It is hot. Really, really hot. And we don't have air conditioning. And we have a herd of big, sweaty moving men roaming our house packing all of our personal belongings. I carry my "not to be packed" items fearing they will get packed if I set them down. I walk around the house with my purse on my shoulder, a Barnes & Noble bag containing a gift for a friend, a Patina bag full of spendy liquid soaps that the movers won't take for fear of spillage, and a gallon-sized ziploc bag holding big jugs of my preferred shampoo and conditioner. And garbage; there's garbage in my hand because the garbage cans have all been packed. The heat is making me thirsty so thirsty. I just need a quick drink of water - no big production. But I can't find a vessel, let alone a cup, that can hold liquid in a sanitary fashion. So I stick my head under the faucet and schlurp (just like the telephone man in the movie Barefoot in the Park).
Our cars are dramatically loaded onto flatbed (I almost said flatbread) trailers so they can be hauled to the east coast via car transporter. All the neighbors bring their kids outside to watch the excitement and its this total manic depressive experience - drama excitement laughing clenching welling crying.
Now we race to the airport to pick up our rental car; we've opted to ship our cars and rent a tricked out minivan for the all-American family vacation experience. I assume we're driving to an Avis lot NEAR the airport so we can say a nice, leisurely goodbye to my parents who have kindly given us a ride. But we actually go to the actual airport, get dropped off at ticketing so that we can walk through the terminal and board a tram to the Avis rental desk in some secret area of the airport that exists underground. I get out of my parents' car still holding my purse, the Barnes & Noble bag, the bag of liquid soaps and the ziploc full of preferred shampoo and conditioner and bid farewell to my parents quickly - the way you do when someone drops you at the airport. Like the airport police will ticket you for prolonged expression of emotion. I walk through the airport like a wide-eyed immigrant who just fled her obscure war torn country with only a gift from Barnes & Noble and a variety of liquid soaps and high end shampoos to her name.
The friendly Avis rental agent reviews our reservation and says we're all set and we should return our vehicle to Boise. BOISE??!! No, not Boise! I'm not moving to Boise! I would not have agreed to that! I hold my shampoos tightly to my chest preparing to do battle and cry at the same time.
A couple of beats.....just a matter of poor geography skills and ignorance of airport codes. She hands us our keys and says "Have a nice trip!" Have a nice trip.....she doesn't know what kind of "trip" this is. How could she know? But it makes me feel sad and misunderstood and I want to throw my shampoos at her smiley face and run away.
That night, my neighbor Joel calls. He wants to stop by to say goodbye since he'll be at work when we leave the next day. I have to say no......because we're all naked. Our clothes have all been packed, the car has been loaded and the sweaty clothes we wore all day are in the washing machine. Forgot to put aside pajamas. Not the teary goodbye he was expecting, I'm sure.
Tomorrow will be a better day.