I took a friend, Barbara, to the Grand Rapids Airport on Thursday for a trip to Chicago. The stop was on my way to Jackson to play poker with the poker group I’ve been a part of for going on forty-eight years. I’d driven to the airport a dozen times since moving into my Tullymore condo in 2020, so I thought I’d be fine without logging into the navigation system on my car.
Things went well until I got about fifteen minutes from the airport. I asked Barbara to get the directions on her cellphone because of the road work that I feared might alter our path. She has an Apple iPhone and like all such phones there’s a pleasant-sounding voice offering step-by-step directions. You know the drill, “Stay in the right lane and prepare to exit in a half mile.” Things like that.
I don’t know if it was Siri, Alexa or some other exotic lady barking out the directions, but about five minutes from the airport, I didn’t recognize the exit we were directed to. We left and righted down a series of streets that I’d never traveled before. When we “arrived” there was a chain link fence in front of us. I could see the terminal but the only way we were getting there was to hop the fence, jog through a plethora of arriving and departing airplanes and hope for the best.
I wasn’t prepared to drag her suitcase with us either, so I put my Rogue in park, pushed my navigation button, selected “previous destinations” and asked for the Grand Rapids Airport. I haven’t named the lady who speaks to me, but if I did it would be Gloria because her directions were glorious.
We made a U-turn followed by a series of three right turns over what I’d estimate to be about two miles. We were simply riding around the perimeter of the airport. I don’t know where the iPhone lady was gathering her directions, but they were worthless.
I pulled in front of the main entrance to the airport, turned off the car, and got Barbara’s bag out of the back. I bid her farewell and hopped back into the Rogue. That’s when I found out the key was in her purse. I was parked two lanes away from the curb with no way to get the thing going.
I got back out of the car and was stopped by an officer who wanted me to move it. “You can’t park here!” We had a quick exchange during which I explained that the lady who got out of the car had the keys. I wasn’t going anywhere until I found her. I moved as quickly as I could, hoping I would catch her. When I couldn’t see her walking ahead, I had two options: check the nearby restroom or proceed dead ahead hoping to get to the TSA line before she entered.
I opted for the TSA line because if she was in the restroom she’d walk straight to me. Luckily, I was right. She made the pit stop, I passed her, and she caught me. A lesser man would have panicked, but not me.
I retrieved the key, bid her a second goodbye, and made my way back outside. That’s when it hit me. What if I hadn’t caught her? They’d eventually tow the car away and I’d be scrambling for a way back to my condo to retrieve the other key. That would take several hours, a lot of luck and I would have probably missed the poker game.
So, a word of advice. Next time you take someone to the airport make sure of two things. Have a complete understanding of the entire route to your final destination and, more importantly, make sure you’re carrying the keys to the car in your pocket.