So the Friday prior to Christmas, eager to escape Amish Land (See Live Amish in their Natural Habitat !!! ) and looking forward to an extended Christmas weekend with my family, I awoke at 3:30 AM and drove to Harrisburg International Airport and Truck Driving School to begin my holiday journey.

Knowing this is the start of the dreaded Christmas Fly-Once-A-Year-To-See-The-Grandkids rush I hope to beat the unwashed masses by hopping on a 6 AM flight to DTW, then connect to CMH.

All hopped up on 4 cans of Coca Cola, I dash from the $15 daily parking (hey the company pays for it, so I park in the garage next to the terminal – screw the remote park lot and riding a shuttle bus aggravation) and ride the 15’ of moving sidewalk into the terminal then take the escalator down to the ticket counter. Normally I never check a bag, but this time I have some things in my bag that will never make it through the TSA gate check, so into the hold it must go.

Cool, no line, just a family at the counter, so this should be a 30 second deal and I’ll be good to go.

Then I notice the luggage this family of 4 has amassed….
Let’s meet the family:

Dad -early 40’s, 5’2”, looks to be a refugee from The Mens Wearhouse (You’re gonna like the way you look, I guarantee it -George Zimmer) . He is resplendent in his Corporate Casual attire. I make him to be a middle manager at Rite Aid Corporate in charge of Christmas lights and household poisons.

Mom- Yuppified late 30’s dishwater blonde, 5’1” 98 lbs soaking wet. Homely. It’s readily apparent she is the BOSS of this clan. She barks out orders to everyone within earshot. Unfortunately for her, all but hubby ignore her.

Idiot son, 15, just came back from a Hollister store shopping spree (complete with the long perfectly tousled hair). He seems to not understand English, as questions directed to him elicit no response.

Dizzy azzed daughter, 13, 5’8” and 60 lbs, wearing an Ipod that obviously has taken control of her Central Nervous System and is causing her pseudo crack whore frame to twist and contort to the beat of whatever odd sounds emulate from the headphones (I’m guessing a recording of drunk monkeys playing steel drums).

And back to the luggage…..
It’s unfreaking unimaginable the pile of luggage this troupe of 4 has piled at the ticket counter….we will start with 3 sets of golf clubs. Really, really big sets. Hard sided cases made of Golfinarium. Like they not only contain every numbered wood and iron, but also the little known in between decimal sizes (Buffy!!! Use the 3.4 Driver for this T shot!!! The 3.5’s too big and 3.3’s not enough club!!! ) , 6 chipping irons, 9 wedges, 4 putters, and 6 clubs that haven’t been invented yet. Throw in 18 dozen Titlists and 1,600 tees for good measure. One observation I have made of golfers: the more clubs they tote around the course, the bigger hacks they are.

Moving on to the suitcases, it’s apparent they went to The Samsonite Store in Lancaster last week and purchased 4 sets of the Super Deluxe 6 bag sets of luggage, and at least one of every matching accessory bag. All brand stinking new, and stuffed to the gills. Conservatively speaking, there are 30-35 pieces of luggage piled in front of the counter. I couldn’t fit this load in the back of my Super Duty.

We would have to buy clothes to fill up that many suitcases…..I’m guessing the family is emigrating to MallLand and have all their worldly possessions bubbled wrapped inside the ballistic nylon bags.

What I can’t imagine is how much the excess baggage fee is gonna be for this load of freight. This is a job for Flying Tigers if I ever saw one.
Mom has TOTAL control of the situation, and is haranguing the poor ticket chick about everything that’s wrong with the way she and Northwest Airlines conduct business. Judging from the Mom’s grasp of how the system operates, this is the first time they have flown, and have only seen airports and airplanes from great distances.

Ticket agent finally gets though to Mom that she needs to see their ID’s to check bags ….and an envelope stuffed with 65 inkjet pages of itinerary, passports, and notes aren’t gonna do it, fish out the passports and have each person show it to her. It’s kinda the law ‘mam. Dig them out and show them to me. Each person, individually.

As the 10,000 lbs. of freight are being piled upon the scale and totaled up, Mom drops this bombshell:

Agent needs to hurry up ‘cause they can’t miss their flight……

Finally the whole trip is revealed………

Family is off to Cancun for Christmas. I’m guessing permanent exile from the stuff they are taking. My family could spend three weeks in Cancun with one carry on bag each. Evidently we pack way too lightly.

I really wanted to hear the total $ for the excess baggage, but after 30 minutes of bag piling and annoying yipping sounds from Mom, I kinda tune the whole deal out. The Shiny Happy People have finally left, I check my bag and haul ass up to the TSA line to beat the 4 refugees - NFW do I want to be behind them in that line. As I skate past I notice they have no carry on bags at all. I had them pegged as the type that tries to take 64 oz bottles of shampoo and Super Big Gulps through security.

At the gate, as soon as the agent arrives I hop up to hopefully trade my exit row seat for a complimentary 1st class upgrade. The Stepford Wife sees me on the way to the counter and cuts me off…obviously whatever it is I am up to she needs to see the gate agent 1st. The pilot for our flight is leaning on the counter and we both laugh at Mom. As the flight is scheduled to board in 15 minutes the pilot’s presence is not a good sign. It turns out he is waiting for the rest of his crew, their van driver is MIA.

Mom insists the gate agent review their boarding passes (kinda like those old black and white movies set in Axis controlled Europe where they stopped the train all the time so the SS could check your papers). Agent looks at them with only a smattering of interest and returns with a cheery “looks like you are good to go!” Mom informs the gate agent they cannot be late, and should board the plane first (not sure how much help that’s gonna be, we usually all leave together, but then again, what do I know).

And now the whole plan is revealed….

Mom has evidently booked this fantastic family vacation to Cancun on her own, with a little help from Priceline. They are flying from Harrisburg PA to Detroit, and have 15 MINUTES between flights in Detroit. I look at the pilot and we both crack up. The agent looks at Mom like she has 3 heads. No argument from any of us though. Hopefully they have to go from terminal A to Terminal B/C through the Tunnel of Love….the multimillion dollar sight and sound display. And it gets better….from Detroit they fly to Minneapolis, then on to Cancun. Evidently Mom doesn’t own a globe. In MSP they have 30 minutes between flights. If you have ever been to MSP, you know that the terminals are about 16 miles apart, and 99.9999% of all connections involve a terminal change.

Pilot and I are laughing so hard (silently) that tears are rolling down our cheeks.

And even IF they actually made the connections…….remember the baggage.
2 connections.

15 and 30 minutes between fights, respectively.

No carry on bags containing essential clothes just in case. An international flight in the mix too.
Our flight boards 30 minutes late. Our push back is late. Mom is LIVID. I think the pilot took the scenic route to Detroit just to get in a few more hours in his log at Mom’s expense. It looked like we over flew London Ontario 3 times.

At least up in 1st I can’t hear her complaining in the back.

I laugh all they way to Detroit.

LMAO!

Wow, just wow ...

Ok, now I'm glad I took the time to read it all the way through. :laughing2:

Lovin' it! You just can't help but to adore "special" people! :toothy8:

Quote:

Ron White. You can't get anymore straight-forward and honest than that!

she wins the Darwin Award.

I've flown out of Harrisburg 100+ times and have seen it before.

I think Three mile Island affected the entire south central Pa. area.

how about cliff notes