Logistics and such
In our family, Husband #1 is known as the logistical coordinator. You need to pick up a date in the Five Towns and find an obscure kosher restaurant in Queens where no one will know you? He’s the man who helps you figure that out. You need to plan a trip with three minyans a day in Yemenstsvelt? He will find them for you. Back in the day, planning our baseball road trips became his life. It was him, his yellow legal pad, godaven.com, and MapQuest.
He never disappointed us.
And then there are the trips that require air travel. “OK, Banj, we are leaving at 5:45 for an 8:30 flight. We are parking at our friend/cousin’s house in Queens and taking an Uber to the airport. I am davening Maariv at 5, so have the car packed so we can leave as soon as I get home.” “Yes, sir,” I obediently reply. “And don’t forget the turkey sandwich with Pringles” as the side dish/vegetable. Please don’t judge. His eating habits are still gifts from his mother that keep on giving. And I know that he will be purchasing a Fanta at the airport. Baruch Hashem.
Over the years, we have learned that comments like, “Oh look, there is no traffic” or “Great, the plane is already at the gate” are things you can think but never say out loud. We are not a superstitious people, and yet…. Have you had your mezuzahs checked lately? Anyway, we get to Queens, park the car (are extremely grateful to the cousin/friend who saved Husband #1 money on long term parking — yes, for another column), the Uber arrives in seconds, and off to the airport we go.
“Oh look, the plane is already at the gate,” he says, out loud. I purchase the Fanta and a book (because I must buy a book every time we go on a plane; don’t ask, it’s my thing) and our adventure begins. “Attention flight so and so, it seems that the crew has not arrived yet, and we will be delayed until they blah blah blah blah.” Ya can’t make this stuff up.
LaGuardia Airport has come a long way. The terminal is really beautiful, and you can get kosher food in some of the kiosks. And you can walk 6,000 steps while waiting for updates on the crew. Or take a nap. Or go to the bathroom a handful of times. We finally start boarding. We have an empty seat in our row, and Husband #1 almost breaks my hand only twice during some unsettling turbulence. We land without incident. Thank God. Welcome to Atlanta.
“Wow, the airport is so quiet, we should be out of here in no time.” And then an alarm goes off. “Please exit the tram, there is a dangerous situation. Please exit the tram, there is a dangerous situation.” Well, that is comforting. I send a voice note to Son #3 with instructions if something happens to us, while “running” to the baggage claim a mile away. Two hours later, we arrive at the hotel in our adorable compact car. Baruch Hashem.
We were in Atlanta for a bat mitzvah (or “bas” mitzvah — dealers choice). Being out of town always makes you realize why folks from the tristate area have a reputation for not being friendly. Everyone is smiling, happy to have you. You can dress any way you want, there is no judgment (at least no obvious judgment), and before you know it, you are on a plane going back home. Sitting next to a stranger whose head is definitely going to fall off because he keeps falling asleep. And sitting behind someone who, if he tries to push his seat any further back, I might have to start screaming. Never a good thing to do on a plane.
The logistical coordinator also has fallen asleep, a gift I learned he had early on into our marriage. We went to Israel for our honeymoon, and as soon as the plane took off, I looked over at him to wish him a safe trip and say how excited how I was to be on this adventure with him, and he was already snoring. Bliss.
And that’s all I got this week…
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck wants to give a huge shoutout and thank you to the cousin/friend’s beautiful daughter who saved the day with the correct key.
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