By Esther C. Baird, first published in the Chronicle and Transcript June 8, 2021
I don’t even want to get into what triggered the Very Bad Morning, I’ll just say that Moose, our 100-pound Bernese Mountain Dog, ate a tinfoil packet full of Old Bay seasoning and raw shrimp and leave it at that. Well, except the next morning when I took the dogs out, in my jammies and wellies, (spring time in New England) I had to be extra attentive to what Moose … produced. This meant, when a car pulled up and a man got out and began walking into our yard, I was not prepared.
I was, however, instantly wrapped up in leashes as the dogs did their best to defend me against certain terror. The terror, the man explained, being some yard work my husband had requested. By the time I got all 180 pounds of defensive fur inside, I’d bruised my elbow, burst a blood vessel in my arm, and my thigh was turning purple from leash burn.
The day had derailed and it was only 7:30 a.m.
What I was trying to do that morning, beside playing detective with dog poo, was take our almost 17-year-old daughter to the airport where she was flying by herself for the first time. I was determined to handle the morning with a calm demeanor. I would not be a crazy mom. Except, whoops! Too late.
Still, I rallied and didn’t pester her with hundreds of travel reminders, just say 50, before I dropped her off at the JetBlue terminal, which was the site of construction gone wild. The only entrance was a plywood tunnel that led, presumably, to the actual airport. But who really knew? And into the rickety looking mess I sent her, with a kiss and a cheery word of encouragement that all was totally fine.
It did not feel totally fine. It felt inept and ridiculous. After an entire year with barely an airplane in the sky, with hardly a soul walking through the terminal hallways, now Logan Airport chose to do a construction project, that quite frankly, seemed like a second grader cobbled it together with a cardboard box and string!?
And then my phone rang. I knew I shouldn’t answer it without a handsfree device. But it was my husband. He knew exactly where I was, and would not have called unless it was important.
“There’s a cyberattack on American Airlines and Jet Blue, I don’t think you should leave the airport area until we know she gets on the plane.”
What!?! I’d see there was some unusual delays with American when I’d watched the news that morning, but a cyberattack? In the cardboard box where my child was!? I hadn’t given her any reminders about cyberattacks!
I was telling my husband this, while heading north on Route 1, which we all know is like the “Hotel California” — once you merge on, you can never leave. And as I tried to find an exit, I saw a police cruiser drive past, stare at my phone and turn on his lights.
Sigh. I pulled over and the officer came to the window. He was young and smiling, whereas I was old[er] and possibly manic. “Hi ma’am, just wanted to let you know,” he began.
“I know – my phone. I’m sorry. I just, it’s my husband, it’s …” I took a deep breath, maybe the officer could help. “Do you know about the cyberattack?”
“No, Ma’am. Attack?”
My voice got a little shaky, “My daughter, she’s only 16 and there’s a cyberattack and …”
And…
Oh, Regular Reader, it was horrifying. I became that person.The person who burst into tears when pulled over by the police, complete with hiccups and uncontrollable hyperventilating.
The officer stared, “Ma’am, what? This is only a warning, now that people are back on the roads, we’re reminding everyone about driving handsfree.”
“I know. It’s not the phone,” I hiccupped, “she’s only 16!” I took a fast-sobbing intake breath. “The airport, it’s plywood!” No, that didn’t make sense. I tried again, “Do you know what’s happening?”
Oh, he knew what was happening. He was witnessing a total snap from reality.
He went and wrote up my warning about phone usage, while I pulled myself back from the brink, and my husband found out that our daughter’s flight was unaffected.
The officer returned. “There’s no mention of an attack on the scanner. Did you find out if your daughter is OK?”
“I did,” I sniffled. “Thank you. I”m SO sorry.” My nose started running and I grabbed a dirty tissue I found wrapped around some old gum. It was the lowest of lows.
“Well, Ma’am, I hope you’ll also be OK. I do want to remind you to use your handsfree device as you return to normal life.”
I gave a strangled laugh, “Thank you.”
Normal life.
In the end, the flights all ran on time and my leash bruises, like my teeny tiny post-pandemic breakdown, faded. My day was full of tinfoil time bombs, roaming contractors, teenage girls and bad Boston construction.
Maybe my morning wasn’t so terrible, just … normal.