Desparate, I ran ahead wondering how he terrible it could turn out if we were to become separated. I reached the turnstyles of customs where a man pointed to my top case and asked what was in it. 'Cameras' I said turning over my paperwork. I remember packing socks between all the lenses the night before so we could put all of them into the one secure, metal equipment case we brought. 'And this one?' He kicked the lower trunk. 'Telescopes'. 'Aha!' he says. 'You take pictures of the stars.' 'Bingo!' I said hoping under my breath that he wouldn't ask me to open them and use up all the rest of the roll of duct tape I carried in my backpack. He made a joke about not needing to travel to South America to see stars, but I didn't have time to do more than smile and nod. 'OK. you're clear.' he says, pointing me toward the river of baggage laiden carts moving toward the mythical counters beyond. I followed and as I approached and sorted out which counter was mine, I noticed that it was the only one of the bunch without lights on or an attendant. As I got closer and closer to the Northwest counter, my stomach sank deeper and deeper. On the counter was a small sign in red. 'Closed. Please go to the Northwest ticket counter located in G-3.' I'm completely paniced now. I knew of friends who upon returning to the US found their airline was out of business feared the worst. Thankfully, the attendant at the counter beside me explained that they had only closed down this one counter because of staffing problems. I sighed and turned around, finding Vic marching toward me. I headed him off and spent the next few minutes convincing him against his better judgement and experience that this was NOT where we needed to take our bags.
UP. We needed to get upstairs. Porters whized everywhere, but none were available. So, we took our carts and followed the up signs to an elevator. At the elevator, we found two foot high pilons blockaded the doors from our baggage carts. Terror and confusion abounded as to how we would now get our four 70lb bags up, over the pilons, and across the airport to the terminal. 'Lift them up.' I said. I could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in as the boarding deadline was approaching. I believe we exceeded the maximum allowable weight for the elevator, but we punched the up button and leaned for a moment on the heap to exhale. Upstairs, we had no idea what terminal we had been dumped in, but knew that we had to get over to G within 15 minutes. We had installed casters on the backside of the trunks before the trip, but by now they had been so badly abused that only 3 of the original 6 still turned. There were still no porters in sight, so we dragged the bags onward counting down the gates. 'Woah!' cried Vic. I looked back to see him hunched over his bags with sweat streaming off his face puddling onto the trunks. I forgot that he still had his coat and vest on and in the Miami heat here was overheating. A porter magically appeared and drove our bags the other fifty feet to the terminal while I stripped the coats from Vic's back and cleaned his dripping glasses.
The Northwest ticket counter officaily had only two workers, but one of them was on the phone the whole time we were in line, so she didn't count. The overhead sign still showed the flight departing in five minutes, so we stood in line and angrily tapped our feet as others ahead in line asked every silly question a traveler could. Once up, we hefted the trunks onto the scales and announced that we were in a hurry for the flight to Memphis. 'Oh, don't worry about that. The plane isn't even here yet.' the attendant said. 'WHAT!? Your sign says it leaves in two minutes and we killed ourselves getting over here...' 'It's the storm.' he says, picking up the phone again as he stamps, ripps and shoufles our tickets and bording passes. 'Gate G-22' Well, at least we didn't have to cary the bags anymore. I had Vic's coat tied around my waist and we had traded off the heavier equipment backpack. We hurried along down the hall only to find a 2 mile long corridor starting at gate G-1 just past the x-ray baggage scanner. We unclipped, untied and dropped our gear onto the conveyor as Vic removed his belt again for it's buckle as he passed through. We collected our heaps again and jogged down toward the gate. A few minutes later at about gate 17, I noticed that I was NOT wearing Vic's coat! 'It's back at the scanner!' This is the jacket he has been collecting travel and astronomy patches on for over twenty years. 'Here. I'll catch you in a minute.' I threw my pack over his shoulder and ran back toward the security station. As I approached, the hefty security officer began to shout that I needed to exit through the other passage. She kept pointing and shouting, but I was too far away and out of breath to explain my position when I knew she didn't want to hear it. I pointed to the scanner which now had the sleeve flopping out from behind the black rubber flaps. It was still stuck in the machine. I grabbed it up and ran the other way, wondering how many parcels had passed over it under x-ray without the attendant noticing. I met Vic at gate 22 surrounded by well over 300 people. 'They have no airplane.' he said pointing to the right side of the room full of angry people. 'Ours is here, but they're lost.' I turned and noticed a food stand behind us, and scurried away to buy a drink. We guzzled it together in less than twenty seconds before we boarded. I kept glancing at the man behind us in line. 'He's from Kansas City.' I said, nudging Vic. 'He's in news or something. Does he work at the Star?' Vic shook his head. Neither of us could place him.
We boarded. Hurrah! Then we sat. The airplane rolled back and away from the terminal and all the necesary announcements were made again in both Spanish and English, but out on the tarmack, we continued to wait. After another twenty minutes, I pulled the Astronomy magazines from my bag. In the air, we noticed that we were not the only ones worried about our connecting flights. I heard whispers, nudges, whines, and threats from other passengers about their arival time in Memphis being crucial. By now, the stewardesses were beggining to get roughed up, so the captain made an annoucement to assure everyone that they were doing fine on the flight time and all arrangements would be followed up on. We were served over five announcements regarding re-arrangements of connecting flights. Fort Worth passengers were to stay and Detroit's disembark, then the other way around. As we approached Memphis, A status was given on each of the flights and we learned that we still had the chance to get to our terminal if we hurried. As the plane set down, we collected our last things and perched for our launch to blast the exit. We pushed quickly through the slower passengers and ran up the entrance ramp. Turning the corner, we quickly found our gate. Exhausted, I flung the ticket out on the counter and asked if we made it. 'Oh, yes. Didn't you hear, the flight's been delayed. We don't even have an airplane yet.' 'AAAHHHhhhggg!'
Our flight had been moved back an hour and a half. I called to see if my ride had left for the airport, so she wouldn't have to wait. Luckily, she had a cell phone and I caught her in the car on the way. I turned around and grinned to Vic. 'We can rest.' As I headed off to the restroom to freshen up, I looked down at the ticket in the hand of the familiar man I saw in Miami. Chris Hernandez sounded familar, but I still couldn't place him. I returned to find Vic explaining our Bolivia trip to Mr. Hernandez who asked us who we were since I wore Vic's hat from the KC Star. He was in Miami for a hispanic journalist convention and we all three wasted the next hour blowing steam about our horrible times flying home.