How To Climb The Pyramids in Chicago

I thought we were doing better.  Really I did. Although I am luggage-challenged even with trips to the lake, we were more organized I thought.  Two weeks ahead I had already begun choosing my wardrobe and Bos had assembled the obligatory rolling rack in our guest room.  So, frankly, for two weeks I chose and un-chose and re-chose clothes I thought would be appropriate.  And each time I did that, the pile got bigger and bigger. Because, I explain, what if…?  And there are a LOT of “what ifs”. So, by the time we were ready to go, we had 4 (count them – four!) 50 pound suitcases plus 2 odd and assorted carry-ons packed to the brim with clothes I will shortly find are not at ALL appropriate for the trip!

It is amazing to me that when I was working, I would get up at 7 a.m. the day of a vacation, throw some clothes in one bag and somehow make it work!  Is it because I am older now or is it because I have so much time I overthink the whole process?  Or is it both…?

So, you’re asking about the pyramids in Chicago, right??  First, I must tell you that we are traveling with some dear friends from Florida and they let us in on a little secret.  Secret:  if you ask for a wheelchair, you will get super service, which includes getting through security, customs, etc in zip speed.  So…Bos, always wanting to pamper me,  requested a wheelchair for me at every stop

Now, in St. Louis, we didn’t use one.  But, when we got to Chicago, we knew we would like some help, as you have to go from one terminal, outside to a train, and back through security in the international terminal. And for those of you familiar with O’Hare, you know what a zoo it is!   Right on time the trusty wheelchair showed up and I prepared to be whisked through the terminal, on the tram, and down the corridors of the International Terminal, right to the gate where I might saunter onto the British Airways plane, refreshed and happy.  It was worth an extra $1500, right?  It wasn’t long before I figured out that we were not headed out the terminal at all.  In fact, we may have been wheeling down long corridors, but in the same ol’ terminal.  No whisking on the tram.  No going through another TSA checkpoint. And, the closer we got to the end of the last gate, I noticed all these forlorn looking crippled people sitting patiently in the seating area, rife with wheelchairs, canes, and crutches.  Not a good sign.

The check-in lady said gently, “Do you think you are able to do a few stairs and the ramp?”

Feeling quite sprightly compared to the crowd there at the moment, I answered,  “ Of course.”  I was feeling, I must say, a little guilty at our ruse and the wheelchair.  The word to “go” came shortly after that.  And all of us were presented with a staircase going down about 70 steps.  Piece of cake, I said to myself, although I wasn’t so sure about the other folks.  And the ramp into the plane was the next obstacle.  Only it wasn’t just a “ramp”.  And it certainly was not a “jetway” into the plane.  Simply it was climbing concrete ramps – 4 of them, back-and-forth up and up and up – like having 3 Egyptian pyramids stacked on top of each other at 45 degree angles – and we were all asked to rappel up these ramps!  Excuse me?? Crippled people with canes, crutches, etc??  But we all huffed and puffed, sweating up a storm and finally made it to the top of the pyramids.   We were out on the tarmac.  Where we climbed onto a little bus to take us to the International Terminal.

Now I don’t know what demented person thought this form of “help” was necessary.  Or maybe they wanted to punish people who have handicaps.  The latter is probably the real reason.  But when we got to the new terminal, we had to climb UP those stairs to the gate level.  I felt like this was God’s punishment for skipping water aerobics for two weeks.  Not going to ever do that again, God!

But were we done yet?  Nope.  When we got to the concourse, the skinny little airline person said, “Just around the corner and you are at the gate, folks.”  Only it wasn’t “just around the corner.”  It was another long trek.  So I sat down.  Just sat down.  I said I would go no further.  That was it.  I vowed I would never fly again and our trip had hardly started.  God took pity at that point.  He figured I’d learned my lesson, I guess.  Because, just as I was making my vow, one of those little carts came out of nowhere to help us all to the gate.  Yes.  We made it to the gate.  But the refreshed and eager flyers were not out scraggly group.  It was those who were smart enough NOT to request a wheelchair.  They simply walked concourse 1, took the tram, went through security, and walked into terminal 2.  How smart.  But whoever said engineers were all that smart, anyway?!

What to take , what to leave, what did we forget?

It all made to made it!!

And to our room at last!