Old Age Day by Day March 25, 2010

You know you're getting old when you can't take advantage of short layovers between planes. I USED to be able to get off one flight and rush toward the baggage claim and smile and nod through customs and make the gate with time to spare. Now the two hours is no longer enough, and I need more like five hours, but will book a flight with three hours between. Mind you, this is all post 9/11. This IS old age. A couple of years ago my friend and I were attempting to catch a flight from Paris back home, and we had come from Florence (I know, what a rough life I lead) and I attempted speed walking while my friend yelled (well, I won't repeat it, it was not her best moment) and said she'd catch up. I was purple in the face, dragging my carry on which weighed more than I did, and when I reached the gate it was deserted. Luckily, it was Paris, so the flight had just been delayed, and I swore to my friend it was not worth a heart attack to get home. And what kind of dumb were we anyway? We wanted to leave Paris? Well, we had run out of money, so it was best to catch the flight.

A few months later my husband and I were returning from visiting our daughter abroad, and we hit the vortex called JFK. Risking permanent injury to knees and joints we panted our way through baggage, customs and the 17 miles to the other gate to discover our seats had been sold 50 minutes before the flight. We were mad, we were indignant, but who cared? Not the airline. So we flopped on the dirty floor at a gate waiting for standby, but not before fortifying ourselves with a beer (it's healthy for the elderly). After every other passenger had been seated, they graciously allowed us on the plane, where we waited for two hours to lift off. We were number 79th in line. I can still remember the number. Now, if we were younger, we could have chatted inanely on our cell phones, but we're not of that generation. We were tired, hungry, my sciatic nerve was paralyzing my right leg, and we needed hospitalization.

There need to be special flights for us older customers, where you are on a conveyer belt reserved for those of us to whom marathons are a thing of the past. Well, past fantasies. While we're lying there on the belt they can x ray us, slide off our shoes, look in our ears and throat - kind of a travel cum health check up kind of deal. Just don't make me walk.