I’m at SeaTac airports’ cell phone waiting lot, and as you might have guessed, I’m waiting. I’m early on purpose; a bit of space for me to clear my head.
Four Hispanic males are standing nearby, taking photos of the “N” wing of the airport and of the airplanes. I want get out and practice my Spanish, but I’m too nervous.
I need alcohol. A high blood alcohol content is a steep water side into my hablando espanol.
I’m driving and picking up four unsuspecting victims, I mean family members, from a two-week-long trip to Alaska, and that means no risky business.
But I am reminded of a flight I took to Mexico with friends. On it, the flight attendant – an attractive, flirty gentleman – hooked me up for free with mini vodka bottle after bottle. At landing, I was so drunk I lost my wallet, kicked my luggage through security gate, and got separated from my party – or so I was told.
But was I speaking Spanish, you ask?
Claro que si!
I wish there were a hot dog stand or one of those dipping dots ice cream carts in this parking lot. I’m in a snacky mood. Instead, there are two porta potty’s and a bunch of signs telling me I have 20 minutes to park here. Don’t say anything, it’s been 45.
The flight tracker shows they landed five minutes ago, and I expect a text any moment. I better gear up to go.
Thanks for stopping by today!
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 