4261
Pt. 1
I expect the title of this story would give anyone pause since the average reader would be prone to reflect,
"Oh c'mon. What about a visit to an average metropolitan airport could possibly merit that sort of lead in?" (and) "You realize that 'The Twilight Zone' was a fictional TV series about other worldly events which almost certainly could not happen, but were produced for entertainment value."
And to be sure, I have watched enough of those old segments of that classic series to concur with you.
And yet...
Well, this past Sunday I was scheduled to pick up my wife at Tampa International Airport. She was returning from Massachusetts on a United Airlines flight; having spent ten days with our daughter and grandson. Although I was employed with UPS for twenty years, and delivered hundreds of thousands of packages to multiplied thousands of addresses, Jean had given me specific details about the preferred route to this metropolitan airport, (though we had been there several times in the past).
Things fell together pretty well over the course of the first hour. Traffic was backed up on I-4, which wasn't a pleasurable experience, but I took that facet of the trip for granted. Other than the driver of a late model sedan taking it on himself to motor along the unfinished left limestone shoulder of the interstate, in an attempt to make up some time, things went as I might have expected.
Okay. Fifty minutes have elapsed, and I'm in Ybor City. Check. Now I see the sign indicating that I'm approaching I-275. I move into one of the two left lanes. Check. The multiplied skyscrapers of Tampa appear on my left. Check. Seven or eight miles on I-275, and the exit for Tampa International Airport appears on the horizon; directly in front of my silver 2015 Nissan Altima. Check.
Pt. 2
As I follow the airport signs, I can almost hear my wife's voice,
"When you turn right off the interstate, stay right! If you don't, you'll find yourself on a very long bridge to Clearwater!"
However, in spite of this recollection, I find a way to do exactly what she warned me to avoid doing. Twenty yards before all hope was lost, the road splits. Looking quickly into my rearview and passenger mirrors, I quickly put the nose of my automobile into the lane to my right. "Saved by the bell!"
Five minutes later, I see a sign for the Cell Phone Parking Lot. Check. One hour and five minutes elapsed time from my home outside Winter Haven to the "Wait 'til You Hear from Your Loved One" Tampa International Airport temporary parking lot.
I text Jean after my arrival, though I knew her aircraft was not due for another 20 minutes. However, now looking down at my cell phone, just 12 minutes later I notice a message.
"We are on the ground. I will let you know when I pick up my bags."
And about this time, I realize that my volume is turned down. And I think,
"I could have sworn I turned it up."
But be that as it may, after waiting another 15 minutes I receive the go ahead from my wife.
Another text
"Okay. You can come get me" (and) "Remember, I will be at the United Airlines arrival area."
And it was about this time that I enter the Tampa International Airport version of the Twilight Zone!
Pt. 3
Now, I pull out of the Cell Phone Parking Lot, and turn right. Check. However, as I reach the first intersection, there seems to be no apparent directional clue. I can go left. I can go right. I can continue driving forward. I opt for forward. (I opt wrong). I find myself driving into a parallel series of eight lanes of one way traffic, each with a railroad style crossing gate; offering access to whatever lay beyond. I realize I am driving into the outer perimeter of a high price airport hotel. And I think,
"Well, that's not good."
And since I have no intention of checking into the Hyatt or Mariott, or whatever moniker this particular hotel bears on it's impressive ten story wall, (I can't see the logo from here), I do a U-turn, and proceed, against traffic, towards the boulevard from whence I came. Thankfully, I navigate the fifty feet which lay before me, and civilization as I know it; without causing a major accident.
And as I reach the intersection, I look to my right, and notice some far off tell tale signs which signify aircraft departures and arrivals. Of course, at this point I don't need any additional prompts. And now, it seems my quest is in sight. I select one.
"Arrivals. Express Lanes"
I pull into a congested area, and coast up behind a stopped car. A woman greets her boyfriend (or husband) with a kiss, and he takes a carry on bag from her. I notice a series of consecutive, small numbered signs ten feet above the street. 107, 108, 109. However, familiar words such as "United Airlines," "Southwest Airlines," "Sprint," etc. are nowhere to be seen.
I drive away, and as I leave the immediate area, I dial my wife's cell number.
"Uhmmm, I thought I was in the right place, but I don't see you. There's only numbered signs, but I noticed people getting into cars."
Jean responds.
"You are in the Express Arrival area. Stay there! I can take an elevator to you. I'll be there in just a minute."
I am forced to tell her that I am driving away from the Express Arrival area. Needless to say, she's not a happy camper.
Pt. 4
"Just make a circle, and come back, and I'll be up there when you return."
I acknowledge her request, and begin my circuitous route from whence I came. However, (and it's a very big "however"), I find a handy dandy way to get lost simply going back to the spot in the road from which I just departed.
This time around I find myself driving into a similar passenger zone, but this time around, rather than numbered signs, I see signs which identify the various airlines. Eureka!!!
Uhmmm, not so fast...
Whereas, I see a sign bearing the words "United Airlines," the "d word" just beneath the title of the airline, strikes me cold...
"Departure"
Again, I begin to recreate my circuitous route. This time around, I don't bother my wife with this slight irregularity.
I look around frantically for a sign which indicates the names of the various airlines with the ever so important words, "Arrivals - Full Service."
My cell phone rings, and I answer it.
"Where are you? I told you that I'd take the elevator up to 'Departures.' I'm waiting for you here."
By now my frustration level is around a 257 on a scale of 100.
"Uhhh, you know that old joke about 'You can't get there from here?'"
(And, with this, I continue my lame attempt at humor).
"You know how you originally told me you had thought about taking an Uber to Hardrock Casino, and meeting me there? Well..."
(and)
"No, hang loose. I should be there in a couple of minutes."
(Shoulda. Woulda, Coulda).
Pt. 5
You remember those words which Rod Serling used to say at the beginning of each Twilight Zone segment?
"There's the sign post up ahead. It's the Twilight Zone."
Well, now I find myself moving progressively deeper into the Tampa International Airport version of the Twilight Zone.
I see various signs above the streets indicating the names of various airlines, the words "Express" and "Arrivals" and "Departures" and the like. However, by now I experience what I can only characterize as Short Term Dementia. At this point, I am SO frustrated that I feel like I am reading Greek.
For you see, by this time I have entered the one way entrance into the Long Term Parking Garage! (Funny, I hadn't seen that particular sign before). Now, I am seeing it up close. My cell phone rings again. I quickly answer it with,
"I can't talk now."
Stopping at the entrance gate, the sign on the self service kiosk informs me that I should wave my hand in front of a sensor. I comply, and a ticket pops out. I drive up the ramp to the top floor, and begin to make my way towards the exit.
As I near eight or ten exit booths, (some actually manned by human beings), I choose one titled, "Customer Service." A middle aged black gentleman takes my ticket, and I immediately make him aware that I have occupied his Long Term Parking Garage for all of 3 1/2 minutes, never stopping, and that I have been attempting to get to my wife at the United Airlines Full Service Arrival area, and could he point me in the right direction?
Apparently, "Mr. Weaver" has encountered this situation in the past. He laughs and says,
"Not to worry. You'll want to drive up that middle ramp about 50 yards ahead. See the sign?"
(I almost tell him that I am just about "signed out").
As I thank the man for his patience, he tips his hat, and says, "Be blessed." (I almost tell him that, "At the moment, I feel anything but 'blessed'").
I begin my short trek towards the sign, (there's that word again), which my short term friend indicated a few seconds earlier.
Don't you dare ask me how, but instead of driving up the middle ramp, (you know, the middle ramp), I find myself circumnavigating the Long Term Parking Garage entrance ramp (again)! Driving up to the same self service kiosk, I reluctantly wave my hand in front of the sensor, and receive another ticket.
I am SO desperately frustrated that I momentarily think about throwing my car in reverse, and doing one of those standing start, tires smoking, 180's like you see in the movies. (Of course, this would have me meeting and greeting incoming traffic, and I immediately surmise that it would be marginally better for me to drive through the Long Term Parking Garage (again).
Pt. 6
Completing my 3.5 minute (lack of) joy ride, I aim my silver 2015 Nissan Altima towards Mr. Weaver's Customer Service Booth (again).
Just before I reach the afore mentioned little domicile, my cell phone rings, and a familiar female voice says,
"Where in the world are you? You left the Cell Phone Parking Lot 35 minutes ago, and it's only a two minute drive!"
Mr. Weaver peers into my vehicle, and grins. I give him my ticket, and what amounts to a three way conversation begins.
"I'm sorry, honey. I just finished driving through the Long Term Parking Garage twice in 7 minutes. (Maybe you could take a taxi over here to meet me)!"
Now, Mr. Weaver speaks.
"Man, that gal is 'fit to be tied.' Ain't gonna be no honeymoon tonight! You better go retrieve her. Do I need to draw you a map?"
With this, I merely say,
"Did you tell me to take that middle ramp over there?
He shakes his head, and points.
"Yep. Take the only middle ramp that's dead center between the left ramp and the right ramp."
I thank him, and once again my increasingly good friend says,
"Yes sir. Be blessed!"
Now, I continue my conversation with my wife.
"You sure you don't want to meet me at the Cell Phone Parking Lot?"
(and)
"I'm pretty sure I can get to the Express Arrival area again, if you could take the elevator up to my level."
And with this, I hear her sigh. And now, I hear luggage wheels rolling along the airport floor.
Jean speaks.
"Okay. Now, look. When you get there. STAY THERE!!! I'll find you. Do not pass go. Do not go to jail. Do not collect 100 dollars. Got it?"
Afterward
Dear readers, I am happy to tell you that my wife and I are experiencing an uneventful trip home. (Oh, perhaps I should tell you. My wife is behind the wheel).
And thus concludes this segment of The Tampa International Airport version of The Twilight Zone.
by Bill McDonald, PhD
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