day. Who knew our PCS Adventure would start in the parking lot of all places?! 

P.S. Caffeine was finally consumed on the plane!